#Fem!Terzo

[kabukiaku]

of course I had to post this on its own. Fem! Terzomega commission for lavendertea_ghoul on instagram💜🖤

[plague-brat]

serving cunt for breakfast, lunch, & dinner: mami terzo emeritus

[probably-impossible]

Here have a fem Terzo and her beautiful barstool Meliora

[animae-n-sht]

Utenna reminded me of Terzo, so you have this fun mash-up.

[moronwithoutmo]

It was only a matter of time before I turned my fictional boy crush into a woman

This is Terza as a Prioress under the current Abbess, Copia

[khonshu-spector]

"𝖂𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙?"

Terzo x Fem!Omega my dudes!

[bon-nobody]

Deflowered.

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Terzo x Fem!Reader

A/N: Stg if I ever see this purple fucking freak darken the doorway of my mind, I'm going for his kneecaps. He will never be able to slut about on the floor again, and then what will he do? Thanks, y'all, for being so patient as I almost daily had a meltdown over the structure of this. And HUGE thanks once again to @angellayercake for being my ever-patient beta with amazing input and ideas!! I hope I did our bastard boy some kind of service.

Word Count: 8.8K. Sorry, this bad boy is a hydra: For every sentence I deleted, more words would come in its place

CW: Reader has a vagina, hurtful comments from past relationships, reader's mental state is kinda fucked at a few points, hints at extremely uncomfortable interactions to "make the relationship work". Sooo...Vaginismus and its delightful conditions, I suppose. Oh, and a hint of Google Translate Italian. I'm sorry, I tried referencing @/foxybouquet's ever so helpful guide the best I could but alas, I am still a moron. MDNI

Papa III was a notorious flirt, even by the standards of the sexually liberated Church of Satan.

Everybody knew this, from the Clergy to Sister Imperator to the ghouls to his many, many lovers. And yet, when his sights finally fell upon you, everyone knew: Something in him had changed. At the very least, his methods sure had.

Secondo raised a brow when he first saw his brother lightly jogging up to you in the hallways, panting for you to wait up. Primo sported a knowing smirk when he watched the normally suave man sheepishly inquire about the meaning behind certain flower arrangements. Quite the departure from his usual bouquet of red and white roses, the older man couldn't help but note.

A startled Copia quickly became suspicious when the brother that tended to tease him the most came to his office one day, armed with top-shelf juice boxes and nutty chocolate bars – just the starting price for whatever info he was willing to give his dear old fratello about his new favorite Sorella.

The ghouls had a field day whenever they came upon the old man either sulking or even swooning over how a recent interaction had gone. One even swore they had scrounged through his wastepaper basket (don't ask, it’s not worth it) and found crumpled up drafts of sonnets. Sonnets!

It was the Siblings, however, who seemed to take the most notice of his antics. And, unfortunately, the most offense.

Certainly, plenty of the congregation had received a bouquet or two from their beloved Papa Terzo. Many had been wined and dined, and some were even whisked away for a night of passion and excitement in a glamorous metropolitan hub. Terzo had gotten around, and he would probably continue to get around until he either died mid-orgy or until his dick fell off. (And even if the latter did happen, it probably wouldn’t slow him down. Not until his fingers and tongue followed suit, anyway.)

It was cyclical: You would be an interest for a week or two before your time would be up, and you would part ways as he turned his attention to another, leaving you with memories of a whirlwind dalliance to reminisce about for years to come.

This was simply something that was understood and accepted without much of any animosity amongst Siblings. This was just how things were. Or at least up until now.

They must have noticed there was something about the way Terzo pursued you. For starters, nobody could ever recall a time when the man actually needed to really pursue anyone, let alone to the extent and care he currently displayed.

They could tell when a peer was actively trying to heighten the tension, turning their back to him but still glancing over their shoulder to shoot a heated stare. An invitation for him to keep it coming. Really putting the “play” in “playing hard to get”. But generally speaking, most of what Terzo needed to do was snap his fingers and whichever Sibling or ghoul he had his eye on would eagerly crawl into his lap and then into his bed.

Maybe they saw a shine in his eyes that wasn't there when they had him. Or maybe they thought he leaned just the slightest fraction of an inch closer to you than he ever did with anyone else. Or maybe they swore his voice sounded different when he spoke with you. Lighter, but not out of an upturn in pitch to sound friendlier. It was more like it carried less weight. Almost as though he felt less burdened by some unspoken thing. Some thing he never cared to share with them.

Granted, you didn't help matters by actually enjoying the odd conversation or two (or over a dozen) with Terzo. (And by "odd", this meant the animated discussions that borderlined two-person seminars on subjects like the Hays Code, or how viewing certain films through a gendered or queer lens could enhance the suggestion of the story.)

And anyone who spotted you alone on the quad sharing a snack would've been convinced you were on an impromptu picnic, rather than the fact Terzo had found you and offered you pickings from his secret snack pocket.

Sure, it was just a sandwich baggy of cheese doodles, but the point still stood: You had Terzo's full attention, his intrigue, his consideration, his snacks, and you hadn't done a damn thing to deserve them! Any interaction between the both of you, every awkward joke, every instance of eye contact, every exchange of a genuine honest to Satan smile, had the Siblings of the abbey biting and clawing at the walls in envy.

You did your best to appear unaffected by it, preferring to keep your head down and say as little as possible when around them. Nothing to suggest you felt superior to them (not that you did anyhow). Regardless, you were fairly certain that, if it were up to them, they would bring back human sacrifice for the sole purpose of getting you out of the picture.

Thank Satanas, then, that none were present to witness the latest event.

There Terzo stood, his normally focused and powerful gaze fighting hard to be maintained. It was abundantly clear that he wanted to look anywhere but at you. Still, he resolved to keep that nervous on his face. His gorgeous, paintless face.

It was startling to say the least. Actually, no, scratch that: To truly say the least would be to just stand there, gaping like a goldfish as you failed to find the right words – any words – that truly encapsulated even a fraction of what you felt. Which, for better or for worse, was exactly what you found yourself doing.

After all, almost nobody outside of his own family had seen Terzo without his papal paints. They may as well have been tattooed on him the moment he’d perfected the design all those years ago! Not even the paramours he’d collected since then had gotten a glimpse of his bare face, despite the many opportunities they’d had from the nights spent in his quarters. The mystery as to why this was left plenty of room for speculation and imagination, creating a juicy mystique that Siblings and ghouls loved to salivate and chew on.

Admittedly, you yourself occasionally wondered what his deal was, but you ultimately chose not to ponder on it. If Terzo liked how he looked in makeup more than he did without, then that was his business. Honestly, it never even really occurred to you to ask him about it even as the two of you grew closer.

But as you took in the visage before you, you felt you had a good theory going: If Terzo went about the Ministry like this, he’d never know a moment’s peace again!

"Is . . . Is it . . . okay?" he asked quietly. Okay? Okay!? Satan’s taint, if it weren’t for the very apparent tension, you might’ve thought the man was teasing you! The man looked like an old movie star, all debonair and dashing!

The fight to respond in a timely (and coherent) manner was difficult, but you managed to stammer out, “More than okay.” You gulped down some shakiness. “Y-you’re very . . .handsome.”

Internally, you cringed at how wobbly you’d come across but thankfully that seemed to be enough. The warmth in your cheeks intensified as the nerves in his smile carefully evaporated, along with a slight tension in his shoulders.

Unfortunately, the consciousness did not remain, and almost immediately you found yourself delegating focus to other things. Like the beauty mark that lay just beneath the right corner of his pleasantly pink lips. Lips that were saying, “— if you would be interested, of course.”

You blinked. Were you interested? Wait . . . Interested in what, exactly?!

“Y-yeah, sure. I’m down,” you chirped before you could stop yourself.

While you tried your damndest not to look mortified or embarrassed, Terzo looked delighted. Possibly even elated.

“Oh, eccellente!” he clapped his palms together before offering you a mix of a nod and bow. That sharp characteristic of his eyes returned once more, pinning your form as he purred, “I look forward to it.”

Oh, fuck. “Can’t wait!” you replied. Of course, now the concept of urgency settled in.

As you walked back to your room for the night, you knew three things to be certain: The first was that that face of Terzo’s would likely be making many appearances in your dreams tonight. The second thing, branching off this, him showing you his face was a sign you’d let things get far too far.

And the third thing? You had to put an end to your exchanges ASAP.

Sure, you’d peppered this into your thoughts many times before, but after this? This moment of extreme vulnerability on Terzo’s part? No more peppering: It was time to actually pile in everything you had and outright reject Terzo’s advances. No room for stuttering or bending or swaying or swooning and second-guessing!

You repeated this like a mantra over and over, praying that the resolution would still be there in the morning. And it was – but only after you took an icy shower. You’d been spot on when you anticipated that gorgeous, gorgeous face invading your dreams. What you hadn’t counted on, though, was the nature of what all went on:

Snowflakes catching on his lashes as you ice skated on a pond (the power of dreams erasing his waking world clumsiness); his lips smiling around a forkful of the pasta you’d just cooked together; his broad nose nuzzling lovingly into your hair during a quiet night in; those entrancing eyes focused on the movie playing before you as his arm settled warmly around you. It gave you further comfort as you pressed into his side, so perfectly slotted that it was as though you only ever belonged there, right next to him.

You regretted disregarding the alarm bells that blared at the start of this whole nonsense, and now look where that got you: You needed a cold cleanse just because you saw a man’s unpainted face! You were worse than a pent-up Victorian! Did you really want to prolong things until you’d start to "feel" those smirking lips pressed against the column of your neck, or “feel” those large hands skirt along your form, leaving a deliciously pleasant fire in their wake?

Certainly, that might’ve made for a good night’s sleep in theory. But in reality? It was a nightmare in the making!

It was bad enough just wanting to do all those dreamy things and more with the equally dreamy Papa. But that, of course, meant the "more" part would eventually come around. After all, your waking life already wasn't too terribly far off from the things that went on in the dream.

Your days weren't filled with skating on the pond or chatting over romantic dinners but at this rate, they very well could be a possibility. In an ideal world, the wait for these things to happen would be filled with anticipation. But the sad, shower-cold reality was that this wait was weighed down by dread and predictions of what was to come. After all, for all Terzo's patience and kindness, even he had limits. Sometime soon, his patience with your inexactness would run out and he would come to collect. Experience told you that was just how it was.

You may not have had a pursuer as passionate as Terzo, but you’d had enough instances that ran about the same: There was that high, that thrill in an almost honeymoon period-like chase. Then there came the actual vulnerability where you’d tell them of the conditions that came with a relationship – the conditions that came with you. And yeah, they’d start off insisting that nothing about that changed how they felt about you . . .  But then they’d realize your condition would outlast their gimmick.

You felt your face twist with displeasure as sentences of the past began slipping through the cracks and into the forefront of your mind.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Calm down already.”

“Just relax already.”

Then came the pain (both kinds); the giving up; and then you were right back where you started: Alone together, with a body that hated you that you hated right back. The only real difference would be how much your weariness increased, making you more and more reluctant to play along with the idea of any potential romance. Meanwhile, to them, it was a game: You were just playing hard to get, that was all. But you’d surely stop when they and they alone were able to conquer you, to cure you.

Did you really want to wait around and see Terzo become like that?

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

No. Absolutely not. You weren’t sure your heart could bear it, much less your body. Besides, if word got out that he’d shown you his face, then it’d be all over for you. You’d rather incur the wrath of rejecting what many would kill for than face what might happen if they learned how far you’d gotten by doing nothing at all. At least with the former, there was a chance the Siblings let you keep your bones intact.

You had a plan as you prepared yourself to step out and face the day: Keep calm and function as normal until the chance to say those simple words hit you: “Terzo, I am not interested in you in any way, shape, or form. While you are attractive, I am not attracted to you. Please leave me alone from now on.”

A devastating lie, perhaps, but a necessary one. One you would need to deliver by tonight.

But hey, the day was still quite young. There was plenty of time for you to find the courage, right?

. . . Well, you didn’t find it in the hallway when you heard that oh-so familiar, cheerful call of, "Buongiorno, Mia Sorellina !", prompting you to pick up speed and disappear down a different corridor. Nor was it there when you caught sight of a black flutter of robe. It could’ve been a wandering Cardinal’s cassock but you weren’t prepared to stick around and find out.

And even though you spent nearly the entirety of afternoon mass, head bowed, praying for the Dark One to simply grab the strength and shove it into you, you didn’t feel any more emboldened. Apparently, your body meant it when it didn’t allow for anything to enter it – intangible things included, it seemed.

You groaned inwardly from both disappointment and discomfort as you lifted yourself off the kneeler and back into the pew. There was also the added stressor of feeling sets of multiple eyes on you: From Siblings stewing in envy; from ghouls who wanted to take a gander at the Sister who had flirty Papa III wrapped around her finger; and, worst of all, from Terzo himself.

The one time you dared to look up at his seated form on the altar, you caught a hint of a small smile directed at you.

You tried to return it, at least enough to suggest to him you were fine and happy to see him despite your earlier actions, but the sorry attempt lost any pretense of pleasantness when your eyes got caught on something: Even in the sea of his dark robes, you could make out the dull shine of leather gloves poised in his lap. Helping them to stand out more, however, was how each fingertip was adorned with a golden nail.

Correction: A golden claw. The fine barbs would fit right in on the hand of a ghoul or perhaps some other dæmonic creature.

Normally you were fascinated by the accessories but in your increasingly unwell state, these gloves intimidated you. It was like you had been reduced to a fearful prey animal and all you saw was a threat.

A thought, sharp as those gilded talons, slashed beyond your imagination and into the walls of your most sensitive place. They pierced and drilled into the intimate area just long enough for you to know they were there – both in your mind and your body – shanking their way into a place nothing was meant to enter, let alone something so dangerous.

Although a primal need to defend yourself shot through your nervous system, you were too incapacitated to do much more than body-jolting inhale. Your only defense, you had long-since learned, was to freeze. Your brain buzzed in an unpleasant manner as you started to come down from the imaginary fingering.

“You’re overreacting,” scoffed the voice of a past partner. “It’s just a finger.” You hadn’t spoken to them in years, but the disregard in their voice remained fresh, further embittering you to the fact that that was what managed to creep into you rather than the bravery you so desperately needed.

You had to pray once more that Terzo hadn’t noticed anything. A change in your already shifty demeanor, the way your legs twitched inward but not out of lust (not when Primo’s sermon was focused more on wrath today), or how your body’s momentary lurch. Much like your prayer for strength, though, you suspected this plea went ignored. You didn’t need to look up and see Terzo’s smile falter to think that.

The moment Papa Primo dismissed the congregation, you made quick work of the camouflage offered by the uniforms of habits and lace.

When a quick glance back allowed you to catch sight of a confused-looking Papa Terzo, you forced yourself to swallow the pathetic truth: You were never going to find the courage to even say sorry, let alone that you no longer wanted to see him.

What you did find – or rather, what found you – was an overwhelming torrent of grief and frustration as you flung yourself into your room and back into the bed where your day had started with a massive hitch. You shoved your face into your flattening pillow and hoped there was just enough down still left in it to muffle up your screams. And tears. Belial, you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over this sort of thing anymore. Over anyone. You should’ve been used to this type of thing by now, so what was the use in wasting energy like this?

What was the point in dwelling on how nice it all was, how nice Terzo made you feel, or how you secretly looked forward to your conversations, no matter how bizarre or intellectual? You gained nothing but the label of immature whenever you indulged in the schoolgirlish feeling of letting Terzo accompany you in the halls. Indulgence might have been encouraged by the Church, but not when it hurt or disrupted the paths of others’ own pursuits.

There was absolutely no way what you had done wasn’t going to inevitably end in pain of some kind, be it physical on your part or mental and emotional on Terzo’s.

But then again, maybe . . . Maybe you didn’t have to do this after all? Maybe you could make peace with where things were headed. You wouldn’t be able to let him inside of you in the traditional sense, no, but surely that just meant that you would just have to . . . adjust things? Yeah . . . Yeah, maybe that could work . . .

Maybe I could earn his love in other ways? Prove that I’m not ungrateful and won’t waste his feelings? Intrusive visions of you “earning” that love projected onto the walls of your mind. Under more pleasant, more normal circumstances, some of the ideas would’ve been a delight for you in some way. Par for the course of a healthy relationship.

But the possibility that these might be the only ways to grant you worthiness, to allow you to deserve Terzo’s attention and love, to deserve Terzo . . . It felt tainted. It felt like an even worse lie to perform. It burned like a poison through your mind and heart before becoming incorporated with all the other pains rising to the surface.

The knock at your door was a welcome distraction, but only long enough for you to forget the possibility of it being Terzo on the other side.

You contemplated pretending that nobody was home before a muffled voice said, “I can smell you through the door, y’know.” Ah. A ghoul. Better in that it wasn’t Terzo, but worse in that you couldn’t avoid them. To your chagrin, the trek from your bed to the door wasn’t nearly long enough to look presentable or like you hadn’t been crying.

You could practically feel their eyes through the mask, studying your tear-stained ones as they smelled the salt that had settled on your cheeks. Nonetheless, they continued ever professionally with, “Papa III has sent me to come retrieve you.” From the way they barely contained their tail’s amused wagging, it was clear that they were getting a rise out of the insinuations of the invitation.

You may as well have been off to the gallows (or worse, Sister’s office) with how dour your disposition was. Being a part of the Emeritus line, Terzo’s chambers were further away from your humble digs in the Siblings’ quarters. Still, it felt as though there wasn’t nearly enough time from your door to his for you to concoct whatever it was you could say or do. Which, to be fair, wasn’t really much to begin with anyway. You were screwed, your fate sealed the moment the ghoul knocked on one of a pair of the large, wooden doors.

“Entrare,” the room’s occupant answered. Your heart beat icy pumps as you and your escort obliged.

You’d never been inside Terzo’s quarters before, not that you hadn’t been invited. Granted, the first few times had been in the very beginning, before he’d realized that his usual tricks weren’t going to work on an unusual suspect. He never brought it back up again, even as the two of you appeared to grow more comfortable with one another.

It was a shame, then, that you were too possessed with anxiety to properly take it all in: In another, more pleasant mental space, you would have adored the large, framed vintage posters that decorated the rich purple walls, or giggled at just how much purple and gold this guy actually used in one admittedly spacious but still single space.

You couldn’t properly see it, being in what appeared to be more of a lounging area (really, how big was the average Emeritus’s room compared to the lowly Siblings’ quarters?), but you could just make out what appeared to be a bedroom down a small coridor. From what little you could see, there was a bed made of rich, dark wood with a velvety canopy.

Dramatic, but fitting for someone like Terzo, you mused in a split second of clarity before the gravity of the situation returned with ten times the weight as before. After all, here you were, standing in the boudoir of the man whom you’d been avoiding all day. Avoiding because you’d failed to do your due diligence and warn him against pursuing you. And there was his damn bed right freaking there – !!!

That prey animal instinct from mass began to skitter back as you instinctively began to look for ways out of this. Maybe you could leap out that Satanic Tiffany glass window? You’d be killing two birds with one stone if you did: You could get out of a confrontation, and the action would surely unnerve Terzo enough for him to draw back, right?

However, the make-believe agility and will to do so quickly dissolved out of you the moment you heard the voice you’d been avoiding all day once more. “Grazie, Wisp,” he addressed the ghoul. From the sounds of it, he must’ve been in a room off to the side, away from view. Despite Terzo not being visible to them, the ghoul still offered a bow in respect before taking their leave (though not without their nosiness prompting them to sneak one last look into the room).

You winced in sync with the door clicking shut, the soft padding of footsteps on the plush carpeting thundered in your ears as Terzo made his appearance. Even though he made sure to keep some space between the both of you, you still felt increasingly like a trapped animal.

As much as you wanted to cast your eyes down and pretend to be intrigued by the fact that the flooring was black instead of some shade of purple, acting as though nothing was amiss was your best course of action. Even if you felt your breathing hitch both with uneasiness and infatuation over the fact that, yet again, the man’s face was bare of his usual paints. It did, however, carry a small look of concern. While you felt guilty, perhaps him being worried would be easier to work with than him being outright upset?

You tried to predict the sort of things a concerned Terzo might say and what responses would be appropriate when you noticed something else about him: His clothing. You didn’t expect Terzo to be lounging in his own living space in his robes but even then, he tended to favor going about in his suit. This was the first time you’d seen him in anything that could be considered casual and not relating to his position as a Papa. The first time you’d seen him in pants that were actually tailored, actually! It was questionable if a men’s blouse made from what might’ve been silk could qualify as “informal”, but your brain was currently unable to drum up that inquiry.

Instead, it was too busy focusing on how the top was being worn: With only the top two buttons undone, the edge of what was more likely than not an absolute thicket of black chest hairs was visible. (If you were a stronger person – a better, more functioning one – you would’ve absolutely braved that thicket like a safari explorer.)

You gulped, realizing that maintaining eye contact was going to be harder than usual. If you were quicker about keeping your wits, you might’ve tried to speak up first. Maybe with a “Hi, Papa. How ‘bout that afternoon mass, amirite?” But Terzo beat you to it.

“. . . How are you?” he inquired. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of accusation in his tone. “Are you doing alright today?”

I’m anxious to the point of sickness and contemplating vandalism with your window, you wanted to say.

“’M alright. Just tired, I guess,” you shrugged. Judging by the way Terzo’s lips pressed into a thin line, he probably didn’t believe you. However, if there was anything you’d learned in your time together, it was that Terzo wasn’t exactly the type to prod. It was easy to assume from the flamboyant persona that he was far nosier than he really was. But the unfortunate and lovely reality was that Terzo trusted you. Worse was that he trusted you enough to both see his true face, and to tell him how you felt when you were comfortable. Your stomach dropped when you remembered the fact you’d been crying before this. Were your eyes still reddened and puffy? Did he notice?

“Vedo,” he replied before slowly crossing his arms. "Well, if that is the case, then perhaps we must do a bit of a raincheck for the evening, yes?”

Your brows lightly twitched in a nonplussed fashion. It was then that you finally noticed the full scope of the room you were in. It was more like a den than an actual lounging area, complete with a TV on a DVD loading screen and a couch sat before it.

You forgot to blink as it hit you. This was what Terzo had been referring to during his face reveal yesterday: He was asking you to watch a movie with him! And you, in your lovesick stupor, had agreed wholeheartedly to it!

Logic (and a sense of cowardice self-preservation) would have dictated that you leap at the opportunity to leave. You needed time to regroup. Maybe make a sacrifice to Satanas in the hopes that that might win you some courage to do what needed to be done.

But before you could commit to it, you reminded yourself: You needed to act unbothered. You’d already aroused suspicion in Terzo as it was. If Terzo thought you really wanted to watch a movie with him, as you had outright stated, then you needed to watch a movie with him. All you had to do was sit down at a reasonable distance and appear completely invested. Too invested to possibly think about how you wanted to tangle your fingers into his chest hair. Or how you absolutely shouldn’t want to do that at all.

“N-no, I’m good!” you insisted a little too eagerly. “I can stay up, I’m not that tired.”

He quirked a brow but questioned no further. “If you insist. Come: I have a small setup.”

The setup being an oddly-shaped popcorn bucket (why . . . did it look kind of like a pope hat?) filled with cheese doodles and a bottle of red wine to be shared between two glasses. You took only the smallest handful of doodles to be courteous but turned down the wine under the claim that you were trying to cut back. The reality was you couldn’t risk letting alcohol lubricate you into either melting down or melting into his lap as you both settled in.

The Man Who Laughs, read the title card. A name just vague enough to sound familiar though you didn’t really know a thing about it. When Terzo briefly explained that its main character, Gwynplaine, had been the visual inspiration for The Joker from Batman, you expected some early horror flick. Perhaps being treated to an hour or two’s worth of a spiteful man seeking revenge and wreaking havoc on the innocent. Odd choice in what you could only describe as a movie date, but you were already in too deep and far too high-strung to comment.

But as the film progressed, you found yourself surprised. Not only because the plot was far from what you’d predicted, but also because you also hadn’t been expecting a sense of solidarity. Sure, you’d never been a stage performer whose disfigurement made him a laughingstock to the pauper and nobleman alike. But nonetheless, Gwynplaine’s plight resonated with you. Something about being an introverted, soft-hearted person who feared their worthiness of love was thwarted by something they had no control over.

When you’d settled on the couch that evening, your goal had been to merely pretend to take the movie in. But the tenderness exhibited by the film’s two main love interests made that all but impossible for you. You now existed in a strange and uncomfortable middle ground: Too invested to keep your wits, but too aware of how uncomfortable the relation was. If this were some vintage horror flick, there might’ve arguably been a chance to hide any visible anxieties as suspense-born fear.

But between the “smiling” man swooning into the beautiful Dea’s touch, to him hiding into himself when his insecurities got the better of him, you just kept being reminded of your own circumstances, and how Terzo had given you his full face when you couldn’t even give him the truth.

A wave of self-directed disgust began to boil in you, causing you to briefly tic. Otherwise, though, you remained stiff. It was a fair film, after all, and it was a shame that you were corrupting yet one more thing that was dear to Terzo by equating it with your own problems.

But inside you were the beginnings of a nor’easter of biblical proportions: Deluges depicted you forcing yourself through your fears in a pathetic effort to prove to him he could still love you; the voices of failed relationships past split through your mind like thunderclaps; even the howling winds sounded like your whimpers whenever you trapped yourself in the bathroom, determined but failing to conquer Q-tips and dilators and even your own pinky finger. The flood they all created sloshed and battered about your insides and squeezed at your lungs, brutalizing your mind.

Just relax already, they said.

You’re just being difficult! they had accused.

Quit holding out! they demanded.

The film became less and less visible to you as you tried to steady your breathing and cling to something inside. Please, Dark Lord, great Old One, you prayed once more. Did you want silence? Freedom? For the moment to end, or for everything to pause? You couldn’t tell with all this noise. Please –

Forget it.

Despite being born from the storm, it hung over it, breaking through everything and silencing all. Even your prayer felt muted compared to how deafening the command sounded in your head. The voice did not belong to the Dark One, however. It didn’t even belong to the other Big Guy. You knew this voice, actually. It had been years since you’d last seen or heard from its owner, but you still heard it nearly every day since. And they always said the same thing every time:

No one is going to put up with this if you can't fix it!

You fought to contain any reaction from reaching the surface, but you failed: You shuddered. Violently so. You had to quickly cover it up with an overcorrection of tensing, but you thought you’d managed.

You didn’t even have time to make up an excuse when you caught Terzo moving from the corner of your eye. He was getting closer – no: His arm was getting closer. Angling to wrap around you.

There shouldn’t have been anything intimidating about the idea of Terzo, coming at you with 30% of his hairy chest out, possibly aiming to get some over-the-shoulder action. Unfortunately for you, at this point, you were beyond intimidated. This was made clear with your reaction of jerking away, emitting a gaspy, yelpy whimper you never knew you could even make.

And for a moment, everything but the film froze.

It was an odd juxtaposition, the swelling orchestral music playing as you both just stared at one another without a single hint of romance. You truly were like Gwynplaine now, hands covering your mouth as your eyes stared wide. Terzo’s own eyes being wide was rather commonplace, but the way he stared at you now made you feel uneasy. It was almost as though those big eyes of his were suddenly seeing everything in high definition, able to see now see every crack in the structure that was you.

The soundtrack could’ve played on for an eternity before his low voice quietly spoke above it.

“Mia cara. . .? Are you okay?” He sounded even more uncertain than he did yesterday when he asked you about his face. When you failed to respond, he tried much softer: “(Y/N).”

Your breath hitched, icy and cold in your burning throat. You could count the times he’d used your actual name on one hand. Nearly all of them had been during the very beginning of your interactions. Back when he was trying to prove the extent of his interest. Otherwise, it was always a term of endearment: “Mia sorellina” or “Tesoro mio” or “Piccina mia” and so on.

Always “mio/a”. Always his, even when you had no right to be. But now, as he stared at you, having to resort to using your actual name, he must’ve been starting to realize that . . .

Even though it had done you no favors this entire evening, you let panic guide you to spring into action. You stammered and struggled for words as you tried to make yourself untense.

“I-I’m – I’m sorry, I was just so enthralled –” Did that word even fit here? “I was really into the movie, the sudden movement startled me and –” But it wasn’t so sudden, was it? “I’m really sorry, I just –”

But you just what? You did not know, and it was extremely apparent the more you talked.

“I thought you were cold,” Terzo gently reasoned once your words tapered off. At this, the arm you’d feared was coming to corner you shook gently. In his hand was the edge of a throw blanket you’d been leaning against. “I was going to offer you some cover. I thought you’d been stiff this entire while, and then you shuddered, so I . . .”

His movements were notably slower now. Felt the need to be more careful, even if all he was doing was reaching for the remote to finally pause the ongoing show.

His eyes were less wide as well, but what they left in their wake was a firm yet troubled stare. It wasn’t meant to make you feel so afraid, but the feeling was there regardless.

“(Y/N),” he stated carefully. “If you are not comfortable, then I need you to tell me. I am a big boy, I can understand boundaries. If I’ve been moving too fast or made you uncomfortable in any way, I –”

“The problem isn’t you, it’s me,” you interrupted. God. Satan. Whomever had stuck around to witness this travesty. Being the truth didn’t make it seem any less lame. And judging by how Terzo’s demeanor shifted into being unimpressed, he clearly thought so as well.

“To be brutally frank, Sorella, I was hoping for a bit more . . . honesty.” The delivery of that last word faltered somewhat, but it was more than enough to provide a healthy punch to your gut. Actually hearing Terzo express disappointment towards you was far more devastating than anything your mind could have concocted. He’d already implied on multiple occasions how he’d often found himself on the shorter end of a seemingly mutual trust. Now you were just another person who’d failed to uphold their end.

While true, something in you felt the need to still fight back.

“No, you don’t get it,” you hoarsely insisted against the tightening of your throat. Your fingers immediately set to biting into your arms as they crossed.

“Then help me to!” he finally demanded. “You’ve been acting strange ever since yesterday, so what? Is it me after all? My face? What?!” The frenzy, while warranted, made everything inside you curl inward. Everything suddenly felt too big, too loud for the decreasing space inside you. Your lungs couldn’t expand enough, and you could practically feel the hurricane inside you banging at your eyes to be let out. Your teeth sank into your lips just as your nails sank even more into your arms. Anything to bite back and fight back what was quickly becoming inevitable.

He must have realized what he’d done, or perhaps he just used his eyes to see you practically shrinking. His expression uncrumpled into something more tender and apologetic, but creases of quiet frustration remained.

“Cara. (Y/N),” he corrected, his more patient voice from before returning. “I apologize for my outburst. Really. I do. But . . . Please: What is going on?”

If you opened your mouth, you were fucked.

“I cannot fix things if you don’t tell me what needs to be fixed.”

Soft like dynamite. The dam splintered, it cracked, and then it collapsed entirely. Your body was never one to take things in or hold them, after all.

“You can’t fix me . . .” It was quiet and light and it weighed down on your insides like no other.

Terzo’s brows gathered. “. . . Perdono?”

“I said you can’t fix me, okay?!” you repeated, your sentence made jagged and uneven by its sobbing delivery. The sudden explosion left the normally calm Papa taken aback. His lips parted, surely about to question what you could possibly mean, but the flood was unrelenting as it poured from your eyes and lips.

“I’m sorry! I lied! I lied, I lied, I lied, okay!? My body doesn’t work, okay, it’s fucking broken, and I knew it all along but I couldn’t tell you because I’m a f-fucking coward a-and I’m s-s-elfish – And – !” But this point, though, your throat far too tight and painful to even try continuing. Besides, you’d said all of what mattered, right? That you’d lied to him by omission, that you were broken, and that you were a goddamn selfish coward for pretending otherwise.

The truth hurt but you deserved this pain, having only yourself to blame that you were experiencing this on this man’s couch instead of in the privacy of your room. Everything in you screamed to get up and run back there, in fact, but you lacked the will to do anything other than stay put in a near-blinding fit of crying, probably fucking up the sofa with all the tears you were leaking onto it. You might’ve stayed that way even longer if it weren’t for a sudden nudging at your knee.

Apparently at some point during your pity party, Terzo had taken the opportunity to get up and . . . retrieve a box of tissues? Not leave? Or call for a ghoul to come and get you? Actually, that made a bit of sense: He was too much of a gentleman to kick somebody out while they were crying, no matter how awkward the circumstances.

As much as the punishing part of you wanted to reject it, the suffocation of your snotty nose was intolerable. You accepted the tissue box and dug in until your face stung with how much you had to wipe at it.

Terzo meanwhile resumed his seat, making sure to allow you space as you let out whatever nonverbal emotion you needed to let out. He didn’t force you to talk – not that you could, remaining a coughing, hiccupping mess even as the emotional tempest began to recede.

In fact, he himself didn’t say a word until you’d managed to work yourself down to pathetic, wet sniffles and tremors.

“. . . You know you’re not broken, right?” he asked. You almost didn’t hear it about you

You sniffled, perplexed. Terzo watched patiently as he continued, “Look: I don’t know exactly what’s going on. But what I do know is that you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like talking with you. I just. Like you. So clearly, something about you must work, si?”

You shook your head. No. No, that’s what they all said. Maybe not like that, but they all said one of two things:

Either they claimed this didn’t bother them and that they could work with your condition, only to later realize they couldn’t keep up the lie; or they would ask to go your separate ways. He hadn’t done the latter yet, but after everything you’d put him through, he at least deserved specification to make that decision.

“No, I mean,” you took in a deep, shaky inhale. Mostly to calm the discomfort. “I mean. My body – It literally doesn’t – I have a condition, Terzo.” You paused just enough to let the words sink in – for the both of you. It never got easier to say no matter how many times you said it. “I can’t have sex. Not in a normal way, anyway. So, like. No penetrating or whatever. Not even, like, a tongue. Shit hurts so I don’t – I can’t bother with it. And like.” You twisted your fingers. “That feels kind of antithetical to the whole ‘living deliciously’ vibe or whatever you’re supposed to be promoting. So . . .”

So there. That was it. In a sick sort of way, you did feel somewhat of a weight lifted. The heavy, gross feeling of rejection still sat within you, but you had a familiarity with it. In time, it, too, would fizzle back into the recesses of your mind. You could . . . live with it there . . .

“. . . So what?” Terzo practically huffed, barely fighting back a smirk, one you couldn’t tell if it was from his own words, or in response to the stunned expression you now wore. “First off – and forgive me for missing any point – but you do realize that the whole of that whole ‘living deliciously’ shit comes from making choices, right? If sex is what you’re talking about, I don’t necessarily need sex. Is nice, yes, but. It’s not my whole fucking life, you know.”

. . . Well, no, but . . . To be fair, that rockstar persona certainly made that easy to not consider. Before you could argue this, he continued.

“Second off,” Terzo held up two fingers. “You do realize sex is more than just insert-dick-in-pussy, yes? Your Papa is . . . Well, he knows he is no blushing virgin, we shall say. No offense.” (At this, your expression blanked. Bemusement was superior to distress, though, you supposed.) “But do you really think that I think there is only one way to make sex count? Cara, per favore: Sex is sex! So long as everyone is having fun – and consenting! – then what is there to worry about?”

“E in terzo luogo,” he added a third finger before giving all three a wiggle, “do you really think that I would do all this if all I wanted was a quick fuck? I mean, think about it, piccina. Give me more credit.”

Well, when he put it like that . . . Your cheeks and ears burned less from humiliation, but from a much softer breed of embarrassment.

“Well . . . no . . .” you admitted. “B-but going back to the choice thing – I thought the idea was to make choices that don’t hurt anybody.”

He nodded with agreement. “Questo è vero. But here we are. And no one got hurt, si?”

You bit your lip, “But . . . I lied to you. I wasted your time, and – ” At this, Terzo’s hand rose, signaling for you to shut your yap.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, dolcezza,” he spoke, his features tame but stern. “You did not waste my time. Okay? I gave you my time. And I wouldn’t ask for a moment of it back. And do you know why?” He didn’t even allow you enough time to make a snarky response: “Because I chose to spend it with you. Even if I’d known, I’d choose you. And why would I not? Sei una bellisima compagnia, and I already love what we do together, even if it’s not fucking. Now, have I thought about us fucking? Yes! Often!” (You felt your blush deepening at his rather blunt confession.)

“But I have also thought about things we have talked about; things I would like for us to talk about; things I would like for us to do – besides each other, I mean. But it here’s a fourth thing.”

No fourth finger this time. Just him offering you his hand. You felt every particle in your abdomen squish and flip over the simple gesture, but curiosity made you pushed through to accept it. Even as his other hand came over on top of yours, any trapped feeling you might’ve had mere moments before never came forward. If anything, you felt . . . here? And for as buzzy as “here” felt, you didn’t want to run from it.

Terzo gave your hand a grounding squeeze as his eyes remained locked with your own. “I’m never gonna do something that hurts you. Alright?” he swore. “And if I do? Then I need you, I beg of you to tell me. Because if you don’t want to do anything, then we don’t do anything. We do nothing but enjoy one another’s company. That is plenty enough for me, dolcezza, I can promise you this. Do you understand?”

You gulped. You didn’t even realize your eyes had widened until you found yourself needing to blink back a fresh, much smaller batch of warm tears. You could practically feel your mind scrambling, trying to reference past experiences that could help you work off of this. Maybe proof he was lying, an argument you could present – something to make this all make sense!

But it found nothing of the sort. No one, in all those times, had ever offered a third thing, let alone one where you felt like you had an actual say in how things went.

Should . . . Should you nod? Could you be trusted to make the right decision here? You nodded. It was uneasy and uncertain, but the smile it gave Terzo seemed to be the proper answer.

“Good girl,” he affirmed. Oh. Yep. That was the right answer, you decided with a jittery exhale.

“Now!” Terzo exclaimed before giving the back of your hand a gentle pat and releasing it. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to finish our movie. Call me a firm nerd but I’ve waited all night to hear your thoughts on this, no joking.”

The change in atmosphere was dizzying as Terzo readjusted himself into a more comfortable position, as though you hadn’t just bared your soul and literal intimacies to him and had him respond in the most genuine and affirming way possible. Not as though it were nothing, but more like it was just not nearly as distressing as what you’d prepared yourself to face. With the storm settling and the fog of anxiety clearing, it became increasingly apparent just how discolored your thoughts had become by your past experiences. Of course Terzo wouldn’t be so rigid about sex: It went against everything he stood for, everything he was!

Of course, complete acceptance on your end wouldn’t be immediate. But you could work with this. Though, there was admittedly one last concern you had before movie night resumed.

“B-but.” You stopped short as Terzo turned his attention back to you. You had to remind yourself that the nerves you felt now were nothing compared to before. You could do this. “But . . . What if I . . . do want to do something?”

A bushy brow at the insinuation.

“N-not now! Not immediately,” you clarified. Suddenly the fringe of the throw blanket required your attention as you began fidgeting with it. “I just . . . You know.” You gave an awkward shrug and glanced up at him, a look of pleading twinkling in your eyes as you hoped he understood what you meant. Not any time soon, perhaps, but . . . Some day? You watched as the right corner of his mouth, the one where that darling beauty mark lay, rose up into a smile.

“Then, cuore mio, we talk about it,” he answered simply. “And, if you still want to ‘do something’ after?” He leaned in, the warmth of his smile heating into a devilish smirk.

“We do it. Whatever that may look like for us.”

You nearly blacked out when the bastard had the audacity to wink at you.

He then clicked play, shifting back into place as Gwynplaine and Dea came back to life. By the time you’d managed to regain your composure and refocus on the movie, Dea was cradling Gwynplaine’s tearful face in her hands. Assuming you hadn’t missed anything, this was the first time the poor soul had actually ever let her touch his face in all its deformed glory. And judging by her jubilant reaction, Dea couldn’t have been happier.

Good for him, you quietly delighted. It was absolutely what he deserved after all that time spent torturing himself over nothing. As you resituated yourself back into the cushions, you briefly noted how the voices from before, while still there, were much quieter. They lacked the power provided by the storm, and any time one of them seemed to try and get louder, you’d hear Terzo’s voice smother it out.

I’d choose you, he affirmed.

Good girl, he praised.

You know you’re not broken, right? he reminded.

It gave you goosebumps, though not the kind that the throw blanket could pat out. But you had a theory.

It seemed that the Old One had finally chosen now to put some courage in you. Better late than never, you supposed as you began to inch closer and closer along the couch until you could feel the heat radiating off Terzo’s body. The proximity in itself was thrilling enough, but the boldness didn’t stop there.

You tested the waters, leaning a little further into him, only for his arm to calmly come around you. Whatever space that remained was quickly closed as you felt yourself being tugged and cushioned into his side. You had only a nanosecond to catch the barely-contained smile on his face before you practically melted into place. Terzo’s touch, his scent, his warmth, his everything flooded into you, filling you with a simultaneous calmness and a vigor you hadn’t felt in years.

Your dream from before had been right after all: You belonged here, right next to your Papa.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Hello, my little bumblebees!

Welcome to my tiny corner here on Tumblr.

You can find all of my works for multiple fandoms here <3

Here is who I write for and my request rules!

Fi's favorites = ★

🐝─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ───🪻─── ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ─🐝

Events

Fi's Christmas Market ☃️

FI'S MEADOW PICNC ✨️💐🐝

Resident Evil

Leon S Kennedy

Series

♥︎ Lost and Found ♧ 1. 2. 3. (Complete!) ★

• you survived Raccoon City with Leon, but got separated and thought he was dead. After 6 years, you reunite with him on a mission in Spain, rescuing Ashley Graham. What happens once he's pushed back into your life all of a sudden?

One shots

♥︎ Raindrops falling on my heart ♡

♥︎ Random Leon headcannons

♥︎ Sleepy desperation ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ Rocking the Tides 🌊 (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Renaissance!Leon headcannons 🩷☁️ (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Everybody loves Somebody 🫀

♥︎ Back to me 🖤

♥︎ Brick by Brick 🎄 ★

♥︎ Tradition and Love 🌹

♥︎ Red Ribbon ❣️ (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Stuffed Heart 🧸

♥︎ Siren!Leon headcannons 🧜🏼‍♂️🐚

♥︎ All I see is Red ♦️ ★

♥︎ The honey to my moon 🌬 (nsfw)

♥︎ The Kiss of a Siren 🫧 ★

♥︎ Holly-what?! 🎬

♥︎ Taunting Ghosts 👻 ★

♥︎ Won't go Home without You 🫂

♥︎ Fate - spin, measure, cut 🌙 ★

♥︎ Tongue tied 🪶

♥︎ We fell in love in October 🍁 (nsfw)

♥︎ Le vie en Amour 🩷 (nsfw) ★

DC

Jason Todd

♥︎ The Hercules to my Meg ♤

♥︎ Paper Rings 🩷

♥︎ Wrapped 🎁 ★

♥︎ Rooftop Confessions 🌟 ★

♥︎ Unsatisfied ♤ (nsfw)

Bale!Bruce Wayne

♥︎ BATtrayal

♥︎ My precious Jewel ♧ (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Dating Bruce has his assistant headcannons

♥︎ Bruce secretly being in love with assistant!reader

♥︎ Bruce x assistant!reader 3 ♡

♥︎ Burning Touch ♠︎ (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Deck the Halls 🎻

♥︎ Diamond Rings 💫 (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Bruce taking your virginity ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ PALentines day 💋

♥︎ Sweet as a Peach 🍑 (nsfw)

♥︎ Lazing on a Sunday afternoon ☁️ (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Bruce taking out his frustration on reader ♡

(nsfw)

Dick Grayson

♥︎ Nightingale 🕊 ★

Call of duty

TF141 ★

♥︎ TF141 w/ a chubby girl ♡

♥︎ TF141 getting a boudoir photo album as a wedding gift ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ TF141 taking you on a picnic date 💐 (nsfw)

Captain John Price

♥︎ Northman!Price 🪓 ★

♥︎ Aphrodite sends her regards 💋 (nsfw)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

♥︎ tit man Johnny hcs 🤍 (nsfw)

♥︎ Mo ghràdh mòr 🩶

♥︎ Mrs. MacTavish's Remedy 🍯 ★

♥︎ Highlands and Full Hearts 🌧 (nsfw) ★

♥︎ Bikes and Bees 🐝 (nsfw)

♥︎ Pumpkin Patch Lovin' 🎃

♥︎ Mirror, Mirror on the Wall 🪞

Simon "Ghost" Riley

♥︎ Simon relationship hcs ♡

♥︎ Simon Riley NSFW hcs ♡ (nsfw)

♥︎ Phantom of the Ball 🥀 ★

König

♥︎ Königs German specific quirks <3

♥︎ Tale of the Tummy 🌸 ★

Ghost

Terzo Emeritus

♥︎ Garden of Love ♡

♥︎ Phantom of my Soul 🌙

Stardew Valley

Abigail

♥︎ Knight in shining armor ★

Baldur's Gate 3

Astarion

♥︎ The sweetest Taste ♤

Linked universe

The Chain

♥︎ Home is where the Heart is 🌱

EPIC: The Musical

Telemachus of Ithaca

♥︎ Soft Feathers, Softer Kisses 🦉

Misc.

♥︎ Aching Heart left there in the Cold ♡ ★

🐝─ ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ───🪻─── ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ─🐝

There's more to come~

[osiiiris]

Armat Victoria Curam [One Shot]

Teacher!Cardinal Terzo x F!Reader

Saw this art from @cyberexe1 (cvb3r.exe on Instagram) and my mind hasn’t been the same since.  Per artist permission, desperate nsfw brain rot follows. You won’t find any logic or plot here, just pure porn dreams and self indulgence. Always a thank you not big enough to @van-goghs-smoking-skull for their beta work ❤️‍🔥

Summary: Cardinal Emeritus III is your Latin teacher, and he catches you daydreaming during an important private lesson.

Warning: spanking, light degradation, teacher-student kink, dom!Terzo, a lot of manhandling, cunnilingus, fingering, pure pwp.

>> also on AO3

Cardinal Emeritus III pauses mid-sentence and turns his gaze towards you, waiting patiently for your response.

You're seated at his wooden desk, notebook open but untouched, your pencil idly twirling between your fingers. Your focus shifts from the latin words written on the book he’s pointing at to the way his lips move as he speaks.

You just realize that he’s asked you a question. 

"Can you tell me the meaning of the word sanctificare?"

You blink, caught off guard, but you remember having heard that word in previous lessons. 

"Something like, to make something holy…?"

Your heart flutters when he nods, approvingly; you are both equally surprised by that unexpected answer. "Good." He says, and you’d die to hear girl after it. "Armat Victoria curam*." is what he adds instead, with the smallest grin you’ve ever seen.

You smile shyly, and you like to think that what you see in his eyes is a glint of amusement everytime he catches you daydreaming. It makes you wonder if he has noticed that your uniform skirt has become shorter and shorter at each lesson, and now it is so meager that when you take your seat, your bare skin touches the wood of the chair.

He’s dressed in a tailored black button-down that fits perfectly on his slim, still youthful physique, and his neatly combed hair glints subtly in the light, so shiny and so black that you often wonder if it is even possible to find that shade in nature.

Every gesture he makes, from the slight movements of his hands to the way he occasionally adjusts his glasses, seems effortlessly graceful.

He keeps explaining the lesson, but his deep, accented voice only carries you in your imagination, where those hands grip the curves of your waist, pushing you down until you’re fully bent before him, your face pressed on the cold wood of his desk.

His eyes flicker from one word to the other when he reads, and his leather clad fingers slide on the paper, following the lines of the text. His words fade away slowly as you imagine how the material of his gloves would feel sliding on the soft skin of your inner thighs, making their way to your core, pressing against your pulsing clit and then sliding down, dipping in your dripping folds to his knuckles, and how your flesh would tighten around him. You wonder if you’d make him proud as he’d feel all your soft, throbbing flesh on his pressing palm.

You try to focus on the lesson, tapping the end of the pen on your bottom lip, but your mind keeps returning to him. 

"You aren’t paying attention, are you?" He only gives you a quick yet deep glance at your figure, above his glasses, then he lazily gestures to come closer, "Come on, come here." he invites you, and after a moment of hesitation, you move your chair next to his. Now that you have him so close to you, your heart starts to pound in your chest, and sitting still is starting to become a problem. 

You see him turning to you, looking at you for a split second with the corner of your eye, and when you turn to look at him too, he’s already focused on the book again, a swift movement he probably hoped you won’t notice. Maybe he smelt the cotton candy scent you sprayed on you right before entering the office, and you hope he doesn’t find it too naive.

He leans on the chair backrest and you can’t help yourself but let your glance fall to his crotch, and now you have to shift on your seat, feeling your pussy pulsing between your clutched thighs. What if he catches that glimpse of lust behind your gaze? There is no way he doesn’t know what he provokes in his students.

He calls you again, this time his tone is slightly more firm, almost annoyed. "You’re not going to pass this test if you don’t focus. This is important."

"You’re right, it’s just… my head hurts so much today, it distracts me…" You try to justify yourself but it must not sound terribly convincing. You prop your head on one hand, leaning with one elbow on the table. You tap the pen on your notebook, then look at him with soft eyes. "Are you sure there is no other way to pass the test…?" 

He leans closer, so close that he moves your hair out of the way with the tip of his nose, and you hold your breath when you feel his lips close to your ear, modulating his voice with the softest and most soothing tone he can. "… Apart from studying? No." 

You scoff, bored, and roll your eyes at his inflexibility. "Come on!" You complain, and boldly place a hand on his thigh, putting almost all your weight there as you lean closer to him this time. "Are you sure there is really no other way…?" You try again, this time softer and barely pouting; your thumb starts to draw little circles on his thigh. "Because I see many possibilities here…"

You can see the sparkle ignite his gaze. His hand moves slowly up towards your waist, then slides up and down your back, sneaking under your uniform shirt. His smile is smug as he meets your confident gaze and the little, cheeky smile you are challenging him with.

“Please…”

The hand that rested on his thigh is now so close to his crotch that you can touch the bulge forming under the fabric with the tips of your fingers. You slide in a bit more, feeling his length under your palm, hidden by the soft material of his pants. He is still mostly soft, resting on his leg, but you can clearly tell its shape, moving your hand around it.

He licks his lips and looks away, with that slightly annoyed expression of someone so used to dealing with bragging students like you everyday. He takes off his glasses, and keeps caressing your back while he seems to evaluate the situation.

"You like the easy way, my girl…"

He delicately frees your face from your hair, lingering so much on your ear that you instinctively flinch on your chair with a gasp that almost surprises you. Now your panties definitely feel wet.

He grabs your face, diving into the hair on your nape with the tips of his fingers as he caresses your jaw with his thumb, and your lips finally touch, already open and ready to let your tongues meet.

He pulls back, and his hand is now almost at your neck. He looks at your face, your blissful expression framed by his hand that keeps your head still. "What if I make it a bit harder…?" 

As the kiss gets hungrier, you tighten the hold on his dick and he moans in your mouth. He drags his lips on your jaw, your neck, leaving wet smacks all over your skin. You moan when he grabs your breast, palming it above your shirt, and before he can start unbuttoning it, you stand up, with the clear intention to get down again between his legs and suck him off as he deserves to be, but he stops you right when you are standing in front of him.

"Stop stop stop…" he quickly halts you, and the fact that your groin is now so close to his face is enough for you to feel more fluid release in your panties.

He turns you around, bends you on the desk, moving you so that your legs are spread at each side of his chair as he sits in the middle behind you, and you’re sure he’s having a clear view of your sheer panties covering your moist cunt.

"Perhaps you’re more gifted at anatomy…"

You would think he’s joking, if he wasn’t so damn serious about it. He leans forward, so his face is only a few inches away from the skin that your little skirt can’t cover in that position.

"But we are studying Latin now. So... what's causing all this distraction? Hm?"

You shiver as his breath grazes over your skin, his hands slowly moving up your thighs. Then, you can feel the warm wetness of his mouth on your thighs and buttocks, and you let out a few, light moans.

You can’t see the playful look of disappointment he makes behind you, but you can hear his deep sigh. "Now, that's a shame, isn't it. I'm a busy man and you didn't even think to prepare for my class? Is that the respect you have for me?" 

You try to answer, but the trembling, "I…," you start with gets abruptly interrupted by a slap that makes you squeak louder than you wanted.

"Look at how much time you’re making me waste."

And the new slap that follows makes his intention way too clear and your squeak louder than before.

He lets you catch your breath, while you gasp with your face pressed on the desk. Your hands are near your face, palms against the wood as the skin he hit starts to sting. He rubs your buttock, massaging the skin he had just slapped, and soon his rubbing becomes a full ass grab.

He delves under your impossibly short skirt to take long breaths of your natural scent, sweetened by the coconut body milk you spread all over your skin after the earlier shower; his face presses in your cunt, kissing it above your panties, letting himself go in deep moans of approval. You always come prepared to his private lessons, even if your preparation only involves long showers, the difficult decision of how to style your hair and a meticulous choice of body creams and fragrances that you usually spray on your ankles too, just in case.

You try to look at him from over your shoulder, lifting your head a little. You are surrounded by papers and stationery accessories, and the hand close to your face is now closed in a fist, having nothing to hold on to. His fingers slip under the sheer straps of your panties, pushing them down your thighs with an impatient jerk.

You breathe deeply, feeling his tongue slide between your folds, teasing your entrance kept wide by his hands. You arch your hips a little upwards, standing now on your tiptoes, enough to offer a better angle of your pussy to him. Soon you move your knee, reaching for the edge of the desk, encouraged by his hand that wants you even more spread, so you’re now standing with one foot on the floor and one thigh laying on the desk. 

Your mouth falls open in a wide ‘O’ as you gasp for air, pressing your face even further on the table; your open lips touch the surface, obscenely kissing the wood while you breathe desperately on it, as the growing flame of your pleasure burns your insides. You want to lick him, feeling his meat filling your mouth as much as you can take it, hungry to try his taste. He adds two fingers to massage your clit first and then to sink into you, and you let out a long winded moan, trying to move forward when the intense shivers that anticipate your orgasm make your legs quiver and your breath unstable.

The loud noise of his chair being pushed away when he quickly stands up makes your head turn again to him, but you only see him standing behind you. Your expression changes to somewhat worried, you don’t know what to expect now, and you almost break your position, getting down on both legs again, but you soon feel his hands back on you.

"All you little brats only want one thing," you hear him say, so harsh you can’t tell if that is just a part he’s playing or not, "…only want the fucking cock, my fucking cock. Nobody cares about fucking culture anymore."

He tsks, mockingly shaking his head slowly back and forth before pulling you flush against him. He moves his hips, in a deliberate attempt to make you clearly feel his still hidden - but now hard - cock against your nude butt, in case you’d forget about it. He pushes two fingers inside you again, to test your resistance.

"There you go, you can have all of it now."

And as he says so, he lets his pants and brief boxers fall down on his knees. He directs his free cock between your buttocks, feeling you tighten around him as he slides in painfully slowly. You bite your lips, moaning deeply in relief, when he finally sinks so deep in you that his groin touches your skin.

You raise your head, extend your neck and close your eyes, and the only thing that matters is the  feeling of him filling you, sliding almost completely out and in again with a little more force each time, until he finds a pace comfortable for both.

His thrusts make your hips and thighs crush against the desk, making all the books move at each impact, to the sound of your whines becoming more and more desperate, and the claps of your bodies colliding, mixed with your loud moans, is the only sound that fills the-

A singular clap of his hands drags you back into the room.

He’s now leaning towards you; his white eye gleams in the darkness of his deep black eye circles. He’s dressed. You’re dressed.

You take a second to realize you are still staring at his crotch, still sitting next to him.

"Are you still with me?"

You briefly and innocently smile at that question, nodding lightly.

Well, of course you are.

Notes

*Victory loves preparation

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[blackbird5154]

Time passes, but our work never ends, so we present to you...

Black Mass (In Freestyle)

Characters: Papa Emeritus III/fem!Reader

Summary: While researching materials on sexual magic, I came across what is known as “energy pumping”. Never has a ficwriter gotten better carte blanche on the justifiable use of the “orgasm control” kink. So… satanic sex instructor Terzo Emeritus at your service!

«

He gently but forcefully lowers your hips onto the mattress. You twist under him, pining, biting your lip. You try to press against him, to rub against him, but he pulls away from the contact. You moan, ready to beg for how much you need him. The orgasm that still hasn't unfolded pulses warm inside you, making your skin thirst for his touch. Sliding your gaze over Terzo's body, you see his chest heaving with excitement, his supple belly moving with his breath. His cock is hovering above you, crimson with arousal, oozing precum onto your belly. You reach down with your hand to resume the stimulation. You can feel how much you're sweating - and the same vaporous heat is coming from him. You're in this cocoon of heat, exchanging smells, shivering at the moments your hot bodies touch.

Terzo catches your hand halfway down, and prevents you from reaching your desired goal. He pulls both of your hands back, pressing them into the bed above your head. He wants to control everything that happens to your body. Hovering over you as if you'd been fighting and he'd just defeated you, he purrs:

"You are not allowed to touch yourself. We remember about discipline, right?"

»

Proceed to read on AO3

Grazie mille for @osirisiii-bc for her help with the translation!

[6emo6zombie6]

A matter best discussed with Papa

Papa III x Reader

Tags: fingering, daddy kink... but I suppose it's more of a Papa kink?? Getting freaky with Papa in his office!!!

You’d stayed behind in the pews, sitting on your own after the weekly sermon. You wanted to talk to Papa but he was talking to some other sisters. You couldn’t be bothered enough to listen closely to what they were saying, not with the questions you had. Today’s sermon had been—not unusually—about sex, but specifically the orgasm and its importance in rituals. Papa Terzo was undeniably very interested in the topic, and he spoke openly about it, including his own sexual experiences.

Now, of course, there were some giggles and some whispers when Papa expressed his fondness of orgasms, the supposed ecstasy that they brought. It was then that you realized you hadn’t experienced anything similar to what he had been speaking about. Then again, your sexual encounters had been very minimal—but you couldn’t help but wonder, maybe you’d been masturbating incorrectly as well. You figured it was a topic best to discuss with the man who seemed to know all about it.

“oh—Papa,” You said as you hastily got up from the pews, noticing the others had left. Papa’s turn was a tad dramatic as he heard your voice, his robes swishing around him as you made your way to the other end of the chapel.

“Si, cara, what is it?” He said in his usual smooth voice, looking down at you with a fond smile. You’d always suspected he favored you over the others—for reasons unknown.

“Uhm...” You briefly glanced at your feet, then down the hall to make sure it was empty. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Papa let out a soft, breathy chuckle as your cheeks started to burn up.

“Would it make you more comfortable to discuss this in my office, cara?”

“Yes, that’d be... that’d be nice.” You nodded quickly, smiling softly as Papa lovingly flicked his index finger under your chin. You followed him to his office as he had suggested. Your heeled shoes clacked against the marble floors of the ministry as the two of you walked.

“Is it about the sermon?” Papa asked as he cast you another glance. He chuckled once more when he saw you gulp, looking away from him.

The two of you walked in silence for a minute before reaching Papa’s office, he opened one of the large, ornate wooden doors and motioned for you to enter. You hesitantly did so, Papa shutting the door behind you.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, tesoro, truly,” He exhorted, sitting down in the expensive chair behind his large desk. His fingers tapped on the wood as you took your seat across from him.

“Now tell me—tell Papa what’s been bothering you.”

You twiddled your thumbs, letting out an unsure “Ummm...” as Papa stared at you, waiting for you to tell him what was going on. He could tell you were somewhat uncomfortable, sighing softly as he leaned back in his chair.

“Well...” you began, piquing Papa’s interest. “You were talking about orgasms and such and I uh... I don’t think I’ve ever had one.”

Papa lifted an eyebrow, a small grin starting to form on his painted cheeks. “I see...” He murmured.

After a few seconds of silence, he patted his lap, waving you over to him. “Come sit,”

You sheepishly walked over, feeling his hands wrap around you and hold you steady as you sat in his lap. He smiled at your obedience, and how shy you looked. You weren’t the most outspoken of the sisters, but he’d never seen you this shy.

“Now tell me, Cara,” One of his hands rested on the side of your thigh, his gloved hand swishing his thumb just below the hem of your habit. “Do you want me to tell you, or do you want me to show you?”

Of course, Papa wanted you to agree to the latter, nothing was more relaxing than having a cute girl writhe in pleasure because of his ministrations. It was definitely one of his favorite pastime activities.

“Show me,” You muttered, biting your lip anxiously as Papa squished your thigh with a grin.

“Good girl,” He spoke in a deep tone, carefully pulling your leg open. “Let Papa show you how to relax.” 

You looked at him, seeing his face light up at the thought of being able to pleasure you. He carefully hiked up your already short habit, looking up at you to make sure you were comfortable. A small gasp left your lips as you felt his hand, gently stroking up and down your clothed heat.

“Hm... see what I’m doing? Gotta get you nice and bothered before we do anything else, huh?” He absently bit his lip, his leather glove cold against you.

His gentle movements made for a bunch of comfortable, soft tingles around your lower region, warmth stirring up in your body at the pleasure.

You let out a soft, content sigh as you started to ease into Papa’s touches, he let out a proud chuckle at your submission.

He drew a quick, lazy circle over your clit before stopping the motions, dragging his large hand up your torso and cupping one of your breasts carefully. You let out a soft gasp as his thumb flicked over your nipple, making him chuckle again.

Then, he went silent for a second, his gaze reverting to an old, floor-length mirror across the office. A smirk spread across his cheeks as he let go of you and patted your leg.

“Do Papa a favor and sit there,” He grumbled smoothly as he pointed at the floor in front of the mirror.

You nodded and silently got off his lap, sitting down where he’d pointed at. You followed his movements through the mirror, watching as he took off his gloves before following after you and sitting behind you with his legs on either side of you.

“Papa’s going to show you how to relax, hm... Si?”

The way you panted and blushed as your eyes roamed away filled him with need. The thought of him corrupting such a gentle soul made him let out a shaky sigh.

“Take your uh...” Papa pondered for a second, not knowing the English word. “Your—your mutandine, take them off.”

“Si,” You responded coyly, knowing what he meant. You quickly slid your panties off, laying them beside you.

“Now, open your legs for me.” He kept grinning to himself when you did so, your pussy already slick from his limited touches. “Mio piccola ragazza, you are adorable.” You hooked your legs over his, giving him more room to stroke and rub. He did so happily, his index and ring finger leisurely drawing circles on your puffy clit. His head rested on your shoulder to properly inspect your reactions in the mirror.

The sight was one for sore eyes; your eyes lidded and fixated on his hand in the reflection, your cheeks red and your breathing slightly heavier than usual. You were so responsive, so much more perverted than Papa had ever could have guessed. He loved it.

“Dio, you’re wet,” He bit his lip softly, speeding his fingers up and rubbing your clit a little longer before stopping and inspecting your wetness coating and webbing between his fingers. He let out a soft grunt as he pushed those same two fingers into your juicy cunt, earning a small whine from you.

“Feels good, hm?”

“Yeah,” You replied breathily, little sounds starting to fall from your lips as the older man started to repeatedly pump his fingers in and out. The movement made a wet squelching noise that in turn made Papa smirk. His free hand wrapped around you and squeezed your tits needily, making it harder for you to focus on what he was doing.

After a little while he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to hold your face as he lifted his hand to your mouth. “Suck them clean for Papa,” He grinned, watching you do as he asked, your tongue eagerly sucking his fingers clean from your slick. He chuckled after pulling them back out and letting go of your face.

“Now, watch what I do.” You watched his hand as he curled his fingers upward. “See? It’s going to feel good like that, I promise.”

His fingers were back in you before you could fully process what he meant. You let out a surprised gasp and watched him do the same thing he did before, only now he was curling his fingers up against a specifically sensitive spot inside you. Your mouth hung open at the intense, yet pleasurable feeling.

He switched between pumping his fingers in and out and curling them periodically, slowly speeding up little by little to push you over the edge. You felt a few soft kisses against your neck as you finally let your head loll back, moans and whines exiting your throat deliciously. It was no secret that the sight alone drove Papa wild, you could feel his rock-hard cock pressing into your lower back.

But this was about you, so you tried not to focus on it too much.

Your moans became a bit louder as Papa hammered his fingers against that delicious spot over and over, your legs started to tremble as you felt yourself grow closer to an orgasm—a feeling that was new to you. You couldn’t keep quiet, it felt too good. You felt a tight, warm knot twisting your insides and begging to unravel. Papa spoke up once he noticed your breathing starting to quicken.

“You’re close,” He grinned, glancing at your trembling thighs. “Rub your clit for me, cara, it’ll make it feel even better.”

Your hand trembled as you slid it down, your entire cunt coated in your juices, as well as the inner parts of your thighs. You’d never felt this great—euphoric, and you hadn’t even come yet. Papa’s hands were like magic.

You carefully rubbed your clit, your legs starting to involuntarily twitch when you started. It felt so intense and you had no clue why you hadn’t ever come to this point on your own.

“O-oh, Satan, I think I’m going to cum,” You managed to mumble between your many pleasured noises.

Papa’s eyes raked over your body, taking in the jumble of hands between your legs, your hard nipples poking through your habit, the slight sheen of sweat on your neck... fuck. He groaned at the sight. You were more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen, your body writhing in pleasure like it was designed to do so.

“Cum for me.” He said in a low, hoarse voice. It sounded more like a command than any of his other sweet comments.

Those three words were all it took. The knot unraveled and you struggled to keep the rhythm on your clit, a wave of tingles shooting up to your head and down to the tips of your toes. Your body trembled as Papa kept up his flawless pace, moaning softly as your back arched and your cunt spasmed around his fingers. You had never felt this great, nor had you felt this perverted. Nobody had managed to get you near an orgasm before, but in your defense you were ill-informed. 

Your moans echoed through the office, they were probably loud enough for anyone outside to hear, but you didn’t care. It all felt too good. Your body was overcome with ecstasy, making you wish the pleasure would never end.

Alas, your orgasm gradually died down. Papa pulled his fingers out and licked them clean himself this time, letting out the softest moan at your taste. He would have loved to dive between your legs and use his tongue to make you cum again, but you looked exhausted from it all. His hands slid down to your thighs, his thumbs soothingly rubbing back and forth over the skin.

“hm...” He hummed, kissing your temple. “Poor thing... you must be exhausted.”

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me -- terzo x reader

A/N: so.... yeah.... ghost has taken over my life. i had this idea, i was thinking of it like i was writing it, and i wrote it! so here's my first lil entry into the ghost fandom. hi! i have an idea for a part two so... if this does well and you want one? let me know?

song: you're losing me by taylor swift

warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, allusions to mutual cheating, terrible communication (please talk about your feelings), fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

You’d been putting this off for a while. Constantly snapping. Constantly hiding. Hiding the fact you were in pain, the fact that pain caused you to act in ways, to do things, you never thought you would. There were some sins, even in this satanic church, that weren’t to be celebrated. One of which you had committed and, from the looks of your observant eyes, so had he. Yet, you couldn’t stand the guilt just as much as you couldn’t stand being casted into the shadows any longer. 

“That was some party, eh, amore mio?” he asked, snaking his hand around your waist. 

The only response you were capable of giving was a stiff smile. He couldn’t just see the fakeness oozing from your features, he could feel it. You’d been silent the whole walk back to your shared quarters. Most of the time you’d swear he never noticed you, but he did. As soon as you both were away from the prying eyes of the others, he saw you deflate. Your shoulders slumped, your features all but turning to stone. He was never one to pry. He was always afraid of the emotions difficult conversations would bring up. It was just something he never knew how to handle. A side effect of always being on display.

Tonight was different. Lately, it seemed there was always tension radiating off you. All he wanted was for you to come to him and tell him what’s wrong. Yell at him, if you had to. Something. Anything. Anything other than this. So his hand slid to the other side of your waist as he turned himself in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. Quickly, he placed his other hand on you, steadying you. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of life, pleading with you to tell him everything.

You sighed defiantly. “The party was great. You really outdid yourself this time.” A lie and a truth. The party was torture. The only way he outdid himself was by sneaking away three times, twice with different Sisters of Sin, and once with a Ghoul. Even when you tried to ignore it, somehow you instinctively always looked up just as he was headed out the door, to somewhere more private, more quiet. Every time it chipped away at your now calloused heart.

“Why are you being like this?” he asked softly.

“Why am I being like this?” you repeated. “Why are you like this?” You shook your head as you pushed him aside, briskly walking the few paces to your chamber doors, leaving him stunned momentarily. The door was almost shut before he caught up.

You had stormed off to your bureau, alreadying having started to take off your ornate garnet jewelry. You ignored him when he entered the room.

“Cara mia, per favore. Talk to me. I…” he trailed off as he reached for your shoulder with a trembling hand. 

You swatted his hand away. “Don’t,” you said harshly as you turned around, hurrying, as if you couldn’t get away from his touch fast enough, over to the walk-in closet to change out of your dress. 

He gave you a few moments, not daring to push his luck. You had changed quickly. Staring at yourself in the floor length mirror, you didn’t see the rage you felt bursting inside. All you saw was sadness. The shell of your former self. You stared at yourself with your hair pinned up, perfectly placed stray hairs framing your face, your black t-shirt, and merlot colored sweatpants. You hated everything about this moment. 

The floodgates have opened.

Behind you, you saw him leaning on the door frame. Your eyes met in the mirror. 

“What have I done to make you hate me so much?” he whispered.

You spun around. The fury of hell shone in your eyes. “You really don’t have a fucking clue, do you?” you said, charging past him.

“So… so you really do hate me?” 

“I can’t– I can’t do this anymore, Terzo!” You’ve never seen this man look more hurt than he did right now. He was searching for an answer, for a hint, for something that might explain how everything had led up to this point. You took a few deep breaths before you finally told him everything that you had kept locked deep inside. “I can’t watch you flirt with everything that walks on two legs anymore. I can’t watch you sneak out of rooms with someone else’s hand in yours. And– and– and I know you’re the Papa now, but… There used to be an us. We used to be a team. It was you and me. You… you made me feel special. For the first time in my life I felt seen. After that mitre went on your head, it’s like the spotlight blinded you. You haven’t even seen me at your side, because you pushed me back into the shadows.”

“I have never lost sight of you, tesor–”

“But you have, Terzo. You have. Ever since you got the Grammy for the Church… It’s felt like… the only time you even acknowledge me, the only time I’d ever be special to you, is behind these closed doors. At the parties, you dance with me once and then you’re… you’re batting your eyelashes at every other person who looks at you. I can’t follow you around anymore and be ignored. I’m not you’re fucking shadow!”

“Why have you never told me this before? Why haven’t you talked to me about this?”

“I’ve tried. I’ve asked you to include me more. I’ve asked you to– I gave up begging for your attention. For your affection.”

“But you know how I am, you knew what you signed up for.”

“No. I knew you were a flirt. But this? I never signed up for this.”

Terzo felt the tears start to sting his eyes. While he never purposely meant to push you away, now that you’ve said it, he knew exactly what he did. He took for granted the one person he wanted… no, needed by his side. But he wasn’t all that oblivious. He’d seen you sneak away just as you had seen him.

“And how do you think it felt when I would watch you sneak away? You think I don’t know why you don’t come home some nights? Hmm? What do you have to say to that?” he challenged.

“‘Why have you never told me this before? Why haven’t you talked to me about this?’” you echoed mockingly. “Because I wanted to be where I felt wanted, where I felt like my feelings were reciprocated. I wanted to be where I felt like a queen. I needed to feel loved.” Your words dripped with venom, but he scoffed at them.

“Oh, please, this is a church not a monarchy.”

“But don’t the two go hand in hand? With the way you’ve been acting, I never would have known there was a difference,” you spat.

He felt like a knife had been plunged into his heart and it just kept going deeper and deeper.

“Tell me how it started. Tell me what made you seek solace in someone else,” he demanded.

“After I caught you with Sister Thérèse. I just ran. I ran and couldn’t even see where I was going, because of how hard I was sobbing. I collided with someone around a corner who had come to see what was the matter. He kept your secret. He hasn’t told a damned soul. So I knew he would keep mine.”

There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do. The damage was irrevocable. Any semblance of this relationship was left asunder. Terzo couldn’t move. The weight of his actions, and lack thereof, immobilized him. You wasted no time walking around him, back into the closet. Grabbing a good-sized duffle bag, you started filling it with clothes and a couple pairs of shoes. You walked over to the bathroom and tossed in various toiletries. Walking around him once more, you unplugged your phone charger from your side of the bed, before going to the bureau and sliding your phone in your pocket. Once the bag was zipped and slung over your shoulder, you made your way to the door.

Too wrapped up in your haste to leave, you didn’t hear the footsteps padding behind you on the carpet. It wasn’t until you felt his hand grab yours did you turn around. 

“Who is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Who makes you feel like a queen, feel… loved?”

You hesitated. Only for a brief moment. The man in front of you held the most power out of everyone here at this Ministry. But there was no way you or who you were going to could be implicated without Terzo implicating himself. Looking him dead in the eye, you told him, “Cardinal Copia.”

The second the words left your mouth, he dropped your hand. The door felt heavy as you opened it and it shut behind you. Tears sprung in your eyes and began to fall, cascading down your face. You were only a few steps away when you heard glass shattering against a wall.

part ii

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Let's Get These Heels Off...

Burlesque!Terzo x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, MDNI!, Lingerie, basically smut with a little tiny bit of plot 🤷‍♀️

Word count: 3.4k

ANYWAY, I'M BACK HI HELLO!!!!! I really did not mean to take a hiatus, but I am in grad school and that just needed my attention these past weeks. I have been writing the whole time, this just happens to be the first thing to get finished!

But! I am sooooo excited about this! @angellayercake and I have been squealing and giggling and losing our minds over burlesque Terzo for months now and she requested this special 🥰 it was an honor to write this for you, my dearest Cake, and I hope you love it as much as I love Pastimes for a Retired Papa and Banchetto!!! Enjoy 😘

Photo credit to @theshamelessghoul @vitadevoid on Instagram 🩷 please go follow both of her accounts, she's an absolutely beautiful artist.

After stalking his Instagram page every night for a week, you knew you had to see him perform in person. Not to mention that Vegas isn't too far a drive from your place. You 𝘩𝘢𝘥 to see him, you just had to.

And that's how you found yourself at the door of this club, paying the high cover charge. The venue was well worth it though, beautiful dark decor, mirrors and dim lighting making the place feel large, but intimate. You'd made it a point to dress appropriately, wanting to look fine and feel your best, but not outshine the performers. So you went with a tight black leather dress that displays your bust nicely, black lace long sleeve crop top layered over, and of course black stiletto heels to match.

Glad you came by yourself to fulfill this silly little fantasy, you take a seat in a quaint cushioned arm chair, noticing the array of vintage mismatched furniture, and order a drink. There was already a set going on, dancers gracefully moving across the stage, with the lighting offering glimpses of the room while keeping most of the viewers concealed in the shadows. You were grateful for that.

You'd never been to a place like this before and you just wanted to view the art from a distance.

Just in time too, as the one you'd been longing for took the stage, his presence larger than life, seemingly squeezing all the air from the room... And he hadn't even shown any skin yet.

His gig was definitely out of the ordinary, but there was something so alluring about watching this Anti-Pope, Papa Emeritus the Third, sashay across the stage. His dance style is slow and sensual, teasingly revealing a fishnet clad leg here or a lace covered hip there as he slowly works his way out of his papal vestments.

He certainly has the bedroom eyes down to a science as you find yourself unable to look away. Another thing that's hard to look away from is that beautifully plump ass, showcased so artfully with leather straps cupping his cheeks.

The Anti-Pope was well practiced at making his way across the floor, legs spread sinfully and hands groping various body parts. Lastly, he unhooks his corset to reveal tassels on his nipples, and he wasn't left in much more than those and a pair of panties. A few more twirls around the stage and the last few notes of the song ring out, while the lights go totally dark, leaving it pitch black in the room. The click of his heels returning backstage are the only sound until the lights slowly come back up.

Hell, he really knew how to leave a crowd wanting more. Or maybe it was just you--either way, you were happy to have seen him perform in person. It had been worth the drive and every penny.

You were pleasantly surprised to find him in the kickline of a few other performances that night, for the performers that needed back up dancers. Although you did think it was unfair for the boss to put him in the back like that, because he always stole the stage from whoever was supposed to be leading.

After the night had simmered down, a few of the dancers creeped out into the audience, mingling with the crowd to keep them happy and earn the waiters some higher tips. There were still a few performances happening, but they hardly held your attention as you felt a shift in the vibe. Papa had come out from backstage and was taking his time greeting the guests, many of them wanting to kiss his hands or cheeks.

He's so charismatic that people are drawn to him like a magnet. You feel the pull too, but you're perfectly content to watch from afar... It's not like he would know you anyway.

That is, until it seems like he's coming your way. Is he? No. Surely he's looking for someone behind you.

Tensing your fingers around the arms of the chair, you try to straighten up as best you can as he saunters right over, leaning forward and placing his hands on top of yours, effectively pinning you to the spot. His nose is only inches from yours as he looks you over, "Didn't your Mama teach you it's impolite to stare?"

"D-don't mind me... I'm just enjoying the view, um, Papa." You knew you didn't stand a chance of sounding confident in front of him, so you just did your best not to fumble your words.

He smirks, letting you know he enjoys the flattery, "Please, tesoro, call me Terzo. Papa is simply my stage name." He winks and offers his hand up to your lips.

Carefully, you take his hand in yours, appreciating his short black nails, before softly placing a kiss to his knuckles. "Terzo," you whisper, mostly to yourself.

While his hand is still in yours, he snakes his hand around your wrist before bringing it to his lips. "And you? Who are you this evening, dolce mia?"

"Just a starstruck fan," you supply before giving your name.

Still kissing his way up your arm, he tries your name on his tongue before nipping at your earlobe, earning a heavy breath from you.

"Would you like to take this somewhere a bit more private, bella?"

You stutter, "I-I didn't... I didn't think that was allowed here."

"Sì, sì, you are right, 'no stripping here on The Strip', eh?" he chuckles. He stands up and stares you down, looking you directly in the eyes, "I guess I'll be getting off all by myself tonight then." He fakes a pout before flashing a playful look at you.

Suddenly he's walking away, as if he'd forgotten about you all together.

"Hey, wait!"

He keeps walking, heading up the spiral staircase behind the stage. You hesitate momentarily before chasing him up the stairs. You had come all this way; why not take the fantasy as far as he would let you?

Upstairs, he sits at his vanity, illuminated beautifully by the soft light. Yet again, you stare as he fixes up his makeup. When he sees you behind him, he makes a comment about you being in his mirror.

But then he stands up and you're drawn to one another. He turns and within a second, his hands are on your jaw and yours on his waist, making out.

At some point, you were spun around and the next thing you know, you're being backed into another vanity, stumbling into it as lip glosses and tubes of mascara roll onto the floor. Grabbing roughly at your ass, Terzo lifts you onto the vanity, mouth never leaving yours. In fact, he uses it as leverage to gain access to your tongue.

Your fingers tremble in an attempt to untie the silk robe he'd covered his lingerie with, while he's working your black lace top off. As it drifts slowly to the floor, you start to hear a rumbling noise across the room.

Terzo pulls away from you, and before you can ask what the noise is, he's pulling you off the vanity. "Come with me, cara mia," he whispers, dragging you behind one of the various curtains back stage. Suddenly the room fills with chatter, and you realize the noise had been many, many sets of high heels coming up the stairs. The night must be over downstairs and the club getting ready to close.

Wrapped in a shroud of darkness behind the heavy velvet curtain, you feel Terzo's hands return to your waist and his lips at your ear, "Quiet, dolcezza, we wouldn't want to get caught, would we?"

"No," you reply, trying not to giggle. His mouth is curled into a big smile as it makes contact with your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and nips along your exposed skin. Silently you let out a shaky breath, fighting off a whimper.

"Ugh! Whose shirt is this?! They knocked over all my shit!" one of the dancers yells, receiving a low chuckle from Terzo.

Hands sliding up his body, you finally slip that robe from his shoulders, exposing more skin, but your hands are much more interested in diving into that luscious black hair, which draws another low noise from the man. "Shhhh," you breathe out.

His hot mouth is now lapping at your cleavage, until his thumb finds the scandalously placed zipper on the front of your tight leather dress. Inching the pull tab down, his nose dips down to the space between your breasts where he places a soft kiss.

Gently you hold him against you, one hand tangled in his hair, the other on his cheek. Undoubtedly, you have his face paint all over you, but Terzo is simply alluring in everything that he does. From the way he performs on stage, grasping everyone's attention in the palm of his hand to the dangerous way he romances you, kissing you like he loves you... you know you'll never get enough.

Finally, the dressing room starts to quiet down. Girls chatter about where they're going to grab dinner or who's going home with who. And eventually, you're left alone with your lover for the night.

Peaking his head out from behind the curtain, Terzo nods that the coast is clear, taking your hand and smirking, "Per favore, bella mia, follow me. I know the perfect place to have my way with you."

Cocky in an endearing way, that's how you'd describe him. A stranger who somehow knows exactly what you need... It's maddening, but comforting.

However, upon reaching some kind of office door, you are given some pause, "Hey, woah, where are we going?"

"Just through here, amore," he tugs your hand.

"I mean, is that someone's office? Are we supposed to be in here?" You question him, but the idea of getting caught has certainly done something to you.

"Sì, the owner's. Won't it be fun, dolce?"

Looking between his hand still holding yours and his playful duochromatic eyes, you can't deny him. "Yes," you grin, biting your lip as he pulls you through the doorway, nearly slamming it behind you.

Despite him not being the largest man, he has full control of your body, making quick work of shoving everything off the desk and laying you back on it. "Bellissima, cara mia, your beauty is unmatched," he mumbles, admiring your disheveled form spread out before him.

You huff, "Please... Have you seen yourself?" It was true. He looks like pure debauchery in that moment, leaning over you in nothing but heels, fishnets, and a black lace thong.

He smiles in a way that almost looks shy, "Sì, but tonight is all about you, no?" He leans over you on the desk, placing a kiss to your jaw.

"Who said that?" you sigh at his contact.

"You did, signora, with your actions," his lips start their decent down your body, again on your cleavage, your sternum, your belly, as he slowly unzips your dress and continues his explanation, "you drive all the way out here, from wherever you come from; you dress up; you spend your evening with us... I have never seen you before."

By now he's made his way to the waistband of your panties, kissing the skin just above the lace.

"Oh, and you know everyone who comes in here?" you chuckle and your hand comes up to massage his scalp.

"Mmm, sì, amore," he slides the zipper down to where it ends at your knees, allowing the dress to fall open, and he lifts one of your legs off the desk to nip at your inner thigh, "and if I do not know someone... I make it a point to introduce myself." His devious eyes flicker up to yours.

"So you do this with everyone you meet?" you sit up and raise your eyebrows, shaking the dress straps from your shoulders.

"Are you implying something about me, tesoro? Besides..." He ducks his head down, rubbing his nose perfectly across your clit, "It's not lady-like to kiss and tell."

Feeling his hot breath even through your underwear, you're met with those smoldering bedroom eyes he had on stage. When you let out an involuntary whimper, you have to stop yourself from urging his face towards your core.

Like a mind-reader though, he's pulling off your panties, "You must've been wet from the moment you saw me on stage." He grins proudly, but before you can chide him, Terzo's mouth is already on you, instead stealing the air from your lungs as his tongue circles around your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Ah! Oh, Terzo..." you gasp as your fingers curl in his soft hair. If your eyes hadn't been screwed shut in pleasure, you would've seen the enjoyment written on your lover's face as he works his magic.

His hands grip your thighs roughly, pulling you to the edge of the desk to be able to dip his tongue between your folds, teasing your entrance. Your needy whines egg him on as he fucks you with his tongue, that perfect nose smashed up against your oh-so-sensitive clit. It's so overwhelming you actually try to push his face away, but Terzo digs his heels in, holding you firmly in place. Surely you'll have bruises where his fingertips clutch at your skin.

In an embarrassing amount of time, that familiar tension builds in your abdomen. Looking down at the man through your lashes, you feel an urge to beg for permission, but your mouth is unable to form the words. He senses it though, and gives you a gentle nod without disrupting his ministrations. Thighs squeezing against his ears and a high heel digging into his back, you cum for him, convulsing as he carries you through it.

Carefully, he stands up between your legs, allowing you to lean on him with your arms wrapped around his neck as you both catch your breath. Propping your chin up on his chest, you look up at Terzo. His face paint is totally wrecked, but you like seeing what's beneath it as well.

"Bene?" He whispers softly, "Was it good for you?"

"Yes," you let out a breathy laugh at the absurdity of that question. Eyes trailing down, you notice his painfully hard cock barely concealed by his thong. Looking up at him, you slowly reach for it, and you're met with a pleased hum when you palm at the head.

His lips find yours once again as he gently bucks into your hand, feeling just as needy for you as you'd been for him. "Per favore..." he rasps, "please."

"Please, what, baby?" you ask him.

"Fottimi," he says it so quietly you hardly hear him.

"Hm?" you look up, cupping his chin in your fingers, other hand still working his throbbing desire.

Squeezing his eyes closed, a beautiful blush blooms across his cheeks, "Fuck me. Please, fuck me..."

Seeing this once-confident performer enter such a space, you feel even more of a need to please him; it lights a fire like you hadn't experienced before. "Why don't you go lay on the couch for me then, hm?"

It's not lost on you how earlier you'd been worried to even come in the office, and now you're telling your lover to use the furniture.

He nods and takes a couple steps across the small room, heels clicking on the old hardwood floor. Pausing in front of the small piece of furniture like he has to think about it, he slowly bends at the hips, placing his hands on the soft cushion first, then following with his knees.

You follow him over, unable to resist his plump backside. Palming and squeezing at it, you chide him, "Putting your cute little ass on display for me? Just like you did on stage," you trail off. 𝘛𝘩𝘸𝘢𝘱! You earn an involuntary moan from Terzo as you spank him. He turns to look over his shoulder at you, where you then lean down and press a soft kiss to the hand mark you left on him, "I think I asked you to lay down."

He gives you that devilish grin before flopping back on the sofa, stretching and arching his back, feigning innocence.

Something about him acting this way emboldens you, so settling between his spread legs, you reach down and harshly tear open the front of his fishnet stockings, "If you want to act like a little whore, then I'm going to treat you like one!"

He reaches down to grab your wrist, placing it on his crotch and rutting against your hand again, "Sì, amore, please..."

Snatching your wrist away, you swat your fingers at his erection, making him jerk in a way that you're pretty sure means he liked it. "You're lucky you're so goddamn pretty."

"Hmm," he grins again, "Or what?"

"Or..." Roughly, you grab the waistband of his offending little panties and rip them down enough to expose him, the pretty pink tip dripping with precum. Taking his length in your hand, you stroke up and down, before continuing, "Or I wouldn't touch you like this..."

He whines at the way you handle him; he's so perfect, you know you can't resist him any longer.

Moving to straddle his hips, you grind your sex on his. This allows you to lean down and kiss him again, which he pulls you into hungrily. When you break away, you gaze into those lust blown mismatched eyes, "Or I wouldn't fuck you."

It's your turn to grin as you line him up with your entrance, and he becomes a writhing mess beneath you. Seconds later, however, the room is filled with gasps, sighs, moans as you finally become one.

With Terzo fully seated inside, you waste no time working your hips, easing you both into the motions of lovemaking. And what a picture you are: a tangle of limbs, lingerie, and stilettos.

His needy hands reach out to squeeze at your breasts, urging your bra straps off of your shoulders. Finally, you reach behind to unclasp the article of clothing and discard it. In an instant, your lover's hands return, cupping, massaging, and teasing your chest. The way his fingers roll your nipples already has them budding, but his mouth closing around one of them really does the trick.

With one hand cradling the back of his head and the other on his shoulder for support, you ride him at an energetic pace, gasping each time his teeth nibble at your sensitive skin.

"That's it..." he starts to whisper between love bites, "sì, principessa, oh, pl- per favore, take your pleasure from me."

Kissing the top of his head, you sigh into his ear, "Touch me... Touch me, please, Terzo!"

"Sì, signora," he obliges, his middle finger finding your clit easily, "Sei bella, così bella. Veini per me, cum on me, tesoro."

"I'm gonna..." You bite your lip, "Ahh, cum with me, baby."

Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, and it has you seeing stars. Feeling you clench around his cock, Terzo, blissed out, bites down on your collarbone as he follows you over the edge, spilling into your perfect velvety walls. Pain mixed with pleasure somehow heightens the sensation futher for you; it's nothing short of a miracle you were able to ride you both through your climaxes.

Terzo collapses straight back and you right on top of him, exhausted. His arms come up to wrap around you, gently tracing shapes into your back. When you give a tired groan, he offers, "Dai, we should get you upstairs, you stay the night with me."

"Upstairs? You live here?" you mumble into the crook of his neck.

"Sì, ragazza stupida," he chuckles, "I own this place."

"Hey!" you sit up and see him pointing at something... the name plate from the desk, thrown across the floor reading 'Terzo Emeritus.' Glaring back down at him, you argue, "Well, I'm not stupid, or whatever you said."

He smiles up at you, softly. "It means 'silly,' amore mio."

"Oh... Well still..." you lower your voice to a near whisper, "I would like to spend the night with you."

He reaches up to stroke your cheek, "Okie dokie, then. Let's get these heels off."

[thewitcheswitch89]

Ghostober 2024

by @kroas-adtam

Read on AO3 or Wattpad

A wild ride

Stoned Sex

Terzo x Female reader

Smut 18+

"Take a drag," Terzo grinned and handed you the joint. You sat on his lap, both of you completely naked, hesitantly took the joint from him and looked at him briefly. Before you took a drag.

"Wait!" Terzo said, running his hands down your thighs. "And puff!" You followed his instructions and held the smoke in your mouth for a moment before blowing it out slowly. You smiled at him and took another drag.

"Slowly, Amore...!" he grinned and took the joint out of your hand. "You're not used to this...!" He took a puff himself, letting the smoke intoxicate his senses with relish. His eyes closed, a satisfied smile on his face.

"This is good stuff...!" he grinned and placed the joint in an ashtray on his bedside table. The smell of weed enveloped you. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but you could feel the effect slowly working its way through you. How your body relaxed. Terzo looked at you and laughed.

"Your pupils Amore...!" he laughed and kissed your neck. This little gesture made you jump. It was more intense than before. And Terzo laughed when he noticed your reaction. His hands stroked your lower back, pulling you closer to him.

His erect member pressed against your middle and a soft moan escaped you.

"Mhh... if you're already reacting like that... let it work properly first, Amore!" he grinned against your neck. "You'll be walking on air."

He took the joint and held it to your mouth. Your lips closed around it without thinking and you took a drag.

With a soft moan you blew out the smoke and this time the effect was not long in coming, your eyes fell shut. Your forehead rested against his. As he drew slow circles on your back with his finger.

"Mhhh Amore... do you feel that... how your body relaxes... how you press against me...!" He kissed your neck with a moan. His voice boomed in your head. And you felt goose bumps spread all over your body. Every touch was ten times more intense than usual.

"Are you ready, Amore?" he asked. But you could only nod, your hands on his shoulders. Terzo grinned and leaned in to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. A growl escaped him as you moaned into the kiss and pressed your body against his. You grabbed his neck and pulled him against you. Your hips move, your centre rubbing over his member. You don't even notice how a surprised "yes" slips out of Terzo's mouth. But the joint had that effect on you. It had managed to make you throw all your inhibitions overboard. Your shyness, your self-doubt was gone. And had made room for lust and shamelessness.

Terzo had never seen you like this and he gripped you tighter, curling his fingers around your hips to guide your movements.

"Ohh yes Amore...what are you doing to me...? Please...don't stop...!" he moaned.

Moan after moan escaped you, completely dazed and your brain filled only with lust. You responded with a moan. And you reached between him and yourself, your hands closing around his penis and guiding it to your entrance. Terzo gasped and closed his eyes. "

Amore!" he murmured. As you let him slide inside you. Terzo's head fell back as a testicle escaped. He looked at you with his mouth slightly open. His pupils were as large as yours.

"I want you... now... now!" you moaned an octave higher. And began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, and Terzo was no different. He looked at you with wide eyes, his hands pressing into your tender skin as he let you ride him. Normally he was used to being in control, but he let you. All he produced was a hungry moan and groan. Your fingers clawed into his shoulders as you could only focus on your own pleasure.

"Oh fuck...oh fuck...!" you moaned as you rode him with shameless hardness. His member hit every part of you, making your body tremble. A lustful cry escaped you and you grabbed his head. Terzo moaned beneath you. His body dropped to the mattress.

"Ahh...a...amore...what...!" were all the words he could manage. But you paid no attention to him. Skin against skin as you rode him, his cock pumping into you, making you moan louder with each thrust. Your hands dug into his chest hair.

“Oh yes!” you screamed, and your knees trembled, but you kept up the rough, fast movement. Terzo could only clutch your thighs tightly.

His moans were louder than usual as he saw you using him to get what you wanted.

“Amore ....ahh...” he moaned, his head pressing in the pillow beneath him. As he felt his cock pulsing inside you. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall with every movement. Terzo's back pushed forward so that you could take him deeper. A loud moan escaped him as he felt you approaching him, massaging his cock inside you, and he knew you were about to. You had never been so shameless and loud.

"Yes... take what you need, amore... come for me... I know you're almost there...!" His thumb found your clit and pressed on it. And this little touch made you come. Your whole body pulsed, your knees trembled, your eyes closed... as you came with a loud scream.

"Fuck...!" Terzo shouted as he followed you over the edge. His hips bucked as shockwave after shockwave washed over him. The joint had only made everything ten times more intense. A groan escaped him as you collapsed on top of him. Breathing heavily, your body was hot and sweaty.

Skin stuck to skin as you both took a moment to come down.

"Terzo," you whispered. And buried your face in his neck. His hand stroked your hair, still trying to process what had just happened.

"That... that was... a wild ride amore!" he gasped.

[mari-love-terzomega]

Finally. Mama Emeritus the Third.

@rightintheghoulies @ratchild666