Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Terzo is serving a death sentence. 

It isn’t like he had much of a choice.

He remembers the game night clearly. The typical arguments and accusations of cheating had subsided and it was a rare moment of fun and relaxation with his brothers.

The next thing he remembers is waking up on a gurney and gasping for air. They told him his brothers were dead. They told him they had removed his head for a photoshoot and then reattached it again. They gave him a choice: die now or take their money and never speak to them again. 

Terzo lives in solitude. The mansion he was put up in is large with enough rooms to fill all of the stories of his time at the clergy, which already feels like a lifetime ago. But it is just him. Only him. He spends his days in the quiet, stewing in his bitterness of how his reign came to an end and how the clergy had pushed him aside. The longer he is alone, the more angry he becomes. 

What is he supposed to do now?

They left him with nothing. Nothing besides money, which feels like the ultimate insult.

He lets his own home fall into disrepair. Trinkets and memorabilia from his past life pile up around him until he is forced to shove it all into one room to get it out of his sight. His days are filled with nothingness. He doesn’t know who he is anymore or what he’s meant to do. The purpose he had spent his life preparing for had been ripped from him. 

He doesn’t pay his bills on time so on more than one occasion, his power is shut off or he doesn’t have warm water. He eats cereal out of collection plates that bear the name of his old band. He is never completely dressed and doesn’t shower or clean himself for days on end. 

What is the point?

One day, there is a knock at the door. An unfamiliar feeling of dread washes over him, anxiety bubbling up in his stomach as he creeps to the window. Terzo sighs deeply once he realizes there is no one at the door. He shuffles outside and stares at a brown envelope on his doorstep. The speed at which he snatches the envelope and slams the door behind him almost makes him dizzy. He manages to steady himself back at the window, his eyes narrowing as he looks to see if anyone is watching. 

Terzo tears through the envelope. What he sees sends red hot anger coursing through his veins. It’s a magazine and on the cover of it is his bloodied, severed head . He nearly rips it apart. The sight of his own father standing behind Copia, the little rat that sniveled his way to the top — 

He exhales sharply out of his nose as his eyes fall to his severed head and he runs his fingers across the cover. This was all he ever was to his father and to the clergy leadership: a prop. A puppet to push out to the masses and parrot the word they approved of and the second he had any thoughts or ideas of his own, they threw him away.

Terzo tosses the magazine on a nearby console and storms into his study, his fingers brushing through his wild hair. He can’t live like this; he can’t. It’s tearing him apart inside, twisting him into a withering husk of a person. He needs to make a change and he knows it.

He needs a new toy to play with .

He picks his head up, his eyes flickering to the closed double doors to the dining room. His life’s work is piled up and discarded there, filling him with a combined sense of longing and anger.

Terzo needs everything gone. 

***

You stare at the ad on your computer screen. It seems too good to be true. It must be too good to be true. You’ve never been a personal assistant before but it clearly states “no experience necessary for applicants”. Your fingers drift over the mousepad to the apply button. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The worst that could happen is you get denied or never hear back but that is par for the course with job hunting anyway. You click apply and fill out your information, submitting the form after uploading your resume. 

You are sick of your current job working at a call center. Sure, it pays the bills but you haven’t gotten a raise in the two years that you’ve been there and your expenses have gone up. The fact that you struggle to make ends meet even with a roommate makes you spiral at least once a week. Not to mention that the job itself is soul-sucking, draining you of all positive energy so that once you are done working for the day you typically go right to bed.

You need a change. 

You don’t want to get your hopes up but it’s hard not to fantasize about what you could do if you are able to secure the assistant job. The idea of having spending money to buy takeout instead of living off cereal, oatmeal and ramen is getting you excited. Or maybe, as a personal assistant, your boss will feed you each day so you’ll be able to save money on groceries. The bar is so low for improving your day to day life. 

The thought brings an important revelation to the forefront of your mind: you didn’t know much about who the person requesting an assistant. You pull up the job posting again and read over the description. The only information it gives is in the title line of the posting (which you completely missed when applying): Personal Assistant to Golden Bachelor.

“Golden bachelor?” You say to no one at all as you google the term. You didn’t think people referred to themselves as “bachelors” anymore in this day and age. Well, it makes sense that a rich, lonely man would need an assistant to help him run his life - he’s probably always had assistants and can’t function without one. You’re not one to usually judge but when it comes to rich people they are fair game. 

You close your laptop and roll over on your bed, grabbing your comforter to cocoon yourself in. Exhaustion grips your body and the weight of the comforter starts to soothe you off into an unfortunately restless sleep. Not that you aren’t used to it.

***

Terzo is unimpressed with the applicants so far, despite the fact that it very clearly says “no experience needed” in the post he made. Also, the fact that there are so many applicants and he has to go through each individual application and read about these people and their silly jobs. 

Ugh. Boring. 

His leg bounces as skims through the applications on his laptop in the dim light of his study, reading glasses perched low on his nose. His study is practically empty besides his antique desk and chair that seemed to have come with the house. There are plenty of built-in bookshelves and cabinets lining the walls but they are all empty and full of dust. The walls are a dark blue that look black in the evening light with hardwood floors that creak with every step.

Terzo gives a sigh and removes his glasses, sitting back in his chair with a huff. This isn’t as easy as he thought it would be. He was expecting the first applicant to be a hit but when that person had nothing particularly interesting in their resume, he was feeling defeated. And then the same would happen with each of the other at least fifty he’s gone through by now. He wished he had an assistant to go through these but… well, then what kind of paradox would we be in, then?

He reaches into the pocket of his plush, purple robe for his pack of cigarettes, opens it and then brings it to his lips. Terzo presses a finger to the tip of the cigarette and it immediately lights, taking a deep, long drag of it. Coming back from the dead had its perks, especially because of whatever dark magic the clergy had used to do it. He still isn’t sure exactly what he is capable of but  he figured this little trick out when he nearly almost set fire to the entire house while trying to open the curtains in the sitting room. 

Terzo is already halfway through the cigarette, his eyes glazing over as he zones out while facing his computer. A notification pops up accompanied by a little “ding” to indicate a new applicant. He groans and rubs his eyes behind his glasses, taking another deep drag of his cigarette. 

“Un altro.” Terzo grumbles to himself. One more and then he’ll have a drink before slipping into unconsciousness, potentially on the couch in the sitting room where he spends at least half his nights. He leans forward in his seat, eyes fixed on your application after pulling it up. His tongue darts and licks his painted lips.

Your resume and application oozes desperation, so much so that he can almost taste it. The message introducing yourself is sweet, to the point and the most promising he’s seen thus far. A low growl rumbles through his chest as he copies your name and pastes it into google. He clicks the first Facebook profile to come up with your name, which may or may not be you. There’s no information on the profile other than a pixel-y profile photo of what resembles a young woman. Terzo stares at the photo for some time as he finishes off his cigarette, placing it into a golden ashtray that is almost completely full of ashes.

“ Il mio topolino .” He purrs and opens a new window to reply to you, offering windows of availability for an interview.

***

It’s been days and you’re starting to think the whole thing was a scam from the start. Every time you send him when you’re available and can make it to an interview, that date and time comes and goes, and he sends a follow up asking for another time. You’re on the verge of giving up, of letting go of the fantasy of making a considerable amount of money with the potential for perks. 

That is, until there is finally a window of opportunity for the both of you. You almost turn it down at this point from being jerked around so much but the pay is just too good to pass up. You make sure to tell a few friends the address and the time of your interview so that they’ll know exactly where you are in case this is a scam and you are about to be abducted. He even follows up with you the morning of, telling you that he is looking forward to the interview so it seems like it is happening.

It takes you some time to settle on an outfit which ends up being a pair of navy blue slacks, white blouse and a pair of flats, and you put your hair up into a neat ponytail. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide that you look professional enough. 

The drive to his house is silent, by design so that you keep your focus on the interview. You’re not familiar with the area he is located in even though it is in your town. There is an old gate at the front of his driveway that is open and probably not functional judging from the state it’s in. The driveway is long and rocky, and the further you travel down it the more uneasy you feel. The house comes into view and you have half a mind to turn the car around.

It’s massive. Most of the windows are dark, complimenting the dark color scheme of the house exterior. It looks haunted. You stare at it through the dashboard window of your car, nervousness creeping up your chest. Your eyes fall to the clock in your car and it reads ten minutes until the scheduled interview time. A shaky breath falls from your lips.

To be early is to be on time.

The walk to the front door feels like an eternity and it’s hard to fight the feeling that the house is somehow watching you. The closer you get, you realize that the siding is a dark hunter green with black shingles which really contributes to the overall spookiness of the Victorian mansion. You reach the front door and take a moment to smooth out your outfit and adjust your backpack on your shoulders. Your lungs fill with air and you lift your hand to knock — but the door swings open before you have a chance to do so.

You are met with a pair of haunting, mismatched white and green eyes. 

He doesn’t look the way you imagined. His hair is messy, sticking up in most places with some of it falling into his face. He is wearing a plush purple robe over what looks like a dress shirt and he is in a pair of black slippers. You can’t tell if he is wearing any kind of pants. What stands out the most is his painted face, sharp black paint cutting into his cheek bones and around his eyes. Despite the rest of his appearance, the paint is crisp. His eyes look weary as they look you up and down, just as you had done to him.

“You are here for the assistant job.”

A statement, not a question and a very thick italian accent.

You blink at him a few times and then hold out your hand. “Yes, sir. I have my resume here for you to review and—“

“You’re hired.” His expression is still tired and he turns away from you. “Begin cataloging and packaging my memorabilia.” He waves his hand and starts to trudge away from you.

“U-uh, shouldn’t you show me around first or something?”

Terzo spins on his heel back in your direction and starts to walk toward you. The closer he gets to you, the more you can see the wrinkles that had been obscured with his paint. His bright, white eye sparkles in the low light. You tuck your folder against your chest, a blank expression across your face. He looms over you and his eyes drift over your shoulder before he points behind. You turn your body slowly, looking to the double doors.

“In there – the dining room. That is where the memorabilia is.” 

His breath tickles the side of your neck and it gives you goosebumps. You can only bring yourself to nod slowly, trying to think of the salary that was promised in the ad and then step toward the doors. He watches you for a moment before slinking away. You hear him leave and a sense of relief washes over you as you open one of the double doors.

The dining room is a complete mess. There are half filled boxes everywhere, different fabrics and strange items littered across the floor. The dining table is covered in piles and piles of books. You close the door behind you and immediately start to think through a plan of attack. It was already after lunch so you only had a few hours to get started. This is not what you were expecting but then again, the amount you were getting paid made it worth it.

From what you could tell from rummaging through his things, he had been in some sort of spooky music group. There are posters with concert dates, ticket stubs and several different books full of photographs of him and masked men performing on stage. You think that it makes perfect sense given everything you’ve observed from him so far, especially his dramatic paint. Still, there is something darker about him - something that chills you when you think about it.

Your thoughts run wild. In the photos, he looks regal like he is some kind of prince, commanding the attention of the crowd. There are photos of women swooning, of him holding people’s hands and kissing the back of them while their faces light up. He seemed immensely popular from the size of the crowds and the interactions you’ve been able to see from rummagining. 

What happened ? Did he retire? Did the band fizzle out? He didn’t seem all that old… You wonder why he is here, in this home in your town. It doesn’t seem like a place for someone of his profession or status. You carefully start to organize the tour memorabilia on the table, trying to keep like items together before diving back into another box on the floor. 

Terzo isn’t too far away, in fact he is right outside of the door for most of the time you’re working in the dining room. After every little noise he presses his ear to the door, listening to your movement. The feeling of excitement starts to warm his body up, his skin tingling as he starts to think up how he wants to play with you. It takes all of his self control not to burst in the room and scare you, just to see the look on your face. 

Oh, he wants to mess with you. He wants to see your smooth skin turn pink, to make you squeak and stutter just by lingering a bit too close to you. Terzo stifles a groan at the thought and presses his head against the door. Unbeknownst to you, you are his little mouse to chase, to tease, to bring some liveliness back to his boring life. He can’t help but scratch his nails against the door and gives another soft groan at the thought of someone giving him attention again.

He wants you now but he knows he must wait. He has to bide his time, he has to slowly draw you into him until nothing else matters to you. There’s movement from the dining room and Terzo quickly takes a step back from the door, but the sound fades and he’s left in silence. A deep sigh falls from his lips as his mind turns back to you. Even from just meeting you, he can tell that you are going to be perfect for him to prey on. 

Terzo slips out of the sitting room.

You hear something from behind the door but when you lower the box onto the table quietly, it’s gone. A shiver runs down your spine. Even with being completely alone in the dining room you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. Maybe it’s an effect of this old house - maybe it’s haunted. You shake your head, figuring you are being a little bit too influenced by the prayer candles and spirit boards you’ve been sorting through. 

Your fingers pull at the flaps of the box, the last one from the floor for you to go through. Once it’s open, you sink to your seat and stare at the contents.

Condoms. Condoms with his face on them. Condoms that say “Popestar” and “Missionary Man”. You pick one up from the box and turn it over a few times in your hand, your mouth agape. 

“You haven’t gotten much done, eh?” 

His voice makes you jump, the condom wrapper you have been examining flinging from your hand. He watches it fall to the ground before settling his gaze back on you, a darkly amused look on his face. He must have crept in from the kitchen.

“I-I mean I just started.” You struggle to put a sentence together as you are distracted by his mismatched eyes. “Actually, I haven’t technically accepted the position yet.”

“Oh? So you don’t need the job?” The venom in his voice makes your skin crawl.

“No, no, I do — I do need the job.” There is a sick kind of satisfaction oozing from his annoyed expression. “I am just going to need to have the job offer in writing, including pay.” You almost whisper but you keep your eyes locked on his. You need that money. His lips curl into a smirk and he nods.

“I’ll have it for you tomorrow, topolina.” Terzo purrs as he leans against the table. Your eyes drift and you notice the now unbuttoned dress shirt giving way to his hairy chest. He leans down, his robe coming completely open, and picks the condom up off the floor and tosses it back on the table. “You will be back tomorrow, si?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” You realize you don’t even know what you’re supposed to call him yet. 

“Ah, bene.” His eyes sparkle of mischief and he hovers just next to you for a moment, looming over you. The tension rises in the room and you can feel your chest start to tighten. Terzo  gives a soft growl, then exits the dining room, his long robe trailing behind him. You rest your head in your hands and exhale slowly. You make a decision here and now: you’ll stick with this job until the first paycheck and then you’ll figure out whether the obvious red flags are worth the pay.

As you gather up your things, you decide to leave a copy of your resume there, just in case he wants to review it. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and grab your phone, heading out of the dining room but something stops you midstep. The distant sound of him singing fills your ears. You can’t tell what the song is but he sounds incredible. Your eyes flicker over the mountains of memorabilia as you finally get your feet moving.

He finishes singing as soon as you’ve stepped outside of the house, hovering by one of his bedroom windows to watch you get into your car. A growl rumbles up from his throat and he can’t help but run his fingers down his chest but stops just short of his briefs. He exhales slowly — he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself but the arousal he feels just from you perceiving him is too much for him to handle. 

Terzo had forgotten what it felt like not to be alone. 

He thinks about you on your knees in front of him, singing his praises, telling him how good he is before tugging at his waistband. His hand snakes down to palm himself through his briefs with a soft moan and starts to make his way to his bed. Terzo sits on the edge of it, his cock straining against the fabric of his briefs, the tip of it poking through the slit. He pushes them down and frees himself, his hard cock resting on his stomach.

Terzo thinks about you begging to taste him, begging for him to use you however he wants. His cock jumps and he takes it in his hand, lazily stroking it as growls rumble in his throat. He leans back on to the bed, his legs still dangling off the side. He could have anyone he wanted when he was Papa. People would beg him to take them to bed, to get a taste of Papa Emeritus. At the time, he felt a deep loneliness and self-loathing despite the attention or perhaps because of the attention, but he hardly ever turned it down. There was always the one moment he thought that they were there because of him, because of who he was and not because of the title he held, and that moment made it feel okay.

Terzo would take that over the loneliness he feels now.

His eyes fall shut, his lips part as soft moans fill the room. He strokes his cock more vigorously now, his thumb swiping over the tip every few strokes. He thinks of you behaving like the other siblings and ghouls that had wanted him so very badly. On your knees still, begging for your communion. You would open your mouth for him and stick out your tongue, ready to receive.

“ Oh, cazzo.” He squeezes his eyes shut and gives a thundering moan as he finishes, thick ropes of cum landing on his chest and dress shirt. Terzo pants and lets his hand rest on his stomach, his chest rising and falling while his eyes drift back to the window.

He can’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“She’s not even listening!”

Your eyes blink into focus on Catherine who is laughing. You groan and lovingly give her a dirty look.

“It’s Friday, let me zone out if I want to.” You slouch in your seat and twirl your glass in your hands. What had they been talking about? You try to remember but they are right — you absolutely have not been listening and you do feel bad about it. It’s been harder to make plans ever since you started your new job, despite the normal hours. Most nights you come home exhausted but also strangely excited for the next day to start. This is the first time you’ve seen your friends since and you should at least try to pay attention. 

“Okay, okay I guess zoning out is okay. I guess you can’t do too much of that at your new job?” Erica chimes in and leans over the table closer to you. “I feel like whenever we didn’t have calls we would always have these zone out staring contests.” 

“Oh my gosh, yes. And then we would realize that we’ve been staring at each other for a weird amount of time.” You give a soft laugh. You do miss working with Erica but you don’t miss the job. Catherine starts to chime in about how she barely has any time to zone out as a teacher and your mind starts to drift again, having heard this kind of talk from her so many times before. 

You think about what happened today. There have been situations over the last few weeks that made you ache in ways you know you shouldn’t for your boss but today might have been the most intense one yet.

You can’t stop thinking about it. 

***

You walk into the den and immediately smell the strong aroma of marijuana which means that you are getting goofy Terzo. There is still some hesitation in your steps, not wanting to bother him especially since from what you can see he is in the middle of watching something. You take a few moments to scan over the den. In the corner of the room is a wooden bar with a fancy cabinet behind it filled with fancy liquors and crystal glasses. You’re surprised by how stylish this room is compared to the rest but then again, the lights are off. 

Terzo is snuggled up on the couch in a t-shirt and shorts, his body draped across the couch entwined in a blanket. Your gaze drifts to the television and you gasp, giving up your position in the room. Terzo’s eyes immediately find you and he gives you a sleepy, sideways grin. His makeup is smudged which is common but it looks particularly messed up around his eyes. He’s been wanting you to come in here to see him, his mind wandering from the television every so often to think what would happen if you did — and now you’re here. 

“Ah, toppolino! Come, have a seat.” He slinks into the corner of the couch, offering you the space next to him as he gives it a few pat, heavy-lidded eyes giving you a flirty look. You swallow thickly, hesitating for what feels like an eternity before you relent, your feet feeling heavy as you walk over to the couch. You take a seat where he gestured and he’s quick to offer you the half-lit joint between his fingers, his shoulder leaning against yours as he quirks a brow. A breath catches in your throat — you’ve worked for him for weeks now and he always offered but something always held you back from accepting. 

Not today. 

You take a deep, long drag as he holds the lighter to the joint, his eyes never leaving your face. It burns but you don’t cough, perhaps trying a bit too hard not to. Terzo is so pleased, his smile only widening as he watches you inhale and exhale the weed. He feels a rush from you finally giving into this temptation, having tried to lure you in since you started. You don’t know that he’s been eagerly awaiting you to accept because he saw it as another step closer to doing what he wants with you. He’s slowly trying to wear away at your boundaries, especially after your reaction to him raising his voice to you. Terzo knew he could get you to play along. 

You feel him relax next to you, leaning in to rest his head on your shoulder as he turns his attention back to the television. Your eyes stay trained on the floor for a long moment, caught off guard by him. A blush rises to your cheeks. You choose not to think too hard about it and end up being your gaze up to focus on the footage playing. 

“I didn’t think you were in an acoustic band.” You say after a long moment of silence, becoming distracted by the video. It’s of him, dressed in the clothes you’ve grown so used to seeing in photos, performing to a small crowd of people, flanked by two men in masks. Terzo laughs, deep and full, and it makes you smile. He doesn’t laugh like that often. 

“I am a man of many talents, puffetta. This was to give the public a little taste of myself and the new album. We did a handful of these acoustic shows.” He picks up some blanket and smoothes it over your lap, heat rising through your chest up to your cheeks as his hand lingers in your lap for a moment. He notices. He always notices. Fingers lightly drift up the top of your thigh before he gently takes your hand in his. Your breath catches in your throat. Terzo’s touch is so soft, his hands feeling like butter as he places your own in his lap.

“You have a very nice singing voice.” Your voice comes out quiet like a house, almost shy about complimenting him on his talents. But in truth, it draws you in like a siren song. The way he moves his body, using his hands to accentuate the lyrics, and the deep eye contact with the camera and those in the crowd, is all but an act of seduction. You almost catch yourself swooning at the way he croons before remembering that he is sitting right beside you on the couch, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand that’s currently in his lap. The weed is hitting and you find yourself staring at the way his thumb moves, the way it feels against your skin, your eyes hazy and your cheeks starting to burn.  

“ Grazie a mile . I see you like my dance moves too, eh?” He nudges you playfully and you giggle. Giggle!  You are comfortable next to him, eyes hazy as your attention shifts from him to the videos and then back to him every so often. The more you look at him the more you notice how the brightness of his face starts to fade until his lips are pressed into a straight line. Maybe it’s difficult for him to watch this, his glory days, which seem to be such a thing of the past for some reason. 

“Have you thought about getting the band back together? Or doing some solo shows or something? You look like you belong on the stage.” 

“It doesn’t work like that, toppolino. My time was up and that was that.” He gives a sigh, shaking his head. There’s genuine sadness in his voice. You don’t understand how it could be so difficult for him to perform again but you choose not to pry. If he wants to talk about it, he would and his short response tells you all that you need to know. Silence passes between the two of you and Terzo lets go of your hand only to curl both of his arms around your waist. You rest your own hands on your stomach and he places his own on top of yours, fingers stroking gently at your wrists. It’s like he knows every way to take your breath away.

Terzo slips his shoulder behind your back, his chest pressing against you and he rests his head on your own shoulder. The two of you continue watching in comfortable silence, his wonderful singing voice filling your ears, his quips and jokes making you giggle. You feel moved by his former self and you feel… bad for him. You never had before but now, seeing how much he thrived in front of a crowd, how at ease he was and how their energy fed him compared to him living completely alone in a giant house makes your heart feel heavy in your chest. It doesn’t last too long, though, his deft touch and the way his exhales tickle your neck clouding your mind along with the weed.

Even with the slightly uncomfortable topic of conversation, Terzo is buzzing. It is taking all of his self control not to pull you into his lap and slip his hands between your legs, to feel if you are as aroused as he is right now. He wants to taste you. He wants to make you whine, to make tears stream down your face from how good he makes you feel, to hear his name dangling off your lips while you are completely at his mercy. Terzo grits his teeth as he holds himself back, trying to revel in the moment without pushing too far.

You start to feel hot. Tension building inside of you that is making it hard to focus on the video. You become all too aware of the way you’re breathing, chest rising and falling with each deep intake of air. Your head starts to feel heavy and you lean back, further pressing your back against Terzo’s chest. He makes a quiet, surprised groan, his hands squeezing your wrists tighter. Your cheeks flush and you feel a familiar throb between your thighs, shifting your body to try and stifle it but it just makes you press even further into him. It feels like something is about to snap inside, a bad decision about to happen even though it’s all you want right now until —

ZAP! 

You swear you see a flash of green and then there’s a sharp pain on one of your wrists. A surprised yelp spills out of you and you quickly snatch your hand from his grip. Terzo moves impossibly fast, somehow already on his knees in front of you, your delicate wrist already in his hand. 

“Oh no, have I hurt you?” He sounds sick with worry, his fingers lightly brushing over the spot.

“Just a shock. It’s all—“

“Non muoverti, prendo del ghiaccio .” Terzo murmurs and climbs quickly to his feet, leaving you alone in the room as videos of him play on the tv. You have no idea what he said. You run the pad of your thumb lightly over your wrist, reaching the mark only for it to sting from your touch. He’s back and on his knees before you again, already having your wrist in hand as he presses an ice cube wrapped in a paper towel to it. His sleepy, black locks fall into his face as he looks up at you. You watch as he stays focused on you and your reactions while he knits his brows, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Care is written all over his face.

It makes you feel wanted. 

“I am so sorry, toppolino.” His voice cracks as his eyes drop down to your wrist. He wants to kiss it better so badly. How could he have done that to you? What even was that? Terzo’s mind flickers back to how you felt against him, how warm you were in his arms. He feels a pang of anger for having that moment ripped from him. You reach out and lightly tousle his hair.

“Don’t worry.” You smile shyly and pull the ice cube from his hand so that you can hold it yourself. “I should check how the landscaper is doing.” You almost feel guilty for leaving him but you’re a teensy bit too high to handle the intensity that is radiating off of him. Terzo nods slowly but he still stays kneeling in front of you as you stand. The look in his eyes sends shivers down your spine. You reach out and ruffle his hair as another reassurance but you can’t help but get caught up feeling how soft it is beneath your fingers before leaving the room. 

Terzo stays on his knees and presses his face against the cushion of the couch after you’ve gone. Your scent lingers on the blanket. He groans quietly and digs his hands into it, bringing it up to his face. He was so close. So close . Terzo could almost taste you.

How much longer could he wait?

***

“New job is taking up a lot of your time, huh?” Erica asks as you eye your drink, contemplating if you should have another. There’s judgment in her voice but you ignore it, chalking it up to her being maybe a little bit jealous that you’ve escaped the call center. 

“Oh, definitely. He’s kind of a mess.” You smile and end up sliding your drink to the center of the table, deciding you’re finished for the night. It is Friday but you still have to drive home and you’re not trying to stay out for longer than you have to. “Rich, though. And also loves weed.”

“He sounds perfect. Maybe you found yourself a sugar daddy.” Catherine speaks up and you find your cheeks flushing red. It’s not the first time you’ve thought of Terzo as daddy. 

“He’s already paying me a lot.” You give a shrug, attempting to push the thought of how he had yelled at you, his anger making your core ache for him in a way you’ve never felt before. “But maybe — I might be open to it.” They both giggle. Your mind starts to wander, thinking about what he might be doing now. 

Terzo clocked the scarf you removed from your neck that morning. It’s a deep red with a black floral design and a silky texture. You left it on the entryway table and when you left for the day you didn’t notice that it was gone. In fact, you completely forgot all about it. Terzo had grabbed it and slipped it into his pocket before scurrying up the stairs to hide it away in his bedroom. Now, he is laying in bed with it in his hands, feeling the soft satin against his fingers. Maybe he would keep it forever, hidden away in a drawer in his room for him to use when he is missing you. Maybe he’d start a collection of your things.

He hums quietly, tilting his head back against one of his pillows as he brings the scarf to his face. Terzo takes a deep inhale, breathing in your scent and then giving a rumbling moan. He was so close to having you today. He could see it in your eyes how badly you wanted him and then he ruined it. Terzo pulls the scarf from his face, dragging it down his chest before settling it against his shorts. His cock is already bulging and throbbing underneath the fabric just from your scent and reminiscing about earlier in the day. He is certain that the seed is planted, all it needs to do now is take root and grow.

But it would have been so easy to take you today. He could have moved his hand closer and closer to that spot between your legs, lightly drifting his fingers along the seams until you couldn’t take it anymore, begging for him to go just a bit further. You would have spread your legs wide from him as his hand slipped down your pants, toying with the waistband of your panties. 

“ Fuck. ” Terzo’s hips jerk from the scene he has come up with in his mind, pressing your scarf more firmly against his bulge. His thoughts are a blur now, jumping ahead in his little fantasy to think about how your tight little cunt might feel around his pulsing cock. Terzo would keep you in his lap, hands firm on your hips as he pushes in as deep as he possibly could. He imagines what you might sound like, soft little sounds spilling from your lips while you take him. And then, he would stay still and make you squirm, make you beg for him to move his hips, to take you and –

A growl catches in his throat as he makes a mess in his shorts, his hips stuttering and his free hand fisting into the covers. Terzo could never finish out his fantasies of you, always reaching the point of no return before any real action could be thought up. His chest rises and falls, giving strangled breaths as he closes his eyes. How long would he last when he finally fucks you? His lips curl into a small smile at the thought – even if he cums early he would make sure to play with you until you're a whimpering mess. He sits up in bed and lifts the scarf to examine the damage: if there are any cum stains on it. None that he could see. He hums in satisfaction, dropping the scarf back in his lap but his gaze stays fixed on it.

An idea crosses his mind. 

You’re about to ask for the check when your phone lights up. A frown crosses your face as you focus on the message preview.

You left your scarf. Come get it. Now.

“What is it?” The concern in Erica’s voice snaps you out of your trance. The color has drained from your face, anxiety brewing in the pit of your stomach from his tone. You left your scarf and Terzo sounds pissed about it. Is he in one of his moods? He has hardly ever texted you nor has he asked you to come by after hours before. You suck in a deep breath and grab your phone, slipping it into your coat pocket.

“Duty calls.” You offer a weak smile, your heart pounding in your ears. “Everything’s fine. Uh, just shoot me a venmo request for what I owe for dinner, alright?” Before they get a chance to respond you’re walking away from the table, brisk steps as your breathing starts to speed up. You can’t help but feel like you’re in trouble even though you don’t know how leaving a scarf could be a punishable offense. Your brain typically jumps to the worst possible conclusion, especially when your boss is the one aggressively texting you at 7:30pm on a Friday evening.

“Hey! Wait!” Catherine is chasing after you, nearly out of breath. You blink and realize you’re already at your car door, your feet having taken you where you needed to go while your mind raced. 

“I said you could shoot me a Venmo request—“

“No, no, this isn’t about that. I promised my brother I would ask you-“

“Dylan?” 

“Y-yeah, he’s been asking about you. A lot. He wanted me to ask if you were interested in getting dinner with him sometime.” Catherine is nearly out of breath as she rattles the question off to you. To say you are frazzled is an understatement. You’ve had a crush on Dylan since you were a kid and even though so much time has passed since then, the two of you having grown up, you still had a soft spot for him. You wish you could take a moment to fully comprehend the fact that your childhood crush is asking you out for dinner (through his sister, which isn’t the best but can’t win ‘em all) but the gnawing stress of Terzo’s text overrides everything. 

“Sure, yeah!” You are frantic, quickly getting into your car and then shouting through your window that is not rolled down. “Give him my number or whatever!”

And you’re driving away. There is no way you can think about anything right now, your thoughts running together in strings that make no sense. But there’s no way Terzo could be mad at you because you haven’t done anything wrong . Your feet slam on the breaks, throwing your car into park and opening your door in one swift movement. The rambling thoughts that had been clouding your brain disappear once you see him standing on his porch, waiting for you. You suck in a deep breath and hold it for a moment before getting out of the car, forcing yourself to mellow out. The last thing you want to do is march up there guns blazing. 

He is absolutely delighted. You came when he texted, sparing no time and not even giving him a heads up you were on your way over. He must have weaseled his way deep into your head and it makes groan to himself, eyeing you in your car. Terzo wonders what else he could ask of you. 

“Buonasera, toppolino! You did not answer my text.” Terzo waves to you, the scarf dangling off of his fingers. He doesn’t sound angry whatsoever which is baffling to you. You end up standing right in front of the porch steps and he is towering over you on the top step, his shoulders broad in his smoking jacket. Terzo’s face is blank but there is a spark of mischief in his eyes as he starts to twirl the scarf in front of you. “Is this a gift you left me, eh?” He’s wearing his smoking jacket again but with a dress shirt underneath that is tastefully unbuttoned to expose his dark chest hair. You’ve seen it plenty of times before — he had a knack for being shirtless in front of you but this felt far more enticing, like he had framed his chest just for you.

“I forgot it! I don't even remember wearing a scarf this morning.” You cross your arms, eyes narrowing at him. Still a goof it seems. “Was it really important to have me pick it up now? Was my scarf bothering you?” You’re teasing but there is an edge to your voice because how could you not be annoyed at the situation? He worked you up for no reason. You left dinner with friends for this. Terzo’s lips twitch into a grin and he tilts his head, eyeing you suggestively. 

“Scusi? I am being a gentleman, puffetta.” He dramatically walks down the stairs until he is on the last step, still towering above you as he brings the scarf up to your neck. Your breath catches when his fingertips brush along your neck, looping the scarf around your neck and making sure to touch your tender skin more than is necessary. “I don’t want that pretty little neck of yours to get chilly.” You forget why you were frustrated with him in the first place as he touches you, your lips quivering and your skin burning from the sensation. Terzo is so handsome in this light, the dark paints around his eyes making his mismatched irises glow. He cups your jaw and tilts your head back, looking over his work of tying your scarf firmly around your neck, thumb lightly grazing along your cheek.

You look delicious to him with your lips parted and your eyes half-lidded. Terzo could easily take it too far, he thinks about gripping your neck and squeezing just to see what would happen but baby steps . You would be begging for him to touch you sooner or later. His thumb swipes at the corner of your lips before pulling his hand away from you and taking a step back up another stair, miraculously not tripping over his own feet. The two of you stand still and stare at each other before finally you adjust the scarf around your neck that he tied just a tad too.

“What does puffetta mean?” You break the silence. Terzo’s brows shoot up as he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, giving a small shrug.

“Smurfette.”

“ Smurfette?!” That has never been one of your guesses. 

“A term of endearment, puffetta .” He watches you flounder deliciously. “I’ll see you Monday morning.” Terzo winks and turns on heel, walking inside his quiet mansion and turning off the porch light to leave you in darkness. 

The nerve of him. The absolute gall to have you show up here only for him to dismiss you so quickly. You breathe heavy, realizing that your legs are wobbling from the way he had touched you. 

You want more.

Chapter Text

Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.

“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.

Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.

And you want to know more.

***

“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.

“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”

“Spritz?”

“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?

“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.

Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.

What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.

Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.

His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).

You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.

But now you have to live with this knowledge.

You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?

“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.

Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.

Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?

Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.

Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.

Perfect.

Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.

You got this.

Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.

“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”

“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”

“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.

“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.

“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.

And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.

Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.

“I am going to dip you now.”

“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.

“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”

And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.

“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.

“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.

His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?

One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.

“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.

You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.

How are you going to be able to think about anything else?

Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.

You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.

The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.

“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.

The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole **the **Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.

Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.

That would be fucked.

Chapter Text

The date is going surprisingly well. You chose an Italian spot (ha!) and have had your fill of lobster ravioli and Cabernet Sauvignon all while you learned more about Dylan since he graduated high school. Went to a state school in the middle of bumblefuck, drank and drank some more, got overly into the college culture (emphasis on cult) and tipped a few cows in his time. It aligns perfectly with the slivers of information Catherine gave you through the years, though he’s mentioned nothing of the steady college girlfriend he supposedly had. Interesting. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You’re smiley. But it does feel like an act that’s partially fueled by alcohol and having someone’s attention on you.

He’s still talking but you’re admiring his small, button nose, how his brunette locks shape his face and his bright smile. You can’t help but think his face is a little too smooth, though. Has this boy been through anything meaningful? Has he suffered at all in his shiny little life? Your mind drifts back to Terzo’s rough hands and how they felt on you earlier that day. He forced you to your knees and it was clear that it wasn’t the first time he’s done so. You can still taste him on your tongue.

“You haven’t told me about your job! Aren’t you like an assistant?” Dylan snaps you out of it and you offer a shy smile.

“Yeah! I had to get out of that call center, man. It was like draining my life force. Not that this isn’t difficult but it’s nice to not be yelled at by some rando on the phone for hours a day.” You toy with your glass of wine.

“So, like what do you assist in? Is it just you?”

Huh. You’ve never really explained exactly what you do to anyone. Not even Catherine or Erica — you only really focused on Him. That won’t go over too well in this situation, will it?

“It’s just me and it’s mainly house maintenance right now. My boss’ place was a disaster when I started.” Perhaps the most watered down description of your job.

“So you’re like… you’ve cleaned it up?” There’s judgment in his voice that’s immediately sobering. He stares at you blankly.

“I guess I meant more like projects. The last big one was fixing up his yard. I had to manage the budget and scheduling of the landscapers and stuff.” Your voice is flat.

“Oh, okay gotcha.” Dylan nods and he is back to smiling. You’re seething on the inside. Was your answer acceptable to him? “What’s your boss like? Is he a guy?”

What the.

“Yeah, he’s a guy. He’s a little weird. Definitely eccentric. I’ve tried not to pry too much into his personal life, you know. Boundaries and all that, but when I first started he had me sort out some of his things and it looked like he used to be the lead singer in a band.” Another oddly phrased question. At least now you’ve been prompted to bring up the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Oh, shit! That sounds awesome! What band?”

Oh, do you hesitate. A long silence stretches between you two.

“I’m… I’m not sure I should say. I don’t want to blow up his spot or anything.” You’re sheepish suddenly and Dylan notices.

“Aw, come on. Who am I gonna tell?” A good question. You drum your fingers on the table, thinking about how you’ve never really told anyone who your boss actually is.

“Catherine will tell me if she finds out.” A warning, last one until the big reveal. Dylan nods enthusiastically, some of his hairs falling into his forehead. For a split second you think that maybe if you were younger with much less life experience perhaps he would be perfect for you. But you know too much and you know that he wouldn’t be able to give you what you want. “It was Ghost.”

“Oh.” He makes a face and leans back in his chair.

“Oh? Sorry, is that not impressive enough?”

“No, no. It’s still cool. They’re just… I don’t know.”

Do you continue this conversation? Do you care what he thinks? You don’t…but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it, Dylan? Are they lame? I’ve tried to… you know, not dig too deep into it because I feel like that would affect my professionalism.” That and you didn’t want to completely pry into the man’s life.

“Oh, I get that. Uhhh, I mean they’re not REALLY metal. They say they’re metal but they’re not so it’s just a little weird.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. You knit your brows together because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right. Okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, they are basically like pop. Not metal, not at all.” He sounds so impassioned and you nod along but it feels inappropriate. Why is he so pressed? It turns you off even more and you do everything in your power to get this date wrapped up. You are done drinking and you’re too full for dessert. Responses shorten and eventually you’re out front on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber. Dylan has insisted on waiting with you and hovers just a bit too closely by your side. He seems a little oblivious to how this date has gone, bless his heart.

“Well, this is me.” Awkward, so awkward. You move to get into the car but Dylan stops you by your arm and leans in for a kiss. It’s truly over before it starts, a quick peck before he pulls away with a smirk. You are dying on the inside.

“We’ll hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Yes.” You lie and hurry into the Uber, wanting nothing more than this wretched day to finally end.

Terzo blinks awake. The cool air of the night pricks his cheeks. Leaves crunch beneath his soggy socks. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering on his thick chest hair. A robe hangs loosely from his shoulders. Terzo’s eyes drift down to his hand to see he’s wearing his black gloves with sharp, golden nails. He squints and there’s something black stuck to one of the points. Gaze drifts to where he is. His driveway. A breeze rolls by that sends shivers down his spine as his eyes focus on your car.

He’s slashed one of your tires.

Terzo cackles wildly upon this realization. This is new even for him and his weird, otherworldly tendencies. Could be straight up mental illness. He takes a few lumbering steps forward before crouching to eye the tire, surveying the damage. Completely shredded with the rim touching the ground. There’s a familiar buzzing in his skull, a buzz that he used to get while performing. How far he had fallen. Still, he’s delighted with himself. A fitting punishment for the way you crushed him earlier. What hubris you had for leaving your car on his property. Rage shoots through him for a quick moment, the thought of you spending the night with your date crossing his mind. Would this boy drop you off in the morning? He could plan for that.

In his fits of unsatisfying sleep, ideas for being cruel sprang to his mind. He’s settled on ignoring you for most of tomorrow, to have you toil away waiting for any kind of attention but to no avail. Terzo would be watching you the whole day, of course, hidden away in dark corners and peering down from atop the grand staircase. He has always been the best at sneaking around undetected out of all of his brothers, having avoided so many moments where his father could have reamed him out due to this expertise. Primo and Secondo weren’t so lucky.

Sharp pang in his chest from thinking about them.

No, no. He must focus on you. He pushes the thoughts back to the void. You’ll be trapped here at the end of your workday because of this, wouldn’t you? That’s when he’ll reveal himself. He’ll torture you. Tease the information of your date out of you.

How well could it have gone when you are so devoted to him?

The house is cold without him, a shiver running down your spine every time you found yourself in a dark corridor. You try to keep your thoughts to a minimum and are somewhat thankful that the contractor was able to come today. He’s a quiet man but seems to enjoy your cheerfulness which breathes life into an otherwise miserable day. Between directions and answering questions, you would wander the first floor and hover by the stairs, listening for any signs of life only to hear silence. The last time you saw him flits through your mind — the pressure of the hand on your neck that forced you to the ground seconds after he angrily spat in your face seconds after he kissed you. What the hell. You should be furious at him for treating you that way, for leaping over the carefully placed boundaries the two of you have been dancing around for weeks.

But instead you sigh dreamily. You burn for him. Cheeks grow hot just from thinking about his rough hands on you. You hope he’s okay. And you’re sure he is, he’s a big boy.

The fact that you’re more worried about his feelings than you are about potentially losing your job over this is not lost on you. You’ve lived in constant fear of getting fired over the smallest mistakes since the start of this job but you are oddly calm about this situation. This feels like a natural progression. There was going to be a time where you had to confront this strange connection and you would rather it happen sooner rather than later with the way things have been going. As painful as it would be (emotionally AND financially) to say goodbye to him maybe it would be best for it be sooner rather than later.

The day goes by at a painfully slow pace with no sign of him. Anxiety builds and builds as you watch your clock tick down on your phone. You’ve taken to painstakingly wiping down every single mirror on the first floor (there is an absurd amount of them) because it takes up time and gives you something to focus one. After a while interacting with the contractor becomes painful for you, too heightened to be able to function in a normal social setting. You send him home early with a smile, being Friday and all, and you continue carrying out your mirror mission. This takes you to around 4:30 at which point you say “fuck it” and decide it’s time for bed! What is the point of even being here anymore when you could be under your comforter with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream as you ponder your existence?

It was an easy decision.

You meander out the front door, making sure not to slam it shut but have it at least be somewhat loud to announce your exit. Yes, you are stooping that low. A quick wave of relief washes over you because you made it. The day is over and while the issue looms you are at least out of his domain. Car keys jingle in your pocket. You make quick work of the walk from the porch to your car until the state of your tire stops you in your tracks.

“Oh my god!” You’re in disbelief. It’s like an animal chewed through the rubber. Your rim is on the ground. Tears start to well up in your eyes. This is it. This is the thing that’s pushed you over the edge today. A frustrated screech bubbles up your chest.

“Come back inside.”

You freeze as soon as you hear his voice. Spinning on heel, you turn to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a column on the porch. His dress shirt is the darkest black you’ve ever seen, partially unbuttoned to show off thick chest hair and cut slacks show off his strong thighs. Did he get dressed up for you? His paint is crisp and hair is slicked back neatly. Fuck, he looks good*.*

“I can get an Uber?” A question as if you’re asking him permission, taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Hmmm. No. I’ll call you a driver.” A rough response but you can’t help but feel warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach. “Get back inside.” Terzo growls, his gaze stern and pointed. He leaves you alone in his front yard. You feel silly by how hard your heart hammers in your chest but this is what you’ve been wanting all day. A moment passes by and you work up your courage to go inside and take your punishment. Thoughts of your shredded tire fade.

You walk inside the foyer and follow the sound of clinking glasses, finding him at the bar in the den. Terzo’s gaze falls to you then he directs you to the couch with his eyes. You silently follow the order and sit on one of the couch cushions furthest away from him. There’s a lump in your throat, fidgeting with your hands as you wait for him to join you. Eventually he turns around to face you with two drinks in his hand, one a red martini with a lime green umbrella and the other a pint full of something gross looking - not beer but still brown? His face is blank and you try to match his energy but it’s hard to keep your blush at bay. You reach out to take the martini from him but he pulls it back out of your grasp and instead presses the pint into your hand. The smell fills your nostrils: whiskey. Yuck. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, allowing for plenty of space between you two. This is how you notice his gloves, tight and black with sharp golden nails.

“You’ve called the driver already, right?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes but you’re still not sure you believe him.

Terzo’s arm stretches across the back of the couch, gloves just brushing your shoulder. Your grip on your whiskey tightens. This isn’t his usual charming aloofness, there’s something cold and cruel bubbling beneath the surface. Still, you want nothing more than to speak to him, even if he’s obviously pissed at you. He lifts his other hand up to his face, admiring the sharp golden nails adorned to his leather gloves. Eyes slowly drag from them to settle on you, gaze so piercing and yet uninterested in you.

“So, you had him pick you up here, si?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Drink.” He points at your glass and narrows his eyes. Not playing around. You do as he says and take a sip. “Keep drinking.” Lip twitches in a faint show of satisfaction as you bring the glass up back to your lips and take a deep gulp. There’s delight in his eyes and you’re more than happy to play the game just to see more of it. Your eyes twitch and you cough once you set the glass, the whiskey burns your throat.

“It was convenient for him.” Words are rough from the sting of alcohol.

“Ohh, was it now?” Terzo growls and digs his nails into the couch, tearing into the fabric. The sound gives you goosebumps. You open your mouth but he’s too quick. “Finish your drink.” He snaps, daggers for eyes that sends a chill down your spine. You swallow thickly and toy with your glass with the tips of your fingers before bringing it back up to your lips. Head tips back, the room swirls and you swallow down the rest of the liquid.

“Gross. Ugh.” Grimacing as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “It’s less of a drive for him and I’m a pushover, okay?” You sigh, only partially joking. His eyes noticeably soften. You sink deeper into the cushion. “I said yes to this date because it was with my best friend’s older brother who I’ve known forever and I’ve always had a crush on him.” Terzo’s fingers shift from the couch to your shoulder, his nails just short of tearing through your shirt, his anger coming back up to a simmer just below the surface, but you continue on unafraid.

“I had to see what would happen. You have to understand… you build the thing up in your head as something perfect and special but then when you actually actually experience it…” You deflate and you eyes wander away from him, wanting to look anywhere else. “It’s never as good as you imagined it. Plus, he was a garbage kisser.” You immediately regret the words as soon as you say them. They hang heavy in the air and the air catches in your lungs. You feel him shift on the couch but you can’t bring yourself to look until his his hand curls around by back of your neck and forces you to look at him. Eyes sharp like knives.

“You let him kiss you.” A statement, not a question. Terzo makes you watch as he slinks closer to you. There’s like a current coming off of him right now that has you paralyzed even though you so badly want to protest. You whimper, words getting caught in your throat as he reaches for you. He grabs you by your waist with the tips of his claws poking against your skin, that delicious danger teasing you as always. “How did it compare?” Terzo trills, a charming smile with vicious edge. Hoo boy. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“It didn’t compare at all.” You whisper as you try to sink as far into the couch as possible. Not because you don’t want to be close to him but you’re confused. Everything about this feels like a trap, like one wrong answer could set him alight but you’re not exactly fighting it. Instincts are telling you to run but you stay exactly where you are. Terzo’s hand drift up your sides, suggestively squeezing you in all the right places until he’s holding you by your shoulders. He’s smiling wider than before and there’s glee in his eyes — he’s pleased with you. A torrent of heat shoots through your core. He doesn’t say anything, merely taking in your reactions to his touches. His finger tips glide across your top, nearly clipping right through it until his hands settle around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp for air, then leans in to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Tease.

“I could hurt you.” Terzo muses against your lips, lashes fluttering and eyes wide. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Silence passes comfortably between the both of you as you take in each other’s breaths and warmth.

“I know. I’m… afraid of that. But it’s why I’m here.” You feel drunk, the words just tumbling out of you but you don’t care anymore. He is so close to kissing you that you can nearly taste him but instead he pulls away with a wry smile.

“Your glass is empty.” Terzo snickers and then jumps up in a way that can only be described as cat-like, snatching the glass from your hands. You’re left hot and bothered as he turns his back to you to saunter over to the bar. Alone with your thoughts while you watch him pour you another generous whiskey. Oh no. Oh no. You can still taste it on your tongue and it is not for you. But when he turns around with the warmth and charm you’ve been wanting all doubts are gone. You’re going to be messy tonight and that’s just that. When he turns back to face you he’s at least given you half of what he did the first time, walking slowly over to where you’re sitting on the couch.

He looms over you as your eyes drift up to meet his gaze and he audibly growls. You suck in a sharp breath, your nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Terzo lifts a hand up and brushes his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. He brings the glass to your lips and tips it back. You part your lips, the whiskey burning as it spills down your throat. He continues to pour until you can’t keep up with it and it leaks out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You gasp and he flings the glass down onto the side table as he crushes his mouth against yours, unable to keep away from you any longer.

And you certainly don’t care that he all but purrs into your mouth, soft lips moving against yours. He cups your face with his gloved hands, leather thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he slips onto the couch beside you without breaking the kiss. Fingers curl around his wrist and you press in close to him, losing yourself in how he tastes. His velvety tongue probes your mouth as the kiss grows in intensity. Deep pants try to keep your feet on the ground but you’re off in space, exhaustion and comfort mixing in a way that has you floating. Terzo pulls away from the kiss and you can hardly open your eyes. He gently guides your head to his chest, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“You never called me a driver did you?”

“Oh no. Never considered it.” Terzo squeezes you in his arms.

Oh, he’s so warm. A rumbling groan falls from your lips as his wraps his arms around you, just holding you there. Your limbs relax and you sink deeper into his chest as he starts to rubs up and down your back. In that moment you know you’re a goner. A deep, sleepy sigh falls from your lips and in a matter of minutes you are out cold.

Terzo almost feels guilty for being such an ass. Almost. He feels for you, he can relate to realizing that something isn’t all it was cracked out to be. At least for you it was a childhood crush and not being raised for one person. But still, he was a tad mean wasn’t he? It was necessary and the tension… the tension had been so delicious. Watching you squirm under his intense stare. And you just did what he said, unquestioningly, even when had you drink and drink and drink. Adrenaline is pumping through him and he struggles to contain himself— he must not go any further, despite how tempted he is. He could get away with it. You’re so soft, so pliable and so wanting. Terzo can feel the heat radiating off of you, no doubt from the alcohol and your closeness. He could slip his hand between your thighs and give you exactly what you want.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you. Terzo wants you coherent and focused when he takes you. Plus you’re adorably snuggled against him right now, your soft breaths against his chest. He’s longed for this and you did not disappoint. Wait a minute. Are you sleeping? He is about to fall apart, his arms wrapping so much tighter around you. The urge to keep you safe, to keep you here and never let you leave overcomes him*.* He squeezes your hand that is clutched to his chest and then gingerly picks it up and places it back in your lap.

“Sleepy?”

You lift your heavy head to look at him and good god do you want to be asleep right now. A tender smiles breaks out across his face as he swipes some of your hair from your eyes. A stark contrast from how close he had just been to strangling you.

“Take the guest room tonight, puffetta. I will bring you some clothes.” Terzo pulls himself to his feet. “Meet you up there.” He’s so soft, so different than how torturous he was of you earlier. You’re sure he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear from you but he’s unpredictable. Something you liked about him. There’s an unknown darkness that lies beneath his charm and good looks and it calls out to you. You’ve never felt this way about anyone. How could you ever get away now?

You blink and realize that you’re alone. You’ve been alone. Oh shit. Scrambling off of the couch, you trip over your own feet with the effects of the whiskey hitting you hard.

Ah, the guest room. A cramped space with antique furniture that could use some time and attention. The overall theme of the room is… dust. You’ve brought up having the dresser refinished or even repainted and replacing the peeling wallpaper but it’s low on the list of priorities. You push the door shut and give a soft sigh of relief. Shoes come off. A lamp on the bedside table barely illuminates the room and a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt are waiting for you on the bed. Eyes scan over the remainder of the comforter and pillows, wondering if anyone had ever slept here. You can’t help the feeling that you’re being watched but maybe the fact that you’re about to wear your boss’ clothes isn’t meshing well with the practically decaying room.

“Whatever.” You huff to yourself and undress with the grace of a toddler, kicking your pants off and throwing your removed clothes into a pile on the ground. Sitting down on the bed, you pull up the sweatpants and they are loose as they settle around your waist. The shirt slips over your head and swallows up your upper body. Did he purposely give you his largest clothing to make you feel small? It is so cozy, though. You wrap your arms around your body and flop back onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets. Comfortable heat spreads across your skin from buzz of the alcohol. Limbs go limp and your eyelids grow heavy, a deep sigh falling from your lips. Fading fast.

The piercing ring of the rotary phone cracks through the air and you jolt upright and wide awake. What the? You don’t remember seeing it when you came in and it’s not like it blends in — it’s bright red with intricate black etchings along the base and the handle of the receiver. Not a speck of dust on it. The phone rings again, somehow louder and more harmful to your ears than before. You blink and suddenly you’re standing directly in front of the dresser with one hand curled around the receiver. Heart is pounding in your chest and ears. Something is calling out to you. Answer it. Answer it. Answerit. answeritansweritansweritanswerit.

You pick up the phone to silence. Then chittering. The receiver is hot on your cheek. Something pricks your ear but you can’t pull away. There’s a squelch. A screech. More screaming. It only gets louder and louder, needles in your ears, pain shooting through your brain. You can’t breathe. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers and shuffle your bare feet against the cold floor, the only thing you’re able to get your body to do other than press the phone so hard against your head. The closer you listen to the screams the more familiar they get, growing in intensity, pain and volume. Burning, the receiver is burning now and yet you can’t move, you can’t get any relief. The phone cord is nearly completely tangled around your wrist and you’re sweating, gasping for breath, and crying without even realizing it. The screams finally subside, replaced by a cold, dead silence.

You hang up the phone.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over you and you collapse onto the bed. The world spins as you sink into the soft mattress, the dial tone still echoing in your ears.

Chapter Text

Terzo’s pajama pants drag across the floor, having had trouble finding basically any pair of pants that fit his length since losing out on the ministry’s tailor. He’s grown used to it and has even gone so far as to hardly wear socks anymore due to his pant legs curling beneath his toes. Anxious to get back to you, to see how you’re handling falling headfirst into his trap. As he nears the guest room he is met with silence until he creeps closer to the door. A dim light spills into the hallway and he can hear soft pants and whines coming from inside. His stomach drops, lurching to push the door open. You’re on the bed with your knees pulled up to your chest, cheeks wet and eyes red.

“I-I can’t stay here,” you whimper as shaky hands rub your red eyes. “Something’s n-not right here.” Terzo is immediately in front of you, knees working his way to around your legs and his hands gingerly pushing your fingers away from your face to cup your cheeks. He is practically on top of you, the concern in his eyes nearly sending you into another fit of tears. Your head feels so heavy in his hands.

“What has happened, principessa? You are shaking like the leaf.” You’re surprised by the softness of his voice compared to the grip he currently has on your face, like you’ll disappear if he were to let you go. He brushes the hair out of your eyes with his thumbs. You try to catch your breath, almost unable to focus on anything other than how devastatingly handsome he looks. God, you really are drunk. Mumbling, you lift your arm that feels impossibly heavy to point at the suspicious telephone on the dresser.

He follows your fingertip and his entire body goes rigid as he sees it, rage boiling up inside of him. Terzo knows he can’t let it blow, not now, not while he has you in his arms. He takes a deep breath and turns back to you, leaning in so close that strands of his hair skim your forehead. “I am here now, topolina, eh? Here to protect you from the monsters.” Your eyes widen as if he’s serious. Is he serious? Was that phone call even real? You find yourself nodding. “I will take you to my room now, yes?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond, instead scooping you up into his arms and hurrying out of the guest room.

Terzo is so warm. The fear and tension evaporates from your body, going completely limp against his chest. You are nearly being lulled to sleep just by his heavy steps and the steady beat of your heart. Visions blurs and when you’re able to focus again you’re being lowered onto a plush mattress. A comforter magically drapes across your body and you continue to sink into a cozy haze.

He stands over you unable to tear his eyes away or even move. Bewitched to see you in his bed. Terzo considers taking to the couch so you can have the bed to yourself but… but he’s a selfish, bad man. The mattress dips as he slides into bed beside you though he does allow for some space between you. Sleepy eyes flutter open and you look at each other. You start the little game, inching closer to him every few moments just for him to do the same until the tips of your noses touch. It’s almost juvenile, like having your first sleepover with a boy.

Lips brush against his and you’re kissing, timid and cutesy at first. The taste of alcohol is strong on your tongue and lips that he greedily sucks and laps at as your bodies press closer together. Terzo has his arms curled around your waist, pulling you tight against as your hands roam his coarse chest hair at your fingertips. You’re head is so heavy but your thoughts are light, each little sound from him sending you further into madness.

“Puffetta, you are tipsy,” he murmurs against your lips but there’s an edge of seriousness — you are drunk and no matter how hard you beg for him it would be wrong for him to truly take advantage. Still, his cool fingers slip beneath the hem of your t-shirt and he starts to stroke along your hip bones. Your hot skin only becomes hotter, face flushing as you try to wriggle yourself even closer to him.

“But I want you to.” An exasperated whine while your heart beats out of your chest. The whiskey he had you drink is going directly to your clit, throbbing with a primal need. You can’t believe you’re here in his bed, between luxurious purple sheets. Another whine and you hook your leg over Terzo’s hip to pull him in closer. “Touch me. Touch me please,” you whisper and chew on your lower lip.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Eve tempting the serpent.

He could take you so easily. Push your underwear to the side while you press into his touch. You’re probably so wet right now, so wanting. Terzo groans and removes one hand from underneath your shirt to gently push your leg off of his hip. The disappointment in your eyes makes him hesitate for just a moment until he gives your thigh and rough squeeze, making you mewl. Oh, what sweet sounds he could get you to make. He sucks in a deep breath, taking a moment to settle himself and ignore his burgeoning hardness in his boxers, and then brushes the tip of his nose against yours with a wicked grin.

“Okay, I’ll touch you. I’ll touch you along your stomach… your hips, your thighs…” His eyes are dark as they bore into yours. “Everywhere that isn’t private.” You huff and open your mouth to interject but he cuts you off. “I’ll make you feel good, prometto. Let me, gattina.” His husky voice and sharp squeeze of your hip has you nodding in agreement. Terzo knows best, doesn’t he?

He begins to trace slow, tantalizing circles along your inner thighs, making you shiver. You can feel the heat pooling even more intensely between your legs, but his touch remains just shy of where you need it most. For now, you let yourself get lost in the sensation, trusting him to keep his promise. Terzo’s bare fingers dance along your skin, igniting tiny sparks of pleasure with each stroke mixed with how soothing it all feels. To finally feel his hands all over you. You arch your back slightly, trying to coax him to where you need him, but he remains just shy.

"Terzo..." you breathe out, your voice a mix of desperation and drowsiness.

“I knew you wanted me,” he chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. Strong hands drift up your stomach and sides, so close to your breasts but just grazing the sides of them. You let out a shaky sigh, your body trembling with anticipation. “Calm yourself, puffetta. Aren’t you sleepy?” His fingers continue their journey, tracing patterns along your sides.

His touch is maddening, a tease that leaves you both frustrated and yearning. You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the alcohol and desire pulling you into a hazy state. His lips brush your temple as he whispers, "rest now, there will be a time for this.

"Promise?" You murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as you lean into his gentle touch.

"Prometto," he assures you, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core. His hands continue their soothing patterns along your sides, easing you into a sense of calm and comfort.

Your breathing steadies as you sink further into the couch. The fire inside you starts to die down, limbs growing heavy. Terzo’s soft breath on your skin and his deep strokes of your hips soothe you to sleep in his arms. He gives a shuddered gasp as you finally succumb to sleep, burying his face into the crook of your neck to take a deep inhale of your scent.

He can’t let you leave now, can he? Not when you’re finally here, so close and so vulnerable. He tightens his grip on you, a possessive edge creeping into his touch. Lips graze your shoulders and he shudders again, white hot desire coursing through him. Terzo bites the inside of his mouth hard to calm himself, to focus on something other than you.

But you’re here. In his arms. Snoring quietly. He sighs against you, arms around you giving you a firm squeeze. Sharing his bed with someone almost seemed like something he would never do again. But you’re here. His mind quiets, a sense of peace washing over him. You are here for him. Not because of his position or his family. Eh, perhaps the money and the mystique helped but… Terzo hums quietly and brushes his nose along your shoulder.

You’re here.

You wake up with your head in his armpit. Eyes blink open and the scent of him fills your nose, musky and comforting. You wiggle slightly, trying to adjust your position, but his arm tightens around you, pulling you closer. If your head didn’t hurt so much you would be swooning. Cheek rests against his chest and you take a deep breath. Terzo stirs beneath you, his hand drifting up your head to lazily pet your hair. A content hum leaves your lips and you feel him stiffen, fingers digging into your scalp. You lift your head so that you can see him.

Terzo’s eyes are already dark. A beat passes between you, holding each other’s gaze until he gives in. He presses a timid kiss to your lips as his other arm wraps around your waist. You blink as his head tips back for a moment, a delicious grin spreading across his face before he rolls you on to your back.

His lips capture yours again, more urgently this time, as his hands roam your body with newfound purpose. Morning light filters through the curtains, bathing you in a comfortable warmth that spreads beneath your skin. Cheeks are already flushed and you mewl into the kiss as you bring one of your hands up to cup the side of his face. The tips of your fingers brush along his hairline, feeling his silky hair for the first time.

"Terzo," you murmur against his lips with a huff, the desire in your voice evident. He responds with a low growl, his fingers tracing the along your collarbone, sending shivers down your body. “Please.”

He feels a pang of deep arousal in his gut as that word falls from your mouth. There’s a brief reprieve, his nearly black eyes gazing into yours, giving a sharp inhale before he grabs you. Fingers dig into the back of your head, his mouth hovering just over yours as his hand snakes down the front of your sweatpants. Palm presses against the heat between your legs and your entire body jolts from him finally touching you where you want him to. Your jaw goes slack, giving a small whine as your eyes flutter shut.

“O-oh,” Terzo gasps, shuddering just from the noise you made. He desperately wants to hear more of it so he pushes your already damp underwear to the side and runs his deft fingers over your wet folds. Your hips buck against his touch as his name falls from your lips. Terzo moans and leans down to press his forehead against yours, sharp gaze locked on your every reaction. A finger slips inside you and your whole body tenses, breath caught in your throat. He starts with long, slow strokes in a come hither motion, making your toes curl and your legs tense.

He is absolutely loving this, completely consumed by the way your body reacts to him. This is a moment he has dreamed about, thinking up the perfect things to whisper in your ear that have sadly slipped his mind now that he has you beneath him. You rest your one hand on his arm, squeezing as your other one digs into the sheets. Terzo adds another finger, a hiss leaving his lips before crushing them against your mouth, swallowing up your needy moans and gasps. You’re drowning in him, pumping his fingers into you now at a heated pace with all your muscles clenching around him with each thrust.

You murmur his name again, your hips rolling against him with each movement, eyes half-lidded. Terzo lifts his head, a string of spittle connecting your lips as his grip on the back of your neck tightens. He’s panting heavily, his chest nearly rising and falling at the same rate while your fingers dig into his arm, whining at the loss of his mouth. Tension continues to rise within you, heat spreading beneath your skin. His body is nearly between your legs now, hips grinding along with each of his thrusts until he’s rutting against your inner thigh. You can’t handle it, a thunderous moan spilling from your lips as you clench around his fingers. The orgasm rips through you, pleasure so intense that it makes you see stars.

The snarl that rips from Terzo’s throat brings you back to the present. His hand bunches up your shirt and shoves it up your chest, exposing your breasts. You give a sharp gasp only for the air to be immediately expelled from your lungs as his other hand frees his throbbing cock from his briefs. It is perhaps the most handsome penis you have ever seen. He grasps himself with his large hand and starts to stroke at a frantic pace, his mouth dropping open with a groan. Impossibly dark eyes meet yours, heart thundering in your ears as you watch him pleasure himself. Your name tumbles from his lips, your actual name, before he gives a stuttered grunt and comes undone. You can’t help but flinch, arms flying up to shield your face. He moans with each pulse of his cock, his seed spilling on your chest and stomach.

Wide eyes stare into his hazy gaze. Terzo pants heavily, chest rising and falling with force as he takes in the mess he’s made. “You are afraid?” His voice his hoarse but his eyes have softened and his lips twitch into a barely there grin.

“Afraid?” You blink at him, eyebrows shooting up in confusion. It tears your mind away from overanalyzing the fact that your boss’ jizz is currently pooling in your bellybutton.

“Of my sperms,” he trills, unable to hold back his smirk any longer. You roll your eyes as he leans over you to grab a towel conveniently on his nightstand.

“I didn’t want it to get in my hair,” you huff and lean up on your elbows. Terzo gently wipes down each boob and continues down your stomach.

“Ah, si. Makes it, ehhh, clumpy.” He smiles wide, crinkly eyes forcing your frown to dissolve into a giggle. “Need a shower, cara?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Mmm, well I need one.” Terzo presses a kiss to your forehead before slinking off you to his feet. “Don’t snoop. I will know if you do.” He wags a finger at you, squinting his eyes. Drama king. You hold your hands up with an innocent look on your face. His nostrils flare and then he wobbles to the bathroom, his briefs around his ankles. You sink back into the bed, sweatpants around your thighs and your shirt bunched up underneath your armpits. Sitting up, you adjust your clothes so that you’re covered up and finally, you let your mind wander.

The insides of your thighs are still twitching. You feel like you could be drunk again, your head still buzzing from the way he worked you with his fingers. The water starts to run, filling the room with soft white noise.

You dangle your legs at the edge of the bed, eyes wandering the room now that Terzo is in the shower. It’s the nicest room in the whole house — chic, vintage furniture that is beautifully stained a deep purple that stands out against the intricate black wallpaper. Candelabras are scattered throughout with black candles half burned away. The mattress is comfortable, soft with a mass of pillows and several blankets including a sprawling comfortable that’s currently pooled around your waist. You catch your reflection in a floor to ceiling ornate golden mirror.

Hair a mess and swollen lips, complete with an exhausted expression. You run your fingers through your locks in an attempt to smooth it out and untangle some of the knots. Tips of your fingers travel down your cheek so settle on your pink lips with a light touch, thinking about the night before, or at least what you could remember from it. The way he pressed the glass to your lips and made you swallow all that whiskey before stealing your breath away with a bruising kiss. The line has been more than crossed, it’s been pole vaulted over. Eyes continue to drift around the room.

You become focused on the golden framed artwork on the wall in front of you, taking up the space above a low dresser. It’s him; Terzo with his hand raised above him holding up a geometric ball of light that streaks through what looks like the night sky. You’re compelled to your feet to get a closer look at the details. The shower turns off but you’re distracted — he looks almost like a statue, his figure a pale yellow in contrast to the dark sky. Like he carries the light inside of him. You want to reach out and touch the frame but the light is so bright, a worry crosses your mind that it could shock you — like Terzo had shocked you the other day. This doesn’t stop you from leaning in closer to it, admiring the image of him. You realize that he doesn’t have his scar.

It draws you in like the rotary phone did last night, except the art is much more welcoming. As your mind drifts to the phone call you feel a chill. Did that actually happen? The sounds echo in your head, the screams of agony and the squelching. Had you fallen asleep and dreamt it? You hum quietly to yourself. It’s not the best omen for a budding romance. Then again, it is only one of several red flags that have popped up since working for him and none of them have stopped you thus far.

The bathroom door opens and Terzo steps out, a towel draped loosely around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin and his paint still drying. He pauses, admiring you from behind for a moment until his gaze falls to what you’re doing.

Lightbringer.

Well, an edited version. He didn’t want to be reminded of the Clergy’s chess game, how he was merely a prop to forward their cause. Not the true cause. Lightbringer reminds him that for a time people truly did see him as a guiding light. Terzo’s eyes drift back to you, still in his clothes from the night before. His chest tightens, realizing that you’ve been the one guiding him these days.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is heavy with sleep as he takes a few steps towards you. You’re caught — jumping at the sudden sound of his voice before anxiously laughing it off, turning to look at him. You feel a jolt of arousal. Despite seeing him rather naked, the way water drips down his thick chest hair makes a sound bubble up your throat. Still, your eyes linger on the jagged scar that spans his entire neck.

“Could use some Advil I think,” you manage, rocking on your heels as use one hand to massage your temples. “Do you mind if I freshen up a bit?”

“A-ah, yes of course,” he shuffles out of the way before having a seat on the bed, pointing you in the direction of the bathroom. “There should be Advil in the cabinet.” Terzo props up his head in his hand, eyes lingering on you for a long while. You feel frozen in his gaze, the air catching in your lungs. You’re here in his room. In his clothes. You spent the night with him. He fucked you with his fingers not long ago. Forcing yourself forward, you give him another anxious grin and hurry by him to the bathroom.

He watches you go, drinking in your figure with a hungry look. The minute you’ve disappeared behind the bathroom door he gives a shaky exhale, his hand falling to grip the edge of the mattress. Nails easily tear through the fitted sheet, leaving claw marks. He brings his hand up to his nose to smell what’s left of you on his fingers with a growl. You’re still here and sober. Now, Terzo has to keep you. He has unending experience with seduction, luring people who can be easily swayed into the clutches of the ministry but he was only the figurehead. He was the shiny, handsome man who would reach out his hand and have twenty people take it but getting them to stay was never something he never had to worry about.

And his track record with relationships is abysmal. Is this even a relationship, though? He exhales through clenched teeth — he’s getting ahead of himself. You’re here and you must stay, no matter what Terzo decides to put you through. You’re his toy, after all. But he likes you*.* He chews on the inside of his cheek. An internal struggle ensues between wanting to give you the affection and love you so deserve or to ruin you like how he ruined all his other toys.

Terzo could use advice but the person he usually got it from could have been who was on the other side of the phone call you received. Why did it appear to you? It only ever would manifest for him, having been touched by the hells and all, why would the proverbial they want to communicate with you? **He can’t help but think he must have cursed you somehow.

His thoughts melt away as you emerge from the bathroom looking fresh and alert. He leans back on his hands unable to hold back the smile that cracks across his face. It may be the first time he’s felt true happiness since coming back.

“There’s a really good breakfast place right down the road from here if you wanna go.” You rock on your heels in front of him. His face goes blank, wide eyes meeting your gaze.

“Ehh… I don’t drive or have a car.”

“I can drive.”

“Your tire is flat.”

“Ah, right. The tire,” you sigh, having completely forgotten. “I could always get us an Uber—“

“Puffetta,” he interjects, his voice stern but still an edge of gentleness. You clamp your mouth shut and feel a pang of fear in your chest. Are you being too much already? Thoughts start to spiral until he speaks again. “I, eh… I don’t leave the house much. It’s…” he drifts off, running a hand over his face. “Difficult. It is difficult for me.” You take a moment to process his words, feeling a mixture of understanding and concern.

"That's okay," you say softly, stepping closer to him. There’s a hint of fear and worry in his eyes that makes you feel an ache in your heart. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? He might be worried about being recognized by leaving his house… or maybe it’s something deeper. You remember that despite spending much of your time with him each week there are "We can stay here. Maybe get delivery?” You scan his face, waiting for the first inkling of relief.

Terzo gives you a small, appreciative smile and you melt. "Mm, yes, let us do that." He reaches out to take your hand, toying with your fingers. You give a quiet exhale as you take a step toward him, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against your knuckles before planting soft kisses on each of your fingertips. It’s surprisingly sweet of him and it takes your breath away. Terzo’s free hand slips to your waist and pulls you into him so he can rest his head against your stomach. You start to run your fingers through his hair with a hum and you can feel him relax from your touch. He wraps his arms around you and the entire world falls away.

You stay like that for a quiet moment. This man just fingered you into oblivion but somehow this is more intimate. He lefts his head to look up at you, his mismatched eyes bright.

“Shall we start the day, baby?” Terzo’s voice is barely there, a low rumble that gives you butterflies. You nod and he’s immediately on his feet, arms still around your waist as he ushers you toward the door. He nearly trips over you with a loud giggle that fades as something catching his eye out the window.

Terzo does a double take, eyebrows furrowing. There’s an imp in his driveway. A small creature with claws and wings just wandering around your car. He focuses his eyes and realizes that it’s changing your tire.

“What’s up?” You start to turn around but he quickly squeezes you in his arms to keep your facing forward.

“E-eh, nothing. Come on — if I do not have french toast in the next hour I will perish.”

He spends most of the day watching you over the top of his copy of The Turn of the Screw. A book he read in his early days of his studies that he continues to come back to. There’s something… comforting about the story despite it being a horror. Perhaps Terzo could relate to the loneliness that plagues each of the characters— and the madness that follows. He’s not usually this quiet on the weekends, spending some time being… well, loud. Unruly. Not in a destructive way but in an over imaginative sort of way. He marches through the house and sings. One time he decided to roll himself up in his comforter and slink across the floor like a worm. The man needs activity but with you here all he wants to do is relish being in your company.

You are content with being with him, even when sitting in silence scrolling your phone while he reads. Terzo’s presence was felt more than seen during your usual working hours and you’ve never quite felt comfortable when he was around you until… well, today. You started with your head on his lap, his fingers massaging your scalp as you drifted in and out of a post-breakfast nap. As the day went on, the both of you shifted from room to room either settling sprawled over each other or snuggled in your own plush chair. It’s like two cats spending quality time together, cohabitating.

It’s not all that different from how you spend your current weekends now that your life is on a better schedule. You get to actually sleep at night now! But most of that extra time is spent in your bedroom alone, spacing out or watching some kind of trash reality tv show. Now you’re with him, breathing his air and taking up space in his home all while not working. And he’s been uncharacteristically quiet which at times sends your thoughts spiraling. Does he regret crossing the line with you? Have you overstayed your welcome? Just as you’re about to ask if you should leave he springs up from the couch.

“I have an idea, ‘fetta!” Terzo excitedly snuffles over to you with his hand outstretched. “We must enjoy the yard right this second!” You are game. Putting your hand in his you let him tug you up from your chair and out of the den. He slows down once you reach the kitchen, taking a moment to look out the window, remembering that thing that was outside earlier. Thankfully, the imp was nowhere to be found.

“You know, this has become one of my favorite pastimes.” Terzo squeezes your hand while he fishes a joint out of his pocket.

“You’ve had that this whole time?!” You reach out for it but he playfully swats your hand away.

“This doesn’t mix well with reading books,” he murmurs as he brings the joint to your lips. You swallow thickly before parting them to let him delicately place it in your mouth. “A joint and a nice lay in the grass on a warm day.” His voice dips, making your cheeks flush. You blink and the joint is suddenly lit — he must have had a match at the ready. “We must enjoy it together, si?”

“Yeah, we should,” you mumble around the joint before giving it a deep drag. Terzo plucks it from your lips just as you start coughing and slings his arms around your waist, pulling you against his hip. You walk in unison out the back door and into the yard, the sunlight bathing the both of you in its warm rays. He immediately flops onto the grass with the joint in his mouth, dragging you down with him. You don’t get outside much aside from the outdoor improvements you’ve cared for.

It’s nice to enjoy the freshly mowed grass and the cool breeze that keeps you from getting too sweaty. This is the first time you’ve seen him in sunlight, the rays kissing the wrinkles around his eyes. Terzo reaches for your hand with a sharp smile and deep dimples, lacing his fingers in yours.

Everything is so… perfect in this moment. So much so that you don’t want it to end.

Chapter Text

If you could see the wreck I am these days, you’d have new reasons to stay away. Just hold my hand for a little while —

Misery never goes out of style.

Terzo traces a delicate finger along one of the bags under his eyes, no longer concealed by the dark eye paint he once wore. His brows furrow at the sight of himself in the mirror. The wrinkles have deepened since he left the stage. His hair, now less lustrous, betrays gray strands emerging from his roots and sideburns. All those years spent cultivating his image, trying to become the perfect imperfection that Lucifer himself boasted—only to unravel after one fateful show. He grits his teeth, his mismatched eyes sharpening in his reflection.

With all the glitz stripped away, he loathes how much he now resembles his father…

Terzo forces the thought out of his head. His days are spent analyzing his time as Papa and what went wrong. He wouldn’t do anything differently but it still stung, especially after the new heights and exposure he had achieved for the Ministry. Somehow, it was not enough. His father was never proud of him, a theme that stretched throughout his entire life. Terzo was only ever the Third to him, the third son that would serve his purpose and then be pushed aside for whoever was next. While this had been the typical progression, Terzo was the fool who thought he would be different — even after being warned by Secondo.

Secondo.

“Cazzo.”

He’s late for Uno Night.

The once-revered Emeritus brothers now find themselves relegated to a desolate corner of the abbey with their only entertainment being a silly card game. Their influence wanes with each passing day. Terzo can't help but sneer at the irony of their situation - former leaders now barely more than forgotten relics, with only each other’s company. There was a time when the Emeritus brothers were revered as gods among men. Crowds would surge forward at their concerts, desperate to touch the hem of their robes or catch a glimpse of their painted faces. Devotees would line up for hours, sometimes days, just for the chance to receive a blessing or a fleeting moment of attention. Their every word was treated as gospel, their gestures analyzed and imitated by legions of faithful followers.

In the halls of the Ministry, their presence commanded instant respect and adoration. Ghouls and Siblings of Sin alike would bow their heads in reverence as they passed. Their chambers were filled with lavish gifts from admirers - exotic incense, priceless artifacts, and fervent love letters. The very air seemed to crackle with power and dark allure whenever they entered a room. Now, that electric atmosphere has faded to a dull static. The gifts have stopped coming, the adoring crowds have moved on to newer, shinier idols. The once-mighty Emeritus brothers find themselves grasping at the fading light of their former glory, clinging to memories of a time when they were worshipped as the embodiments of their infernal master.

He used to delicately paint his face for each meeting, a ritual of devotion to himself and his roll as Papa. But now, as he stares at his bare face, he feels a bitter resentment towards the being he once revered. The paint feels like a mask of lies, concealing the growing doubts and anger festering within him. Lucifer's promises of power and glory now ring hollow in his ears, leaving only the taste of ash and disappointment. Terzo exhales through his nose and tears himself away from the mirror, satisfied with his appearance but frustrated with the progression of his thoughts. He had grown more disillusioned by the day with the cause he so passionately promoted, the being he worshipped. Lucifer, once his guiding light, now seemed like a cruel puppeteer, manipulating him for some cosmic joke.

Omega did not like these thoughts. In fact, Terzo has begun avoiding him and instead has been seeking the company of his brothers. Perhaps the one silver lining in all of this is that he is closer than he ever has been with his true family, minus daddy dearest, of course. They had grown up together, with Primo practically raising him and Secondo after they had come to the ministry. Back then he was a true zealot - a satanic lunatic whose fervor for the dark arts knew no bounds. It was from him that Terzo learned the intricacies of their infernal faith, absorbing every ritual and incantation with wide-eyed fascination. Yet, somehow, both Terzo and Secondo emerged less fanatical than their older brother.

But still competitors, nonetheless. Secondo and Terzo had been born to different mothers three months apart so it came naturally. The more time spent together now, the more they realize how similar they can be and deep down, Terzo wishes they had not been so combative. It was encouraged, though, fed and grown by the higher ups in the ministry and their father. Maybe they feared they would be too powerful if they were close.

Now all they care about is Uno.

"Fuck!" Terzo exclaims again, his voice tinged with frustration as he runs a hand tiredly over his face. The weight of his thoughts bears down on him, but he knows he can't afford to dwell any longer. With a deep sigh, he forces himself into action, slipping his feet into his shoes - the familiar spats clicking as he gets them on. Just as he reaches for the door handle, a sharp knock echoes through the room. Terzo pauses, his hand hovering in mid-air. Irritation flashes across his face.

"Enter," he calls out, his voice tinged with impatience.

The door creaks open, revealing a young Sibling of Sin. Their face is pale, eyes wide with fear and urgency. Terzo's irritation gives way to curiosity as he takes in their disheveled appearance.

"What is it?" he asks, his tone softening slightly.

The Sibling swallows hard before speaking, their voice trembling. "Papa, I... I have news. It's about Omega."

Terzo's eyebrows furrow. "Omega? What about him?" He nonchalantly goes back to adjusting his outfit, wondering if this is another plot from the ghoul to try and make him listen to “reason”. He certainly has stooped rather low, almost as low as Terzo.

The Sibling takes a deep breath, as if steeling themselves for what they're about to say. "He's been banished, Papa. Omega has been cast out of the Ministry."

The words hit Terzo like a physical blow. He stumbles back a step, his mind reeling. "Banished?" he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "But... how? Why?" Pain is etched across his face.

The Sibling shakes their head, clearly as confused and shaken as Terzo. "I don't know the details, Papa. It happened so suddenly. They're saying it came from the highest levels of the Ministry."

Terzo's mind races, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Shock, confusion, and a sudden, unexpected pang of loss all vie for dominance. Despite their recent disagreements, Omega had been a constant in his life for so long. The thought of him being gone, cast out... it's almost inconceivable.

Terzo's composure shatters as the weight of the news crashes over him. His eyes flash with unbridled fury, causing the Sibling to take an involuntary step back. "Get out!" he roars, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Leave me! Now!" The Sibling, wide-eyed with fear, scrambles to obey, nearly tripping over their own feet in their haste to escape. Terzo slams the door with such force that the entire room seems to shake, the sound echoing through the corridors like a thunderclap.

As soon as the barrier between him and the outside world is secure, everything crumbles. A primal roar of anguish and frustration tears from his throat, echoing off the walls of his private chambers. In a whirlwind of unbridled emotion, he lashes out at his surroundings. His fist connects with the ornate mirror adorning his vanity, the impact sending a spider web of cracks across its surface before it shatters completely. Shards of glass rain down, glittering in the dim light like fallen stars.

But Terzo's rage demands more destruction. He overturns his meticulously organized desk, unleashing an avalanche of papers, pens, and trinkets onto the floor. Books, once neatly arranged on shelves, are torn free and flung across the room, their pages fluttering like disoriented birds. His wardrobe—a carefully curated collection of robes and suits that once symbolized his power and prestige—falls victim to his fury next. Garments are ripped from hangers and strewn about haphazardly, silk and velvet mingling with the debris below. Spotting one of his Papal robes, an early prototype, he seizes it and tears, splitting seams and fabric into pieces with savage force.

He could kill them. End the reign of his father and Sister Imperator with a knife to their throats, a hammer to their heads. He’s capable and he’s angry.

But that’s not who Terzo is.

His appetite for destruction is as swift as it is thorough. When the storm of his anger finally subsides, Terzo finds himself standing amidst the wreckage of his once-immaculate quarters. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his knuckles having bloodied his gloves from his outburst. The room, previously a testament to his refined tastes and exalted position, now lies in utter ruin around him. He closes his eyes, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as the full weight of what has transpired begins to settle upon him.

The dust settles around him, both literally and figuratively, as his mind wanders to Omega. Their relationship, once the core of his existence within the Ministry, had deteriorated over the past several months, transforming into a strained and tenuous connection. The rift between them had widened, growing into a seemingly unbridgeable gap that threatened to swallow everything they shared whole. Omega, ever faithful of their infernal master, had persistently begged Terzo to embrace what he perceived as a well-deserved retirement—a supposed reward bestowed upon them by Lucifer himself for their years of unwavering service and dedication.

"Papa, you've more than earned this rest," Omega would implore, his eyes blazing with sheer intensity behind his cool mask that Terzo found increasingly difficult to look at. "Our Dark Lord Lucifer, in his infinite wisdom, has granted you this period of rest and reflection. Why do you persist in resisting? Can you not see the honor in this gift he has bestowed upon you?"

But for Terzo, the notion of settling into a life of idle luxury felt suffocating—a gilded cage that threatened to strip away everything he had fought so hard to achieve. The very thought of turning his back on the empire he had painstakingly built, nurtured, and expanded over the years felt like a betrayal of who he is and what defines him. As time wore on, his arguments with Omega grew increasingly heated and frequent, his frustration mounting with each tense exchange, threatening to boil over into hostility.

"You call this rest, Omega?" Terzo would retort, his voice rising with each impassioned word, hands gesticulating wildly to emphasize his point. "This isn't rest—it's nothing short of exile, a banishment from everything I've ever known and loved! How can you, of all people, expect me to sit idly by, content to watch as everything I've dedicated my life to—my very existence—crumbles around me like dust?" The air between them would crackle with tension during these confrontations, an electric charge that made it increasingly difficult for them to occupy the same space without the risk of conflict erupting at any moment.

Now, with the shocking news of Omega's sudden and unexpected banishment reverberating through the chambers of his mind, Terzo finds himself consumed with emotion. Relief, guilt, anger, and a profound sense of loss intertwine in a dizzying dance, each vying for dominance in the turbulent landscape of his mind. Despite their recent differences and the ever-widening divide between them, Omega had been a constant, unwavering presence in Terzo's life for longer than he cared to remember—a touchstone of familiarity. His abrupt absence leaves a gaping void in the fabric of Terzo's existence, a wound so deep and raw that he isn't certain he possesses the means to heal it.

Even with the turmoil raging inside him, Terzo finds himself drawn to the familiar comfort of his brothers' company. With a heavy sigh, he straightens his posture and smooths down his attire, a reflexive gesture from years of public appearances. He may be struggling, but he'll be damned if he lets it show—at least not to them. They have all had their hardships. If anyone knows and understands what he is feeling right now, it is his brothers. Terzo’s steps are heavy, using his feet to clear a path forward amidst everything now on the floor. He reaches the door, hesitating for just a moment. There’s a weight pressing down on him that threatens to crush him, to break him down until there’s nothing left.

He won’t let it.

Terzo opens the door and leaves his room. As he makes his way towards the small room where their Uno nights are held, his mind goes blank, going numb to the intense feelings that are simmering beneath the surface. He trudges down the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls, focusing on that sound to keep him grounded. As he rounds a corner, lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts, a familiar voice catches his attention, causing him to halt abruptly.

Turning, he sees Cardinal Copia emerging from his office, a stack of papers tucked under one arm and an Uno card inexplicably held between two fingers of his free hand. The Cardinal's painted face breaks into a warm smile as he spots Terzo, oblivious to the storm brewing within the former Papa.

"Ah, Papa, on your way to Uno Night, yes?” The cheerful greeting hangs in the air, a stark contrast to the darkness swirling within Terzo.

Terzo's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching so tightly he can hear his teeth grind. The sight of him, so content and oblivious to the turmoil raging through the Ministry, ignites a fire in Terzo's chest—one that he had hoped was extinguished following his outburst in his room. His eyes narrow as he regards Copia with barely contained irritation. "Uno Night," he repeats, his voice low and controlled, though tension radiates from every syllable. "Mmm… yes." He takes a step closer to Copia, his presence suddenly looming and intimidating.

Copia's smile falters slightly, but he presses on, still oblivious and sweet. "It's become quite the tradition with your brothers, hasn't it?" He hesitates for a moment, then reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a blue reverse card. He holds it out to Terzo, a tentative peace offering. "Here, Papa. I always keep this one for luck. Perhaps... perhaps you'd like to have it for tonight's game?"

Terzo's gaze sharpens dangerously as he struggles to maintain his composure. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps. The sight of that blue card in Copia's hand—a symbol of the carefree life he now leads—causes the fire to spread inside him, consuming him yet again. Terzo’s voice, when he finally speaks, is low and menacing, barely above a whisper.

"Tradition?" His voice is guttural and rough. "You dare speak to me of tradition when everything is crumbling around us? When the very foundations of our world are ripped away from us?" His words are full of anguish and rage, each one striking Copia like a physical blow.

The Cardinal stumbles back, his expression morphing from confusion to outright fear. "P-Papa, I... I don't understand-" he stammers, his voice trembling.

"Of course you don't understand!" Terzo cuts him off, his composure shattering completely. "You're nothing but a pawn, a naive fool dancing to their twisted tune!" He gestures wildly, his movements sharp and erratic. "Do you have any idea what's happening beyond your little bubble of blissful ignorance? Omega is gone! Banished! Cast out like yesterday's trash! And here you stand, grinning like a fool, oblivious to the chaos swirling around you!"

Copia's eyes widen in shock, the full weight of Terzo's words finally sinking in. "Omega? But how- Why-" he begins, but Terzo is far from finished.

Terzo snatches the blue Uno card from Copia's hand, gripping it so hard it begins to crumble in his grip. "And this?" he spits, brandishing it like damning evidence. "You think this changes anything? You think a game can fix what's broken? This card, this... this mockery of what we once were!" His voice rises to a near-scream. "Do you have any idea what this represents? It's not just a game, you fool! It's everything we've lost, everything that's been taken from us!"

With a primal yell that seems to shake the very stones of the corridor, Terzo tears the card to shreds. The pieces flutter between them like confetti, a mockery of celebration in this moment of utter despair. Copia flinches, raising his hands as if to shield himself from the physical manifestation of Terzo's rage.

"P-Papa, please," Copia stammers, his voice barely above a whisper, a plea for understanding, for mercy. "I didn't mean to-"

But Terzo is beyond reason, beyond mercy. His voice drops to a low, dangerous hiss, each word dripping with venom. "Get out of my sight," he commands, his tone brooking no argument. "You don't belong here. You never will. You're nothing but a pale imitation, a cheap replacement for something you could never hope to understand. And take your pathetic games with you!"

As Copia retreats, practically running down the corridor, Terzo stands amidst the scattered remains of the card. His chest heaves with each ragged breath, anger and grief warring within him. In the sudden silence, the weight of his actions begins to settle upon him. He knows, in some distant corner of his mind, that he's overreacted, that Copia isn't truly to blame for the chaos engulfing their world. But in this moment, all he can feel is the crushing weight of loss - of his position, of Omega, of everything he once held dear. And that damned Uno card, now in pieces at his feet, seems to mock him with its cheerful blue color, a stark contrast to the darkness consuming his soul.

If only he could reverse being removed from the Papacy.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Terzo straightens his posture and adjusts his shirt in an attempt to calm himself. He struggles to push down the turmoil within, determined not to let his brothers see his inner struggle. As he approaches the card room, he steels himself, forcing his face into a mask of nonchalance.

Opening the door, he finds his brothers already seated. An almost startling wave of relief washes over him. He allows a scoff to escape his lips at the sight of Primo, face fully painted and wearing a Burberry scarf. Before he can comment, Secondo interjects.

"Already gave him trouble for it, stronzino. If you'd been on time, you could've joined." There's a glint of mischief in Secondo's eyes.

Terzo rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his best efforts to maintain his aloof facade. He saunters over to the table, pulling up a chair with dramatic flair. "Well, shall we begin? I'm feeling particularly lucky tonight." He shoots a pointed look at Secondo, silently accepting the challenge in his brother's gaze.

He settles into his seat and the feeling of relief continues to spread through him. Here, surrounded by his brothers and the familiar rhythm of an extremely low-stakes card game, he can momentarily push aside his anger and frustration. In this room, he's not the fallen Papa or a disappointment to the Ministry - he's simply Terzo, the youngest of the Emeritus brothers, ready to lose himself in the game and forget, if only for a while, how far he has fallen.

On this particular evening, Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil would make an unexpected appearance, delivering news that would leave the brothers startled and confused.

They would be unable to continue their card game.

Terzo is deep in his desk chair, his body nearly slipped from it onto the floor. His gaze is locked on the the hell phone which has been ringing nonstop since you left for the night. Your taste is still on his tongue, your scent clinging to his robe. He’s afraid to move to disturb the haze he’s settled into, even though you would be back bright and early for work the morning after next. Fingers fall to his temples, rubbing them with each piercing ring of the phone.

He wouldn’t answer. He doesn’t want to face who is on the other line.

Was it Omega? What could he possibly say? He would only complicate matters—as he already has. The hell phone materialized before you, and you listened to the sounds of the abyss. It drove you into Terzo's arms and bed, but... you didn't deserve to experience such terrors or feel so frightened in his home. Or at least, if anyone was going to frighten you it should be him. His fingers drum along the arms of the chair, a deep grumble vibrating from his chest. The goal is to get you to stay, to devote yourself to him and only him. Yet the fear gnaws at him. What if the terrors you've witnessed push you away? The thought of losing you to the very darkness he once revered sends a chill through him. He wants you by his side, but you have to want to be there. Perhaps, he muses bitterly, this is another of Lucifer's cruel jokes—dangling happiness before him, only to threaten it with the very forces he once embraced.

Maybe the imp who fixed your tire that Terzo had shredded was calling. What was that all about? He didn’t have time to mull that incident over earlier while you were here. Is he manifesting things?

The memory of when he had accidentally shocked you resurfaces, Terzo's frown deepens. He recalls the pain on your face when he zapped your wrist. His gaze drifts to his hands, studying them as if they belong to a stranger. These hands that once commanded crowds, that channeled unholy energies with precision and purpose, now feel like unpredictable weapons. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar tingle of power just beneath his skin. What if he hurts you again?

Another memory flits to the forefront of his mind — when he screamed at you over his relics being displayed causing a lightbulb to shatter. He remembers the fear in your eyes as it happened. It wasn't Lucifer's doing—it was his own power, his own lack of control. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. Perhaps the true threat to your happiness, to any chance of a future together, isn't some external force or cosmic joke. It's him.

The silver lining is that you had seemed to be… into it. But what if next time, it's worse than a small shock or a broken bulb?

The thought sends a wave of despair crashing over him. Is he doomed to be alone, forever isolated by the very gifts that once made him special? The irony isn't lost on him—he who once reveled in his dark powers, who used them to seduce and enthrall, now fears them as the very thing that might drive you away. Terzo slumps further in his chair. The illusion of his perfection continues to fade but he’s stubborn. Unwilling to change his ways even though he knows he can be cruel and difficult.

He originally expected you to just deal with it.

Terzo rises with a frustrated growl, letting the hell phone continue its incessant ringing. He stalks over to his liquor cabinet, hands trembling slightly as he pours himself a generous measure of whiskey. What have you done to him? How dare you make him want to be better? He decides he must, at the very least, attempt to protect you from whatever hell seemingly has in store for you. This includes tempering his emotions, an obvious factor of his otherworldly abilities. Seriously, how dare you?

Taking a long swig, he savors the burn as it slides down his throat. It's a familiar comfort, one that does little to reduce the budding anxiety he feels. With a heavy sigh, he turns his back on the still-ringing phone and retreats to his bedroom, drink in hand. The door closes behind him, muffling the sound of the hell phone but he can still feel its presence. Terzo takes another sip, hoping to drink himself into unconsciousness.

Only two sleeps until he sees you again.

Chapter Text

A crash comes from down the stairs, discordant piano cords ringing in your ears. You want to run, torn between away and down to see if he was okay. But all you can do is take measured steps, your hand gripping the rail to keep you steady as you descend. There’s a dim red glow in the center of the room, unable to make it out from the ever thickening fog. A jaunty tune fills the room as if to guide you along. It’s becoming clear that Terzo isn’t here — he would have made his half-dressed self known by now. You walk toward the light, your body only allowing calm steps while your heart thunders in your chest.

The tip of your foot hits something and the whole room clears of fog, leaving you in front of a piano. Your heart clenches, a chill traveling up your spine as you take in it’s appearance: painted bright red with intricate wood carved decorations in black. The same as the rotary phone. You reach for it, fingertips drifting along the smooth wood. It’s warm to the touch. You try to will yourself away but you’re stuck, your feet glued to the floor and your eyes unable to look at anything else.

Your breath catches as your fingers drift down to the keyboard cover, an overwhelming urge to press the keys taking hold. Just has you reach it, it snaps open on it’s own, a claw wrenching from beneath it and catching you by the wrist. A scream rips from your throat, your body finally responding to the danger, lurching back but you’re caught. The tips of the claws are golden, the rest of it scaly and black, burning your skin. It tears into your wrist, blood spilling from the wound as it nearly rips your hand clean off.

“PAPA!” You scream as you wake, lunging forward in your bed. Sheets and blankets are twisted around your limbs, trembling and breathing heavily as you realize where you are.

It was a dream.

The day is a blur. You find yourself unable to focus on one thing for very long until your mind wanders. To him. To your time together. How he touched you. Then your nightmare. How the claw that grabbed you resembled his gloves, the ones he wore when he forced you to drink, when he kissed you so hard that you saw stars. More often than not you find yourself with your head in your hands, wondering how you let yourself get into this mess. You hooked up with your obviously unwell boss.

But you liked him.

You’re really in it now, aren’t you?

“You know, you could have let him know you aren’t interested anymore,” Catherine says pointedly. Your gaze falls to her, eyes wide and your eyebrows raised. Oh, that’s right. You’re out to dinner.

“I… I’m sorry, I really am… I’ll shoot him a text.” You murmur and take out your phone, only to see a message from Terzo. “The last few days have been a blur…” Voice trails off as you open the message.

You've plagued my thoughts since yesterday... I can still taste you on my tongue. Come to me soon, ‘fetta. I need you again.

Your phone drops from your shaky hand.

“Dude, what is going on with you? You’ve looked like a ghost this entire time,” Erica snaps, frustration in her voice but the concern in her eyes is real. Your head falls into your hands, shaking it slowly. No, no — you shouldn’t tell them, should you? Lifting your head, you see the concern in both of their eyes and know you can’t keep it from them.

“I… hooked up with my boss.”

Silence falls over the table. A fry falls out of Catherine’s mouth. It’s unbearable. You feel embarrassed, you want to curl up and disappear into thin air and leave them to have a normal dinner without you.

“Well, are you going to tell us what it was like or are you just going to sit there looking crazy?” Erica finally asks, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. Catherine mirrors her position, both of them waiting with bated breath for you to spill the details. You feel your face heat up but you are actually able to smile.

“He kissed me… on Thursday before the date,” you pause after Catherine gasps, “he thought I was dressed nicely for him. It was… awkward to tell him I was going on a date. There’s been tension this whole time, I think. But the kiss was good. Not to be weird about your brother, but he uh… he’s not a very good kisser.”

“Gross,” Catherine grimaces.

“Sorry. He wasn’t really what I thought he was.”

“I could have told you back. So was… Terzo, right? Was he upset about the date?”

You drum your fingers on the table, thinking on how to answer. There are some things you shouldn’t go into details on. “He wasn’t happy, that’s for sure. Gave me the cold shoulder for most of Friday but… then we made out. And Saturday morning, we…”

Erica looks like she’s going to jump out of her seat, like this is the most exciting thing she’s ever heard. “Oh my god. Is he packing? He was in a band, right? Usually that means… you know.”

“I… I mean… Okay, this doesn’t leave this table.” Your voice drops and the both of them lean in to be able to hear. “We haven’t had sex yet but he fingered me and I thought I was going to lose my mind from how crazy it felt.”

They’re squealing now and you laugh, feeling at ease and normal. Just a chat amongst gals. This is what people do, right? The back of your mind buzzes despite the anxiety that bubbles just below the surface. You’ve made it this far in this new world but tomorrow you were due back to his house for work.

Dinner ends with warm hugs and words of encouragement from your friends — along with playful threats about what they'll do to Terzo if he hurts you. A weak smile spread across your face. Deep down, you know he’s capable of things you don't fully understand.

You drive home in silence. Both hands on your steering wheel, eyes ahead and focused while your mind wanders. Seeing your friends was good for you. A reminder that there’s more to life than just him despite how all encompassing he feels, even when he’s not around.

*****

You let your bag drop to the ground, slinging it from your shoulders as you enter his foyer. Sunlight spills through the stained glass windows, illuminating the room. There’s no fog, no candles burnt all the way down to the floor and no piano music. Nothing like the nightmare you had. You clear your throat and lean over to your bag, unzipping it to pull out your laptop.

Twinkling sounds floats through the floorboards causing you to freeze.

Piano.

The color drains from your face as you drop your bag, your laptop with it. Terzp doesn’t have a piano. The thought repeats in your mind over and over again. You nearly trip over your feet as you make your way to the basement door, open just a smidge. It swings open with ease just as the playing picks up again, light and dainty. Hesitating for a moment at the top of the stairs you recognize the song - Your Mother Should Know. It’s been years since you’ve even thought of it but it’s unmistakable. You half expect to find Terzo in all-white and a tailcoat.

It’s a pleasant thought but you’re expecting the worst. Your nightmare. Is there a creature in the basement? One with scaly, sharp claws? Did it get Terzo?

Your steps quicken, nearly running down the stairs. He has to be here, nothing could ever happen to him, right? Your vision is blurring from how shaken you are, your legs like jelly as you force yourself down until you reach the bottom of the stairs. Your heart nearly stops. The piano that wasn't there before but appeared in your dream, is in the center of the room. Black and red. Shiny. Just like that phone—manifesting out of nowhere, as if conjured. Did you dream of it’s arrival? Are you the one that brought it here?

You must be losing your damn mind.

“‘Fetta?”

Your eyes dart to him, startled by his voice to find him seated at the piano bench. Your breath catches at the sight of him. He slowly stands and he’s in an immaculate white suit adorned with delicate golden details with a matching vest completing the ensemble. He Is. You’ve watched the music video (more than once) but seeing him wear it is a whole new feeling. All he’s missing is the tailcoat. The pristine white fabric seems to make his face paint and mismatched eyes sharper. With a serious look, he moves swiftly toward you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against him in an embrace.

"I was worried you wouldn't come back," he gasps against your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“What?” You manage a chuckle, finally feeling like you can breathe again. “We’ve been flirting through text all weekend.” The piano has already faded from the forefront of your mind, swept up in him and only him.

Terzo’s arms squeeze around you, and he lets out a sigh against your neck. "I thought maybe you'd change your mind," he confesses softly. "That maybe the weekend gave you time to think better of it." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression vulnerable.

You're speechless. All your earlier fears dissolve as you realize he'd been wrestling with the same doubts. Before you can respond, his lips find yours in a tender kiss that quickly deepens with need. His hands slide up to cradle your face as he kisses you like he's been starving for it, like those two nights apart were an eternity. You melt against him, your knees going weak as he steals the air from your lungs. The world narrows until there's nothing but the press of his lips, the warmth of his hands on your face, and the thundering of your heart in your chest. Your eyes slowly open, the piano catching your gaze again.

“Where did this come from?” You whisper against his lips. Terzo leans back but his large, gloved hands stay on your cheeks, thumbs stroking the delicate skin beneath your tired eyes. Both of you shift your gaze to the grand piano.

“It’s a gift… eh, from a former bandmate.” Not exactly a lie. The truth is it appeared in the basement with a thunderous explosion of keys after he avoided the hell phone for a full night. “I like to noodle, you know.” He’s slipped into his charismatic self, lips curled into an easy smile as he presses his forehead to yours.

Concerns about the piano fade and to be honest, it’s impossible to focus on anything other than him when he’s like this. Terzo’s nose brushes against yours, his gaze expectant and intense. You find yourself kissing him this time, your fingers drifting up the golden details of his jacket. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him with a soft rumble that makes you shiver.

You break away reluctantly, breathing hard. "The contractor's coming any minute," you whisper against his lips.

Terzo groans, throwing his head back in dismay. "What are they doing todaaay? Don’t they know that… ehhh, that I’ve spent two lonely evenings without you?” He whines as his lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout. You slip free of his grasp and start for the stairs.

"They’re working on the porch, Terzo. Don’t you want a nice swinging bench to lounge on?" You stop midway to let him catch up with you.

"Only if you're there with me," he purrs, stalking behind you. He nearly grabs you again but you manage to wriggle just out of reach. A knock at the door makes you both jump apart, and Terzo lets out another dramatic groan.

"I'm making coffee," he grumbles before hurrying you up the stairs with a playful pat to your backside. Reaching the top, you watch him disappear into the kitchen as you run your trembling fingers through your hair with an unsteady sigh. He’s gotten you a tad worked up. A quiet, more urgent knock jobs your memory of the contractor. You put on your most friendly face despite your rosy cheeks and greet them.

Terzo pushes the button to start the drip as he listens for you. As soon as he hears the front door creak shut he is slinking to the foyer. Your faint voice mingles with the contractor’s, bright and friendly. He holds his breath, taking careful steps until he’s at the stained glass window beside the door. Your figure is blurred through the glass but he still cannot look away, transfixed on you and the way you interact. The last two nights were torture — yes, the both of you texted but he yearned to hear, feel and see you again.

He wasn’t going to let you out of his sight, not for a moment.

His hip bumps the entryway table as he tries to get a good view, knocking a few things off of it. Growling, he leans down to clean up only to come face to face with his severed head. Anger sears through him as he snatches up the magazine, his tight grip crinkling the pages. His other hand traces the jagged scar along his neck as bile rises in his throat. The photoshoot had been out of sight out of mind for a while now, his focus solely on you, but just seeing his father and the Cardinals taunting him again sets something alight inside.

“What are you doing?”

Terzo spins around quickly, shoving the magazine back onto the table with a barely contained rage that turns into something else at the sight of you. Your cheeks are rosy just from the look he gave you, your eyes wide and eyebrows raised in surprise. He was caught, so why not confess.

“I like to watch you, mio toppolino,” he purrs, slinking closer to you. “Shouldn’t be much of a surprise at this point, eh?” The suspicion in your expression tickles him. You truly are the cat to his mouse - willing to play the part and continue the game.

You shake your head, trying to focus on work instead of his flirting. "The contractor needs to discuss some details with you about the porch. Something about wood types?" But Terzo is already moving closer, his gloved hands finding your waist.

"Mmm, very important business indeed." He nuzzles against your neck, making you squirm. "But first..." His lips brush your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

You manage to wiggle free of him again, convinced that he likes it as much as having you in his arms. "Work first! Then we can... discuss other things."

The rest of the afternoon passes in a pleasant haze. Terzo hovers near you as you work, finding excuses to touch you - a hand on your lower back as he peers at your laptop screen, fingers brushing yours as he hands you coffee. The contractor comes and goes, and you make decent progress on mocking up the renovations you’ll pitch for the guest room.

But every time the piano's melody drifts through your thoughts, unease settles in your stomach. His old bandmate? You've never heard him mention anyone from his music days, not once. The piano seems just as aware of your presence as you are of its. You catch Terzo watching you sometimes, his expression unreadable behind that charming smile. There's something he's not telling you. But as his arms wrap around you from behind and he presses a kiss to your temple, you push the doubts aside. For now.

“Let me play you something, ‘fetta,” he murmurs, “anything you want to hear.”

"Play me something from your past," you say softly, curiosity getting the better of you. "Something you wrote, maybe.” Terzo goes stiff behind you, slowly drawing his lips away from the side of your head. He gives a low hum and starts to walk toward the piano, his shoulders slumped.

“I wasn't much of a writer," he admits, lingering in front of it before gently pressing some keys. "I only wrote one song during my time in the band and even that’s difficult to find. Perhaps for good reason, must not be very good.” Terzo’s eyes flicker to you, the hurt and sadness in them evident. You swallow thickly. This has been a topic of his life that he has avoided speaking to you about. In fact, he’s gone out of his way to not answer questions, diverting your attention to something else.

Terzo sits at the bench, fingers suddenly dance across the keys with practiced confidence, playing a haunting melody that fills the basement. You listen to it carefully, unable to place it after a few moments — even though you’ve listened to his offerings on repeat since viewing the acoustic performance.

“It’s nice, though,” you hum, crossing your arms as you near him. Terzo’s face breaks into a smile, dimpled cheeks and bright eyes looking back at you. It’s impossible not to smile back, not to bask in the light of his attention. You shuffle over to him, practically skipping, and end up hovering by him at the piano. “Did you ever play on stage?”

His lips twitch, eyes darting away from you to focus on the keys in front of him. “Ah, no… no, I did not. My job was to frolic and sing, you know this, mio toppolino,” he says, shifting on the bench as he starts another song: Absolution. You watch his fingers dance across the keys with practiced ease. Terzo’s earlier hesitation seems forgotten as he loses himself in the music, those mismatched eyes half-closed in concentration. The song builds, and you find yourself swaying slightly, entranced by both the music and the man playing it.

His eyes snap open and there's something wild and magnetic in his gaze, filled with such raw desire that it makes your head spin. “I think I would… quite like you kneeling between my legs while I play, ‘fetta.” Heat floods your cheeks at his words, but you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at the suggestion. His fingers continue to dance across the keys as he watches you with dark, hungry eyes. The melody shifts to something slower, more seductive. You recognize it: Cirice.

Knowing how much you enjoy this game, he parts his legs to make space for you as you sink to your knees. Your hands slide up his thighs as you settle between them, his fingers never missing a note. The haunting melody continues to fill the basement as you look up at him through thick lashes. His mismatched eyes are fixed on you as he plays flawlessly from memory.

"Go on… you know what I want," Terzo purrs, his voice barely audible over the piano. Your fingers work at his belt buckle, tugging it free with deliberate slowness, careful with his fancy outfit. His growing arousal is evident beneath his tailored pants, straining against the fabric. You palm him through the material, his fingers stumble on the keys, the melody faltering for just a moment.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve fantasized about this.”

"I've wanted this since my second day working here," you confess between heavy breaths.

"Really?" His eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise, a delighted grin spreading across his painted face.

"Mhm. I mean, most days you would wander around in a robe which didn’t leave much to the imagination..." You trail off, blushing.

"So was that what made you want to get on your knees for me, ‘fetta?" His tone is playful but his eyes betray genuine curiosity. "My sculpted body? Or was it my devilishly handsome face? My charming personality?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

You can't help but laugh at his antics even as heat rises to your cheeks. He’s being ridiculous but it’s this that draws you to him most.

"All of it," you admit with a soft smile. "The way you make me laugh, how dramatic you can be, your confidence... even if half of it is just for show. I like every part of you."

“Does this really appear to be for show?” Terzo’s voice drops dangerously low, his eyes flickering down at his lap.

You glance down pointedly at the obvious bulge straining against his pristine white pants. "No, that definitely seems quite real to me," you say with a teasing smile. His fingertips move to brush along your chin before pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

"Perhaps I should stop talking and let you get back to work, yes?" The way his thumb presses against your lip makes your pulse quicken, and you can't help but dart your tongue out to taste the fabric of his glove. His sharp intake of breath at the action, only fueling your desire to please him. Your hands run over his thighs as you inch closer, settling on his zipper. Unzipping them, he springs free with a rumbling groan. Even his cock is beautiful - thick and elegant like the rest of him.

His breath hitches as you take him into your mouth, the piano melody growing more erratic as you work. Your tongue swirls around his length while your hands grip his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers. The music stops completely when you take him deeper, replaced by a deep moan. His gloved hand tangles in your hair, guiding your movements as you bob along his length. His other one grips the edge of the piano bench, the wood creaking beneath his fingertips.

You press your tongue to the underside each time you reach the head, then swipe it along the tip, savoring his taste. Your grip on his thighs tightens as you feel him twitch in your mouth. The sounds he makes only fuel your enthusiasm - you're enjoying this as much as he is, thighs pressing tightly together. His gloved fingers tighten in your hair as his hips start to thrust shallowly, unable to control himself any longer. "Dio mio, tesoro..." he pants, his voice strained and desperate. The sound of his pleasure echoes off the basement walls, making you moan around him in response.

His hips buck up sharply, forcing himself deeper into your throat. You gag around him but don't pull back, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you take his full length. The sound of your choking only seems to drive him closer to the edge, his moans growing more hoarse. With a final thrust, he spills down your throat with a strangled cry of your name, his body trembling beneath your hands.

You slump forward, resting your forehead against his thigh as you catch your breath. His gloved hand gentles in your hair, stroking soothingly as you both come down from your high. After a moment, he tilts your chin up to look at him, his painted face soft with affection.

A deafening crash behind you makes you yelp, jumping straight into Terzo's arms. The piano keys slam discordantly as something heavy falls against them. Before either of you can react, the basement is plunged into total darkness as the power cuts out with an ominous hum.

"Merda," Terzo hisses, his arms tightening protectively around you.

"What was that?" you whisper against his chest, heart pounding.

"The piano, it's, eh, it’s... very old. Sometimes the pedals stick, the hammers fall." His voice is strained as he speaks, one arm still wrapped around you while the other fumbles in his pocket. "Let's go upstairs, tesoro. No reason to stay down here in the dark."

Before you can protest, he's scooping you up into his arms. You catch a glimpse of his face in the dim light from his phone screen - his jaw is tight, eyes darting around the darkness behind you. You want to ask more questions, to point out that falling hammers don't explain the power outage, but something in his expression makes you hold your tongue. His secrets. He would always have them, wouldn’t he?

There’s been something off about Terzo from the start and you ignored it. You continue to ignore it.

He carries you swiftly up the basement stairs, kicking the door shut behind him with perhaps more force than necessary. You drop from his arms with ease, feet finding the ground to steady yourself. Terzo's hands roam your form possessively, fingers digging into your hips.

"You couldn't possibly leave now, tesoro. I would be all alone in the dark." His voice is playful but there's an edge of desperation beneath it.

A sudden whoosh makes you both jump as the fireplace roars to life, flames leaping high and hot. You stare at it in shock, but Terzo merely glances at the fire before turning back to you, acting as if nothing unusual just happened. The questions bubble up in your throat - about the rotary phone in the guest room, the piano, all the strange occurrences in this house. But would asking push him away? Make him shut down completely?

He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, seemingly oblivious to your inner turmoil. "I'll figure out dinner, eh? And fix us some drinks." Terzo voice is forced, an underlying unease that he can’t quite hide. There's fear in his eyes. You see it for the first time - raw and unguarded, a flash of genuine terror before he masks it with his usual charm. It makes your stomach twist.

He gives your hips one final squeeze before releasing you.

You feel dizzy. Sinking to your knees on the plush rug, you watch the inexplicably lit flames dance in the fireplace. The heat washes over you but does nothing to warm the chill that's settled in your bones.

Chapter Text

"You've been quiet this evening, toppolino."

Terzo stretches out on the rug, the firelight dancing across his white paint, making it luminescent. He's discarded his jacket, the intricate white vest remaining as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, revealing dark hair dusting his forearms. His tone is teasing but deep down he’s concerned. There is nothing comfortable about this silence and the fact that your gaze is set on everything other than him will not do.

You're nestled in the black floral wingback, feet tucked beneath you like a cat. A half eaten container of Chinese food sits on the side table next to an empty wine glass. Terzo’s eyes sweep over you, his mismatched eyes darkening with raw want. The delicate paint lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he's determined to solve.

“Mmm?” You raise your brows and shift in the chair. “I’m just… enjoying the fire.” Terzo grumbles in response, frustration crossing his features.

“Well, enough of that.” He rolls not so gracefully onto his stomach then raises himself on all fours, tilting his head at you. A sly grin spreads across his face as he drinks in your reaction — your cheeks flushing crimson and lips parting so prettily. He begins to prowl towards you on all fours. When he reaches your chair, he sits back on his heels, maintaining eye contact as he takes the fingertip of one white glove between his teeth. He pulls, slowly, deliberately, until his hand is bare. The second glove follows, both discarded carelessly on the carpet.

The effect it has on you makes him growl low in his throat, eyes darkening. You want him and he can tell.

"Come here," he purrs, reaching for your ankle where it's tucked beneath you. You're speechless. You let him pull your legs out from underneath you, unfolding them until your feet rest on the floor. His hands slide up your calves, thumbs pressing into the muscles there. When he reaches your knees, he gently spreads them apart, making space for himself between them.

He looks up at you through his dark lashes, a wicked smile playing at his lips. "There's my good girl."

“Terzo—“ His teeth close over the fabric of your leggings just above your knee. You suck in a sharp breath at the pressure, just on the edge of painful. He pulls back slightly, mouthing at the spot while his hands slide higher up your thighs, thumbs pressing firmly into the sensitive flesh.

"I demand your attention, 'fetta," he murmurs against your thigh, breath hot through the thin fabric. He works his way higher, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make you squirm.

“You have it,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his soft lock as his mouth reaches the crease of your thigh. Even through the fabric of your leggings, the press of his tongue makes you arch. You whimper as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, slowly tugging them down. A shaky groan falls from his lips, so pleased with you as you lift your hips. He marvels at the soft skin on your inner thighs, a hand skimming along them. His eyes fall to your underwear, already damp.

Terzo’s nothing more than a starved man in this moment. Starved for the taste of pussy. For attention. For putting his mouth to good use again.

And for you.

He leans forward and traces his tongue over the thin fabric of your underwear. Your hips buck involuntarily at the contact, a soft gasp falling from your lips. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine as his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you firmly in place. His eyes lock with yours, glazed over and black with lust. He drags the flat of his tongue over you again, more deliberately this time.

A ragged moan escapes you as your head falls back against the chair. You tug at his hair just enough to make him growl against your core. The vibration sends shivers through your thighs, making them quiver around his head.

"I… I need to take these off now, ‘fetta," he husks, his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down your legs. He tosses them aside, his gaze darkening as he takes in the sight of you completely exposed to him. His lips part, a soft sound of appreciation escaping him.

The sight of you spread before him, wet and aching has his mouth watering. The first direct touch of his tongue has you arching off the chair, a desperate mewl bubbling past your lips. Terzo responds with a deep, satisfied groan, the sound of a man finally tasting what he's been dreaming of. His eyes flutter closed as he savors you blissfully.

"I've wanted this since I first….” He cuts himself off with a scoff, his lips against you still. “Since I read your resume.” A confession, a dark one. Thighs tense beneath his grasp, his eyes darting up to see your face. Your brows are knit so tight, lips parted with shock. But you stay put. Terzo’s mouth twitches into a smirk before settling his gaze back on what lies in front of him. "Dreamed of how you would taste on my tongue,” he snarls, his mouth lowered to press a searing kiss to your throbbing core.

His tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you as he spreads you open with his thumbs. Your fingers tighten in his hair, squeezing your eyes shut from the building tension. Terzo sees this and lets out a pleased growl against you. Your world narrows to the hot press of his mouth.

A loud "Oh God!" escapes your lips, your head thrown back against the chair. He pauses momentarily, a flash of something like irritation crossing his features. His fingers dig slightly harder into your thighs. A breathless laugh bubbles from your throat as you look down at him. "Sorry, should I be saying 'Satan' instead?" You’re half-teasing.

Terzo slowly shakes his head, his mouth inches from your throbbing cunt. He’s in a dream. He knows what to tell you to do and he knows that you’ll obey. His head lifts, his eyes burning with a dark mixture of desire and wickedness.

It’s over for you in this moment. How delicious is it that he knows and feels this now.

He leans back slightly, just enough to break contact but keep you trembling on the edge. His voice drops to a gravelly command that sends shivers racing down your spine. "Say Papa," he instructs, his breath hot against you, waiting expectantly for your compliance.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your cheeks at his command. Papa Emeritus il Terzo. That was his title. The word you screamed this morning

“Papa," you whisper, the word barely audible even in the quiet room. A deep, primal growl rumbles from his chest, shuddering at the sounds of your voice. His cock throbs painfully against his tight dress pants. He's achingly hard, has been since he first dropped to his knees before you, but his own pleasure is secondary to devouring you completely. His mouth descends on you again with renewed vigor. Lost in the taste of you, grinding his hips against nothing as he devours you with desperate enthusiasm. The sounds he makes are almost animalistic - guttural groans and possessive snarls that make your toes curl.

"Ti adoro, ‘fetta," he pants between wet, messy strokes of his tongue. His words dissolve into another long, appreciative moan as you roll your hips against his eager mouth.

"Papa, please," you whimper, the title falling from your lips more naturally now. He doubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit with determined strokes. The tension builds rapidly, your thighs trembling around his head as you teeter on the edge. When he slides two gloved fingers inside you while sucking hard on your clit, stars explode behind your eyes. Your back arches off the chair as you come with a cry of "Papa!" that echoes through the room.

Terzo works you through your orgasm, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high. When you finally collapse back against the chair, he places one last kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you with smug satisfaction in his mismatched eyes.

"Beautiful," he purrs, his painted face glistening in the firelight. “I am going to carry you to bed like a true gentleman, puffetta.”

You let out a small "oop!" as he lifts you with surprising ease, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Your mind drifts hazily to his earlier confession as he carries you up the stairs - how he'd wanted this, wanted you, since first seeing your resume. It should disturb you, how long he's been thinking about having you like this. Instead, a delicious shiver runs through you. The thought of him fantasizing about you all this time, imagining how you'd taste... it's filthy. Depraved, even. And yet…

Nestling closer into his chest, you breathe in his sweet scent. The gentle sway of his steps lull you towards sleep, strong, warm arms holding you securely against him. He brings you to his room. Your body feels impossibly heavy as Terzo sets you down. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your head hits the pillow. The sound of running water drifts from the bathroom, punctuated by Terzo imitating an opera singer. You roll your eyes, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Your phone lights up beside you, the screen casting a blue glow in the dimly lit room. With a sigh, you reach for it, squinting against the brightness. It's your roommate.

Hey, girl. I’ve been hoping to catch you in person but our schedules must be opposite, haha. Wanted to let you know that I’ve found an apartment for myself. I’ll be moving out at the end of our lease. Happy to help find someone to takeover if you wanna stay

Let me know!

You suck in a breath and reread the text again. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.” Stress immediately overwhelms you, a tightness forming in your chest. The lease ends in a month. Just thirty days to figure out this out.

The notification seems to ripple through your body, leaving you numb and frozen in place. Your mind swims, thoughts racing too fast to capture any single one. What will you do? Where will you go? How much will it cost? The questions pile up, tangling together until all you can do is stare blankly at the screen, paralyzed by the sudden upheaval.

It's as if your brain has short-circuited, unable to process this new information on top of everything else. The emotional whiplash of the day—from intense pleasure to sudden anxiety—leaves you utterly drained. You can't even form a coherent thought, much less a plan.

You blink slowly at your phone, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. You should respond. You should start looking for options. You should... should...

Eyes flutter as the bathroom light spills into the bedroom, casting Terzo's elongated shadow across the floor. The bed dips as he slides in beside you, his body radiating warmth. Arms wrap tightly around you.. Your exhaustion is bone-deep, consciousness already slipping away as you feel his warm breath against your ear. He whispers something, the words lost in the fog of your nearly-sleeping mind. You mumble an incoherent response, a string of sleepy nonsense that makes no sense even to you.

Terzo's chest vibrates with a soft laugh against your back, the sound rich and warm. The last thing you register before sleep claims you completely is the gentle pressure of his lips against your temple.

You groan and stretch, your limbs heavy with sleep as consciousness slowly returns. The bed beside you is empty and cold - Terzo must have been up for a while. Your head throbs dully, a reminder of last night's wine, but there's something else pulling you from the cozy cocoon of blankets: the unmistakable aroma of breakfast wafting up from downstairs.

The scent of butter and cheese mingles with coffee, making your stomach growl despite the lingering headache. You blink blearily at the ornate ceiling, debating whether to venture out of the warm bed. A melodic humming drifts up from what must be the kitchen, accompanied by the gentle clink of dishes.

Finally, hunger wins out over sleepiness. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, shivering slightly in the morning air. Your clothes from yesterday are neatly folded on a nearby chair - definitely Terzo's doing. You pull them on quickly before padding barefoot toward the stairs, following the enticing smell and the sound of his voice.

You find him in the kitchen, white vest traded for a plain white t-shirt, hair slightly mussed from sleep. He's humming an unfamiliar tune as he stirs something in a pan, his hips swaying slightly to his own melody. The sight would be endearing if your head wasn't pounding and your stomach wasn't in knots from last night's text.

"Ah, toppolino! Just in time." He beams at you over his shoulder, wielding a spatula with flourish. "I make the best eggs in all of Italy. Or at least, that's what the sisters used to tell me." He winks, turning back to the stove where a pan of scrambled eggs sizzle.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot, inhaling the rich aroma. The caffeine is desperately needed - especially with the weight of your housing situation hanging over your head. You try to push the thought away, focusing instead on how the morning light catches the black paint around Terzo's eyes, making his green one pop.

"Sit, sit!" He gestures dramatically with the spatula. "Let Papa take care of you this morning." There's a playful glint in his mismatched eyes as he slides a generous portion of eggs onto a plate. They're swimming in cheese, probably enough cholesterol to kill a small horse, but they smell divine.

“They smell really good. I didn’t know you could cook?” You push around the eggs on your plate, wanting to wait for him before trying them.

"That's because eggs are all I can make without burning the kitchen down," he admits with a sheepish grin, sliding into the chair across from you. "Once, I tried to make pasta for my brothers The kitchen was closed for three days for repairs." He sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "But these!" He points at your plate with his fork. "These, I have mastered."

You can't help but giggle at his theatrical retelling, the image all to clear of Terzo clanging around in the kitchen, filling the place with smoke, spilling boiling water, etc. filling your mind.

“If they smell so good, why haven’t you eaten yet, ‘fetta?”

“I was waiting for you.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended and his expression softens immediately.

"Amore, you are too sweet. But per favore, eat! The eggs will get cold, and then I will be very sad." He reaches across the table to pat your hand affectionately before digging into his own plate with enthusiasm.

You take a bite of the eggs and can't help but let out a small moan of appreciation. They really are incredible - perfectly fluffy and loaded with just the right amount of cheese. The morning sun streams through the kitchen windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

"The garden looks beautiful," you comment between bites, gesturing toward the window. The neat rows of plants sway gently in the morning breeze.

"The pepperoncini are finally growing," he says proudly, gesturing to a row of small pepper plants. "I almost killed them twice, but they are resilient little things."

When you've both finished eating, he reaches across the table to take your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm. You sit in comfortable silence, sipping your coffee, enjoying the simple intimacy of the moment.

“I was thinking, ehhh… I would have some film time today.” Terzo stretches in the doorframe, his long limbs cast in stark shadows against the morning light. "I got the projector is working again, and I have a film I've been meaning to watch for ages." He runs a hand through his dark hair, the black paint around his eyes somehow still immaculate. “Join me?”

“Oh, that would be so nice but I just - I have some things to take care of.” Your anxiety is palpable. His eyes narrow, the playful look on his face faltering. He sees right through you, you know it. But he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I will be in the den if you change your mind, amore.” He uses his entire body to blow you a kiss. It makes you smile and laugh.

You watch him leave, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. There's something endearing about seeing him like this - so at ease, so genuinely happy. Gone is the brooding, mysterious employer who first hired you. In his place is someone warm, playful, almost... domestic?

Your coffee has cooled to the perfect temperature, and as you take a sip, you find yourself replaying little moments from the past few days. The way he purrs whenever you are near. How his accent gets thicker when he's excited. The gentle way he carried you to bed last night. He made you breakfast.

“Ugghhhh.”

You like him so much. There's something surprisingly sweet about him that you hadn't expected to find.

A crash from the basement interrupts your dreamy thoughts. Chills run up your spine as the sound morphs into a soft Clair De Lune. That fucking piano. You had forgotten how it shook you the day before and how Terzo hardly paid it any attention once he had you in front of the fireplace. He had showered you with praise, shoved some wine in your hand and ordered chinese food. All an effort to distract you. Some of your dreamy thoughts turn sour.

The ghostly piano plays throughout the afternoon. You finish updating Terzo's calendar, process the outstanding invoices, and make sure all the utility payments are scheduled. The work keeps your hands busy, but every so often you focus on the sounds floating up from beneath the floorboards, Clair De Lune ever present, weaving in melodies from Devil Church, Spoksonat and He is.

It mingles with the muffled sounds of Arsenic and Old Lace, punctuated by occasional bursts of animated Italian as Terzo reacts to scenes. You can picture him so clearly, gesturing dramatically at the screen. Not once does he acknowledge the basement.

By the time you finish your tasks, your mood has soured considerably. Great state of mind to begin apartment hunting. The search begins.

Your laptop screen glows with dozens of open tabs - apartment listings, rental websites, Facebook housing groups. After spending some time looking, there are several options that don’t sound all that bad. You're surprised at the amount that are within your budget. After all, this job has helped you save far more than any other. The thought brings a small wave of relief - you're in a better financial position than you've ever been, really. Maybe this change, while unexpected, isn't the catastrophe it first seemed. You can make it on your own, find a place that's... normal.

The sound of Terzo's footsteps on the stairs makes you quickly minimize the browser window, though you're not sure why you feel the need to hide it. The familiar creaking of floorboards that you've come to recognize as his pacing. You try to focus back on the listings.

Just as you're scrolling through another apartment listing, a soft creak in the floorboards announces his presence before you see him. The familiar sound makes your heart skip, even as you try to maintain focus on the screen in front of you. You can feel his eyes on you.

“What is this, eh?” Terzo looms in the doorway, head tilted as he studies your laptop screen. “You are moving?”

"My roommate just texted," you say quietly, running a hand through your hair. "She's moving out at the end of our lease. In a month." You show him your phone screen, the messages still displayed. "I need to find a place."

His mouth opens, then closes, eyebrows furrowing as he processes your words. "Move in here," he says simply, as if it's the most obvious solution in the world. "There are plenty of rooms, and you already spend most of your time here anyway.”

"Oh, I couldn't," you say gently, shaking your head. "That wouldn't be... appropriate."

"And why not?" His tone is light but there's an edge to it. "It makes perfect sense, no? The commute would be nothing. And I would not charge you rent, of course.” He’s slinks closer to you, his one hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Terzo..." You fidget with your coffee cup, avoiding his intense gaze. "I-I think I need my own space. This is still new. And living here… seems like a lot. Big step, and all*.*"

His expression shifts, a predatory gleam entering his mismatched eyes as he stalks toward you. "Tesoro," he purrs, voice dropping to that velvet register that usually makes your knees weak. "Perhaps we can... discuss this further?" His fingers trail along your arm, but you step back, shaking your head.

Seeing his seduction failing, his demeanor hardens. "You like when I'm rough with you, yes?" he growls, pressing into your space. "When I take control?" For a moment, heat floods your cheeks at the memory, but you force yourself to stand your ground.

"That's not going to work this time," you say firmly, though your voice shakes slightly. "This isn't about... that."

His jaw tightens, a flash of frustration crossing his painted features. "Ah, you are being difficult, tesoro. Always so stubborn." He runs a hand through his dark hair, clearly agitated. "I am offering you a solution to your problem, and you refuse it. Why must you make things so complicated?"

He’s not listening to you at all.

“Terzo, the piano has been playing by itself all day!” You erupt, exasperated by the situation. “This place is freaky and you know it. I don’t want to live here. And besides — we’ve only just started…" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration evident in your voice. "I like you so much. I just need time to think about everything, and this house... there's something not right about it. You have to see that."

His expression darkens further. The air grows heavy with an otherworldly tension that makes your skin prickle. "You want to know what's 'not right' about this house, eh?" he growls, his Italian accent thickening with his rising anger. "This house has seen things you cannot imagine, ‘fetta. Things that would make your blood run cold." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, each word dripping with barely contained fury. "You think a piano playing itself is frightening? That's nothing compared to what truly dwells within these walls."

A chill runs down your spine as realization dawns. He’s not talking about the house. He’s talking about himself. You almost want to laugh but look on his face stops you. Is he joking? It can’t be him — he’s just a guy. A sad, retired rocker. Isn’t he?

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and mounting tension. His earlier fury seems to crack slightly, revealing something vulnerable underneath - a flash of hurt in those mismatched eyes that makes your chest ache. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, but there's an edge of pain that cuts through his carefully maintained composure.

"You want to run, tesoro? You want to pretend none of this exists?" His voice cracks on the last word, betraying the depth of emotion he's trying to mask.

“I’m not the one pretending.” You can’t hold back anymore. Ever since the phone appeared you’ve been on edge, you’ve felt crazy and you’ve pushed those feelings down because of how he’s continued to react. "You're torturing me. You've been keeping me in the dark about what's happening, never being quite truthful about anything. And you want me to live here? I don’t know anything about you Terzo.”

This silence is different, more dangerous. The way he stands there, perfectly still, jaw clenched and eyes burning with cold fury - it's unsettling. There's none of his usual dramatic gesturing or passionate Italian exclamations. Just that deadly quiet rage simmering beneath the surface, making the air feel thick and heavy around you.

“Leave. Now.”

He’s perfectly threatening.

You stare at him for a long moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Without saying a word, you stuff your laptop into your bag, movements sharp with anger. When you look up, he's already melted back into the shadows of the house, disappearing as if he was never there.Fury and hurt propel you forward as you storm through the dark hallway. The piano has finally, mercifully stopped its endless playing.

You wrench the front door open and slam it behind you with enough force to rattle the windows, letting the sound punctuate your exit.