Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“...Twenty-seven...”

An apartment door slammed shut, leaving Rosalina in a thick, resounding quiet. It felt like a stab — deep and almost physical.

He left. He really did...

She hadn’t expected anything different. She’d built no illusions, believed in no morning kisses or sweet nothings. This wasn't supposed to be anything more than what they'd both come for. Both of them got what they wanted. However, only now did she realise how empty the bedroom truly was without him. Gone was the warmth of his breath on her neck, the shadow at the doorway, his gaze burning through her skin.

Sleep vanished instantly. Lina reached for the mask, pulling it from her face. She winced as faint candlelight met her eyes. Minutes dragged. It took time for her body — still aching from the night — to gather itself and stand. Wrapped in a blanket she crossed the floor barefoot. The cold wood touched her feet, echoing in her spine as she walked around the apartment. A foolish hope flickered, that her ears had deceived her, that he was still there, waiting just around the corner. And yet, nothing. The place was empty. Almost as if he had never been here.

The silence was absolute, nearly tangible. And through it, a low, insistent vibration buzzed. Rosalina flinched. There was no mistaking the source: her phone, forgotten in the hallway. She didn't wait a second before rushing to her bag. Her fingers desperately searched for the cold case of her phone. The lit-up screen made her world go still again.

🔔 Domnet: New message from Anonymous User

An icy restlessness stirred beneath her ribs as her pulse raced, deafening her hearing. Almost breathless, she gave in and opened the chat.

No goodbye. No trace of any emotion. And still, it felt like care, she thought. Even though in such an odd, distant way.

Another message showed up in the chat following the first one. This was infinitely better than the previous, dry instruction.

She let her back slide down the wall until she slumped to the floor. The phone slipped from her loosened grip. Her whole being — from the sag of her shoulders to the weary tilt of her head — spoke of a deep, hollow exhaustion. The apartment was at her disposal, but it was not a sanctuary. She had no intention of staying.

Rosalina left the food and drinks in the kitchen untouched, despite her slight hunger. She took a quick shower, got dressed, and tidied up as much as she could after the events of the night. The bedroom and living room looked almost perfect. Almost, except for the collar, leash, and leather blindfold that he had never taken off her, which were now neatly stacked on the coffee table.

When the first rays of morning sun began to peek through the heavy living room curtains, she closed the front door behind her. It was deserted outside. Fog blanketed the pavement, like it was trying to hide her steps. The taxi already waited for her down the street.

She gazed out the window the whole way back. As the city streets gave way to country roads, an unfamiliar feeling pounded insistently in her chest. It wasn't remorse — for that there was not a shred of reason. Rather... anticipation. A craving for this sophisticated little game to be continued.

Soon, the outlines of the gloomy gates appeared in the dawn mist. The Ministry was not yet awake. No one met her, no one asked her the inevitable questions about the nighttime she had just spent outside the monastery walls, about her uncovered head and the traces of ruined makeup. Either no one had noticed her absence, or — far more likely — had tactfully kept quiet, pretending not to notice.

Her room was quiet in the morning, until it was interrupted by the subtle creaking of a door, too cautious for this hour. It was followed by squeaky floorboards and the soft rustling of cloth.

“Scheiße*… Lina? Is that you?” The voice came from one of the two beds. Sister Luxuria’s usual soft tone was rough with sleep, with a clear note of confusion. She pushed herself up on her elbows, the blanket sliding from her shoulders to reveal a plain white nightgown before she hastily tugged it back into place. “What the hell, may I ask? Prioress Marianna was asking for you. I had to invent a thousand reasons to keep her from coming in here to check.”
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* Scheiße (ger.) — Shit.
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Yawning, she rubbed her eyes to shake off the last of her sleep and finally discerned the familiar silhouette in the room’s gloom. The contrast between the Lina she knew and the disheveled figure before her was so abrupt that Luxuria’s fingers instinctively tightened on the edge of her blanket. Only then, after a slight delayed reaction, did she feel a chill run down her spine.

“I…” Rosalina stood frozen in the doorway, caught. Her lips went dry; a lump rose in her throat. She reflexively smoothed the sleeves of her dress, pretending that this could somehow fix the mess she was in. A silly smile spread across her exhausted face. “I had a confession. A very long one.”

Luxuria did not speak. Her silence was more eloquent than any words, and her gaze and pursed lips conveyed a mute but insistent message: ‘I am waiting for the truth.’

“Okay, okay... Remember the website I told you about? Yeah, of course you do,” Rosalina muttered, glancing down. She had no fear of Luxuria's judgement — this was the only soul here she could trust wholeheartedly. And still, a treacherous embarrassment tied her tongue and forced her to look away. "Well... my profile didn't go unnoticed.”

Frozen, with her knuckles white from the force with which she clutched the blanket, Luxuria kept her wide-open eyes glued to Lina. Her gaze slid over her friend and found what it was looking for, or feared to find: flushed knees peeked out from under the split in her dress.

“You didn’t…” Her voice, still a little raspy, faltered. Then she burst out laughing, muffling the sound behind her hand. “Holy hell, Lina! You actually did it? You met someone? Last night?”

In an instant, Luxuria was out of bed, rushing across the room, and grabbing her roommate's hands. Her eyes burned with deadly curiosity.

“Tell me. Everything. Now.” Her cheeks flushed, she didn’t stop shaking Lina’s hands, hungry for more details, not like she’d been sleeping peacefully just a couple of minutes ago. “What’s he look like? Is he tall? His voice? His hands? Or... wait, was it her?”

Rosalina couldn't think of what to say, either because of the endless flow of questions or because of tiredness. Luxuria leaned in impatiently, so close their foreheads nearly touched. Her whisper took on a playful, threatening edge.

“And if you tell me it was ‘just a confession’ one more time, I’ll drag you to the Prioress myself and personally demand the strictest punishment for you.”

“Shhh!” Lina hissed, glancing at the closed door. “You’ll wake up the whole building."

But Luxuria had no intention of backing down. Her fingers tightened around her roommate’s wrists, curiosity sparking in her stare, a smirk spreading across her lips. Rosalina took a deep breath, eager to spill everything, but the words stuck in her throat. How could she possibly explain? How could she describe him?

“I know it might sound a bit odd…” her voice was lower than a whisper. “…but I never saw him.”

“You… What?” Luxuria’s fingers loosened their grip, but did not let go, as if afraid that Lina would vanish with this unspoken secret. “Wait. Are you telling me you spent the night with a total stranger… Blindly? Knowing nothing about him except for what was on his dating profile?"

A heavy silence fell between them. Outside, somewhere in the hallway, a floorboard creaked, making them both flinch. Rosalina expected to hear an indignant lecture of her immature behaviour, but it never came. The response from her friend was quite supportive and even enthusiastic.

 “…It’s so crazy and so damn hot.”

Well, perhaps it did sound crazy. And it totally was. But when his fingers dug into Rosalina’s thighs, when his voice commanded and her body obeyed, she couldn’t care less about the norms.

“He didn’t even bother with a profile, it was just all blank,” Lina confessed, knowing full well that this fact would dig her in even deeper. “But if you knew... If you only knew what he was like. The meeting place, the atmosphere, the smallest details — all of it was perfect, flawless, like he’d been planning this for quite some time.”

A flash of something hard to describe crossed Luxuria’s face as she stared at her friend, who was busy taking off her shoes. It could’ve been concern, interest, or a hint of jealousy, but in the end, warm sisterly care prevailed. Rosalina sank onto her own bed, still neatly made from the day before, desperate for some much-needed rest after such a chaotic night.

“Alright, I won’t pressure you. For now.” Luxuria settled on the edge of the bed, a gentle smile on her lips. She ran her hand through Lina's messy hair, brushing the unruly dark red strands from her face. 

“In the meantime... Should I tell the Prioress that you're still unwell? So you can skip breakfast and maybe even morning service?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can even bring you a chocolate chip muffin, nice and warm, fresh from the kitchen... if you share at least one more spicy detail, though.”

A ragged, sleepy sigh was Rosalina’s only reply. Even a smile was beyond her. But the friendly offer of a chocolate muffin made her stomach growl betrayingly, so she gave in and nodded.

“Well, there is one thing,” she murmured, her head tilting back against the pillow. “He had this weird quirk... or a fetish, I don’t know. He required me to wear a mask. A blindfold, I mean, and not take it off under any circumstances. Or it would all stop.”

A pause ensued. Once again, her mind began searching for answers to the same questions: why was the person who had suggested this date so desperately clinging to anonymity? What demanded that level of secrecy, even beyond the screen?

“He took my sight, but gave me so much more. If you know what I mean,” she concluded, leaving her thoughts vague and ambiguous, enough to spark her friend’s curiosity.

“A mask? Sounds a bit risky… but intriguing,” Luxuria murmured to herself, a bit distracted, attempting to process what she had just heard. She clicked her tongue, a teasing sound, and pushed herself up from the bed. “Alright, deal. The muffin’s yours.”

Resuming her morning preparations, Luxuria couldn't stop thinking about the mysterious stranger, replaying possible scenarios in her mind over and over again. Their room settled into a quiet, mundane rhythm. Peace reigned once more, emphasised by the monotonous rustling of monastic robes and the muffled patter of bare feet. Just when it felt like everything was done, she all of a sudden threw up her hands and rushed to the bed, where Lina was breathing softly in sleep.

“Wait — his voice! What did his voice sound like? Deep? Rough? Soft?”

She gently shook Lina’s shoulder, incapable to restrain her excitement, but then quickly pulled back, as she remembered that her friend was barely conscious.

“Right. Fine… It can wait. Get some sleep, I’ll bring you a muffin and a cup of tea soon.” Reaching the door and grabbing the handle, she glanced back one last time, her eyebrows arching playfully. “But that doesn’t mean this conversation is over.”

Rosalina never got a chance to say a word before her roommate swiftly escaped into the hallway. By then, her mind was already floating in that hazy space between sleep and waking, as she curled up atop the blanket still with her clothes on. Just before she drifted off into a much-needed sleep, the last thing she remembered was the soft click of the closing door.

✧✧✧

The office door closed behind Terzo with a soft click as he leaned against it, testing to see if he indeed was alone. The gloves came off first, the leather still holding the phantom warmth of her skin. He tossed them onto the desk. His jacket followed, silently falling from his shoulders and landing on the back of a nearby chair.

His hand moved toward the decanter of wine, but reconsidered. With a heavy sigh, he slumped into the armchair by the window, leaning back and stretching his legs out in exhaustion. The gentle morning light touched his cheekbones, illuminating his sharp features and smudged face paint.

Good girl.

The thought was a spark, causing the corner of his lips to twitch, breaking the composure of his face. The moment he closed his eyes, all those memories came flooding back, still vivid in his mind: her shivering, her restrained moans, her lips... her burgundy lips, obscenely alluring, blasphemous, the very epitome of sin incarnate, no less. She was a catch. She was exactly what he wanted her to be. Pliant, responsive, seductive. But was it worth repeating? 

It would be easy. He knew where to find her. He was sure she would come running the moment he asked, proving her devotion with no question. His mind was already coming up with a new game — a different toy, a different scenario, perhaps a longer leash to see how far she might run before being pulled back. His gaze froze, lost somewhere in space.

Was this game worth the effort?

His bare fingers gripped the armrests of the chair tightly. Sister Rosalina. Not just a random stranger. She was part of his world, even if just a tiny part. It was no secret that each of the Papas appreciated the company of charming partners. The Ministry not only tolerated their debauchery, but regarded it as a natural privilege, for it was the norm, not a vice. Yet his reckless and smug act of proclaiming himself her God clearly went beyond all conceivable limits of what was permissible. And the mere thought of this arbitrariness reaching the ears of Sister Imperator, who had not been fond of him lately, made something deep inside him shrink in pain. His reputation, his position — all could collapse in an instant.

He rubbed his face, smearing the paint even more. He had no time for tiredness. Adrenaline was still rushing through his veins, or so he told himself. But if he was careful, if he played his cards right, then there was a chance… A Risk. A foolish, reckless risk — which, to be honest, was what always ruined him.

“Che tentazione* ...” he spat through clenched teeth.

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* Che tentazione (it.) — What a temptation.
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His feigned energy left him quite swiftly, his reality starting to blur among the fragments of his thoughts. A cool breeze from the window touched his forehead, and that was enough — he didn't even notice his eyelids growing heavy.

Shortly thereafter, precise knocking on the wooden surface interrupted his rest. Terzo gasped and headed for the desk, buried under a pile of papers. Catching a glimpse of his ghostly reflection in the dark glass of the cabinet, he fixed his dishevelled black locks and smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt, though it didn't help much. And still, within a second, a familiar mask of icy composure appeared on his face, making it seem he had indeed spent the night doing paperwork, instead of…

“Enter!"

The door creaked, letting in a tall figure he knew well. The sight of the metal mask with the glowing gold eyes behind it made the tension seep from Terzo’s shoulders. All pretense of formality abandoned, he sank back into his chair with a quiet sigh, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Ah, Omega… Anything urgent?"

Ghoul lingered at the entrance, a folder in his hands. Upon receiving permission, he promptly crossed the threshold. Despite his massive build, he made no sound as he walked across the parquet floor. His gaze slid over Terzo, or more precisely, over his creased suit, careless at first glance, but revealing more than he wanted.

“A schedule of mandatory meetings for the coming week. From Sister Imperator. It needs your approval.”

“Leave it there. I’ll take a look later,” he said dismissively, not even opening his eyes.

Omega came to the desk, following his request, then took a measured step back, not taking his eyes off Papa. A sweet scent — barely noticeable, and hardly familiar — hit his nostrils, causing him to wince beneath his mask.

“You seem a bit tired from your… engagement with the Sister of Sin last night. Shall I inform your brothers not to expect you at the family lunch?"

His words hit Terzo hard, like a punch to the gut. His now wide-open eyes exposed raw vulnerability for a moment, before the usual cold rage started to rise again.

“What did you just say?” His words came out more like a stifled growl.

Omega leaned his head slightly, confused by Papa’s reaction.

“You spent the night with Sister Rosalina and now you look too exhausted to attend the lunch gathering, ” he replied in a tone devoid of any emotion, much like someone delivering a weather report or safety instructions.

“What kind of nonsense are you coming up with today, eh?! Why the hell are you talking about me and—‘ He stopped himself mid-sentence, breathing deeply and straightening his shoulders. Though the muscles in his jaw were still twitching with irritation, when he got up from his chair, approaching the ghoul. “Stop making up rumours around the Ministry.”

He stopped directly before the ghoul, hands clasped tightly behind his back. It was an insignificant gesture, revealing his lack of confidence. Omega didn't even flinch. For him, what was happening was entirely expected. A devilish grin was begging to escape from under his mask, yet his voice carried no hint of colour when he spoke.

“Her scent on your clothes...” he paused, his gaze shifting to the desk. “…and your gloves. They are quite telling.”

Terzo found himself speechless. His gaze pierced through the ghoul, who was stronger. Taller. Bigger. And, what was most annoying, perfectly cool in this situation, acting as if he didn't understand the problem and didn't see any threat coming from the man in front of him.

“Damn you,” Terzo snapped, pacing around the office. His fingers pressed into his temples as he tried to rein in the frenzied whirlwind of thoughts in his head.

Omega just watched him silently. Only the tip of his tail, barely swaying from side to side, was a sign of growing curiosity and some kind of particular enjoyment. Giving up on his futile musings, Terzo slammed his palms on the desktop with such force it made the inkwell and its pen rattle.

“I know this will sound ambiguous, but just trust me... You know I’d never do anyone any harm. It was an accident. She knows nothing. And no one should know, do you understand?” He leaned on the edge of the desk, a flood of information washing over him, leaving him a little dizzy.

“I understand. I’ll take care of it.” He nodded toward the half-empty decanter on the minibar counter. “Shall I bring some more wine for you?”

“You shall.”

Ghoul gave a brief nod and moved toward the door. He deliberately paused his hand on the door handle for a second longer than necessary, and that pause was filled by a quiet voice calling out to him from behind.

“Omega…” Terzo hesitated, a stupid question dancing on his tongue. It was superfluous and completely unnecessary, but it still tried to escape. “Am I an idiot?”

Omega’s tail swayed a little more, as if weighing the answer.

“Yes, you are,” he said, standing still at the door with his back to his Papa. “And if I may offer some advice, you still have a chance to not become even more of a—”

“Ah, get lost! You, fucking advice-giver." Terzo cut him off with a sarcastic grin.

As soon as the door closed, announcing the visitor's leave, a low groan of relief filled the office. Papa’s empty, unfocused gaze found a crack in the ceiling.

Idiot.

However, the rational part of his mind agreed. The price of a possible mistake was too high. Therefore, he had to resist the temptation and abandon the idea while he still could, no matter how appealing it seemed.

He looked at the gloves lying nearby and reached for them, not sure why. That was enough to trigger flashbacks, striking his chest in a hot rush. His whole being craved one thing: to relive every moment, every touch, every moan, all over again.

…Or should I find another option? With a little bit of creativity, there might be better alternatives, right?

Giving up, Terzo threw his gloves into the far corner of the room. “Fuck it.” These two words put an end to all his internal debates.

The minute later, he was back at his desk, grabbing the folder and getting lost in those dry, predictable pages. He had plenty to do: sort through the paperwork, make it through lunch, survive the evening mass. There was no time for thinking about stuff. Even if it was just for a little while.

Yet, whether from sleepiness or out of boredom, the documents blurred before his eyes, while his attention, treacherous as ever, kept wandering back to that corner, to the black spot on the floor that was his abandoned gloves.