Hi! How are things? If you're still taking requests, I'd love to ask for a fanfic where Terzo takes care of the reader as she undergoes surgery
P.S. I'm actually having surgery myself in June, which is why I'm making this request! 🥹👉👈
Hi! Medical/surgery stuff is never fun…but who better than a hot satanic pope turned devoted and reverent lover to be a comfort? 🥰 I’m wishing you all the best with everything 🖤
A Promise In Silver
When surgery leaves you frightened and vulnerable, Terzo promises that the first thing you’ll see when you wake is him. True to his word, he waits through every agonizing minute and cares for you with the same devotion he gives to his most sacred rituals. 💍🕯️🔮
A03
Coupling: Papa Emeritus III X GN! Reader
Word Count: 1,557
The smell of hospital antiseptic clings to everything.
Your gown. The thin blanket tucked over your legs. The stiff white sheets beneath you. Even the air feels sterile.
You are trying so very hard not to fidget as you sit on the edge of the pre-op bed in your oversized gown, fingers working the plastic hospital bracelet around your wrist until it presses red marks into your skin.
“It is not a rosary, Tesoro.”
The familiar voice draws your gaze upward.
Terzo stands in front of you in all black, his usual dramatic silhouette softened by unmistakable concern in his darkened eyes. A gloved hand curls around yours, gently stilling your nervous movements.
“You will rub your skin raw.”
You attempt a smile. “Sorry.”
“No.” His thumb gently strokes along your knuckles. “No apologies for fear.”
The words land with such a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. You had spent most of the morning insisting you were completely fine.
You were not fine.
The surgery was low risk. Straight forward. Something performed every day. Your doctors had said so repeatedly. Yet the thought of being put to sleep, of surrendering your body, trust and consciousness to complete strangers, leaves an ice cold knot of panic in your chest. Terzo can easily sense every spiraling thought before you can even voice them. He steps closer, standing between your knees, and tips your chin upward with surprising gentleness.
“Look at me.”
You do.
The painted skull on his face should look more severe beneath the overhead fluorescent lights, but all you can see is the man underneath it- worried, hopelessly devoted, and trying so very hard to be strong for you.
“You are going to close your eyes,” he murmurs, “and when you open them again, I will be there.”
His forehead rests gently against yours.
“The first thing you will see.”
Your eyes begin to sting. Tears threatening to spill over. You swallow the burning in your throat.
“What if something goes wrong?”
His hands come up and frame your face with a reverent gentleness.
“Then they will answer to me.”
The threat is delivered so smoothly that an involuntary watery laugh escapes your throat.
“There you are,” he whispers with a smile. “That is the sound I wish to hear.”
Terzo is completely quiet for a moment as his eyes search yours. Then, to your surprise, he slips one of his gloves free. The silver papal ring catches the fluorescent lights as he turns it thoughtfully upon his finger.
“Give me your hand.”
You obey without any hesitation. His expression softens as he carefully removes the ring and places it into the palm of your hand. The metal is cool against your skin, and your eyes widen in shock.
“Terzo–“
“Keep it.”
You stare down at the ring. His ring. The one that rarely, if ever, left his hand.
“I can’t.” You shake your head.
“You can.” He nods.
His fingers fold yours gently around it, closing your hand entirely over the silver.
“For protection.”
The corners of your mouth tremble.
“You’re giving me your ring?”
A faint smile touches his lips.
“I am lending it.”
His smile widens.
“If I gave it away permanently, Sister Imperator would undoubtedly rise from whatever meeting she is currently attending and strike me dead.”
A nervous laugh escapes you. Success. That was clearly his goal. His thumb brushes over the knuckles of your clenched fist.
“You will bring it back to me afterward.”
His gaze meets yours.
“But, while you are in there, a part of me goes with you.”
The lump in your throat becomes impossible to ignore now.
“Terzo-“
His expression turns unexpectedly earnest.
“I know it is only a ring,” his hand settles over your clenched fist, “but symbols hold power because we give them power.”
He lifts your knuckles and presses a soft kiss against them.
“So keep it close, amore.”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“And come back to me.”
A soft knock interrupts the moment.
The nurse steps inside with an apologetic expression. “We’re ready for you.”
The fear returns so quickly it steals your breath away. Your fingers tighten around Terzo’s hand. For the first time that morning his composure falters. Only slightly. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches and the way he draws in a measured breath before he leans down and kisses your forehead tenderly.
Then your nose.
Then both cheeks.
Then your lips, lingering there just long enough to steady and ground you.
“Listen to me, amore.”
His voice drops, low and firm, the serious tone he uses when he needs you to believe him.
“You are coming back to me.”
A tear finally spills over and slips down your cheek. He brushes it away with the pad of his thumb.
“No arguments. No dramatics. No attempts to haunt me from beyond.”
You can’t help but laugh through tears.
“I mean it,” he states matter-of-factly, eyes shining. “I have far too many plans for you.”
The nurse gives you a sweet sympathetic smile as she moves to wheel your bed toward the door. Your heart hammers in your chest. Terzo walks alongside you until he is no longer allowed. At the threshold of the operating room, he squeezes your hand one final time.
“I love you.” You whisper.
His lips brush your knuckles softly.
“More than any prayer I have ever spoken.” He breathes gently.
The doors begin to close. The last thing you see before they swing shut is Terzo standing tall in the bright hospital corridor, his hands clasping in front of him like a man pretending not to pray to his dark lord.
Eventually, the world begins to return to you in fragments. A steady beeping. The whisper of fabric. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with something much warmer and familiar- leather, incense and the cologne that has now become synonymous with home.
Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. You pry them open with a soft groan.
The room is dimmer than before, the harsh fluorescents muted. Everything looks hazy, swirling at the edges. Then after a moment, your vision focuses.
There he is. Exactly as he promised.
Terzo is sat beside your bed in a stiff uncomfortable hospital chair that is definitely too small, even for him. His hair is slightly disheveled, his paint a little smudged below tired eyes, as if he has rubbed at them more than once while waiting.
You realize one of his gloves is gone. His bare hand is wrapped around yours. The moment your eyes meet his, relief washes over his face so powerfully it nearly undoes you on the spot.
“Buongiorno, sleepyhead.” He murmurs quietly.
Your lips feel numb and clumsy.
“You’re…pretty.”
A breathless laugh escapes him.
“Yes, yes, I have been informed.”
His thumb gently strokes the back of your hand, reverent and steady.
“You also informed the nurse that I am ‘very shiny’.”
You frown, trying to process whatever that could actually mean.
“Are you?”
He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
“Only for you.”
The memory of fear flickers briefly, but is quickly drowned beneath the sheer warmth of his presence. You are groggy, sore, and still drifting at the very edge of consciousness…but he is here. Just as he said he would be.
“Did you stay?” You whisper.
Terzo’s expression completely softens.
“Every second.”
Your eyes burn unexpectedly. He immediately notices.
“Ah, none of that.” His fingers gently brush beneath your lashes, catching a tear before it can fall. “You were magnificent.”
“I feel weird.”
“That is the medication.” His lips curve. “And perhaps the realization that you have survived and are obligated to continue loving me.”
A sleepy laugh bubbles to the surface of your tongue.
“There you are,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles one by one. “I am so proud of you.”
The words settle into your chest, warm and healing. You swallow the lump in your throat.
“Was it bad?”
He shakes his head.
“The doctors are pleased. Everything went according to plan.”
You let out a breath you don’t realize you are even holding.
Terzo rises from his chair just enough to carefully lean over the hospital bed, mindful of every wire and bandage. His forehead rests against yours.
“You frightened me.” He admits in a whisper. Your fingers curl around his weakly.
“Sorry.”
His eyes flash with affectionate reproach.
“What did I say about apologies?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.
“That they are not allowed.”
“Precisely.”
He kisses the corner of your mouth.
“You did the hardest part. Now you rest.”
Your eyelids are already drooping again.
“I love you,” you slur.
Terzo’s smile turns soft and impossibly tender.
“I know.” He brushes your hair away from your face. “You told the nurse, the doctor, and the gentleman delivering your ice chips.”
You gently snort out a slurred giggle as Terzo settles back into the chair without ever releasing your hand.
“Sleep, amore. I am here.”
The last thing you feel before drifting under once more is the steady stroke of his thumb across your skin.
And the last thing you hear is his voice, low and warm beside you.
“So brave. My favorite miracle.”
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