Fic suggestion for you, from the "hold me closer" prompts set - "you're warm" with Terzo, but Y/N is the one sticking their cold hands down the back of his robes >:)
Or, alternatively, maybe something more sad with a ghostly Terzo, seeking out Y/N for a warmth he no longer has...?
of course i went with the sad :)
An unnatural chill had overtaken your quarters since he passed.
It was sudden. It was beyond suspicious. But what could you do about it? You weren’t anyone of note, just a member of the Clergy who did as they were told.
Still, there was unrest beneath your actions now. A confusion that wasn’t there before. You followed Papa mindlessly, and now he is gone, tossed aside for another. Someone newer, shinier, younger. Someone who had a deep connection to Sister Imperator, while the relationship with Terzo was described as fraught, at best.
These were the thoughts that plagued you when you were alone. There was no ritual to hide behind, no obscene prayer on your tongue. Just you, a laundry basket, and the sound of your socks skimming the hardwood floor.
You traced one of your habits, adorned with Papa’s grucifix. Could you even wear it anymore? Is that something that could be gotten away with, or would it result in punishment now? Who—
A piece of paper fell to the ground, seemingly knocked from your desk. You paused. Dropped the habit in your hands.
It was just your schedule that had fallen, but a feeling of unease settled in your stomach.
You spun, a gasp tearing from your throat in fear. The voice had been directly in your ear. You could almost feel lips.
But there was nothing—a blank space.
This time, you recognized the voice.
Slowly, you turned back to your laundry basket to find him standing there. He wore his Papal robes, his gloves adorned with sharp golden nails, but no mitre. He looked smaller than you remembered him.
“Papa?” A mere squeak. A blue hue surrounded him. His eyes looked tired.
“Y-yes,” he hissed, teeth chattering. “Yes, it’s m-me.” A gust of cool air hit you as he inched closer. “I-I need something of you, tesoro. Per favore, I n-need your h-help.” Terzo’s hands reached for you, trembling.
Your feet were cemented in place, and yet you’re not sure you could run if you wanted to. Here he was, in all his ghostly glory. The man you followed, the man you believed in. And, he was asking for your help. Something squeezed in your chest, most likely your heart, at the quiver in his voice. It used to boom, used to fill up the nave with his sinful songs, beautiful and strong.
“How can I help you, Papa?” You’re determined to help him, and it was evident in your face. His eyes flickered, something like hope passing through them.
Your heart was breaking for him. There was no way of knowing if you could touch him, him being translucent and all, but you immediately went for it anyway, throwing your arms around him. Surprisingly, he was firm. Terzo returned the embrace, his body shivering against you.
Despite being firm, he was frigid, icy to the touch. His cold invaded your chest, spreading through your limbs.
“You’re warm,” he purred into your ear, his grip on you tightening. “I-I’ve been s-so cold since—“ He cut himself off with a strangled whine.
Terzo’s robes were draped across you, nearly swallowing you whole despite not being truly there. You’ve never felt the before — they were luxurious silk beneath fingertips. He truly seemed to have had it all.
“I’ll help warm you. As much as I can.”
“I’ll never… n-never be warm again, tesoro,” he sighed, then held you even closer to him. The desperation in his touch was both exciting and devastating. “I w-won’t be here long.”
“What? No. Don’t go, Papa, please.” You pulled away from him, brows furrowing. He had only just gotten here, and he was hurting.
Now there was only your small room, your half-folded laundry, and the ghost of a man shivering in front of you like the world had forgotten how to hold him.
“I do not w-want to,” he whispered. His eyes dropped, lashes casting shadows over that strange blue glow. “Believe me, tesoro, I have been trying to stay.”
“Then stay.” The words came out too quickly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back. “Stay here. With me.”
Something moved across his face. Hunger, maybe. Grief. The terrible relief of being asked for something after being discarded so thoroughly.
“You would let a dead man haunt you?”
“If it’s you, Papa. Yes, absolutely.”
And for the first time since before he had died, Terzo smiled.
blakekathryn
romaincrisis
janainaart
origamiaround
germansingergirl
2087
