#terzo smut

[lingenmustdie]

between your thighs i become holy

[danse-macabre-ballerina]

Thoughts: Papa Boners

Self-indulgent NSFW nonsense under the cut...

Primo: He no longer gets the erections from his youth (he'll sometimes say he used them all up in the 70s and 80s if he's in the mood to joke about it) and frankly the idea of expending energy on seduction or lovemaking, or much human contact at all, feels like a waste of what precious time he has left. Not to say he's immune to the touch of a soft, young thing who takes interest. Once you've gotten past his grouchy exterior, he's more than happy to dust off the knowledge of decades in the worship of sin and prove that he still has what it takes to rock your world. As far as receiving goes, he's less likely to allow that unless he's quite sure you will not have your feelings hurt when does little more than swell in your eager hand. He enjoys the affection just the same, as long as you do. He might be convinced to try some sort of enhancement if you really wanted him to, but he's pretty old-fashioned and ultimately knowing that you're satisfied is his only concern.

Secondo: In spite of his advanced age, he still gets aggressive hard-ons when he wants to (and occasionally when he doesn't, though that's rarer nowadays). But a lifetime of focusing on training himself to go all night long has left him often to have to take drastic measures to be able to cum himself, even after you're spent and practically begging for mercy. Combine that with the occasional effects of whiskey-dick, and he can be...a lot of work. So as much as he has a reputation for being dominant, even consensually sadistic, his basic desires are actually pretty tame and he won't let himself get too close to you until he's sure you'll believe him when he tells you he doesn't need to finish to be satisfied, that you won't take it personally. He's not an uncrackable safe, though and the right lover will figure out the surefire ways to make him lose control even if he'd rather die than admit them.

Terzo: Charismatic and confident, he's a seducer of cheering throngs and would-be bed-fellows alike. A below-average height gentleman with perfectly average equipment, and arguably above average skill. No one who's enjoyed his company in the carnal sense has ever been left unsatisfied, or without wanting more. But deep-down he's a hopeless romantic, though that's a part of himself he rarely let's anyone see. If you seek to woo this Papa you're going to have to prove to him that you don't just want him for his body, or his image, for the fulfillment of sexual desires he promises (and will absolutely deliver on), or the prestige and bragging rights that would bring...but to stimulate each other's minds as much as your bodies. Nothing excites him more intellectually or sexually than someone who can take charge and take him out of his own head. The moral is...it's easier for him to share his bed than share his true self, and you're more likely to see his boner than his heart.

Copia: If you were to ask him...his erections are consistent and satisfying. No trouble getting it up. No trouble keeping it up. But in reality he does have a weakness (or at least, what he would consider a weakness). He will cum almost as soon as he's inside you. He'll try closing his eyes and thinking about video games, biting the inside of his mouth, pinching himself until he bleeds. He's even prayed to the Dark Lord and dabbled in a bit of ritual sacrifice in an attempt to gain a sense of control. But it makes no difference...you just feel TOO DAMN GOOD. You make his mind go totally blank of anything but your wet heat hugging tight around him. Consequently, he'll spend as much time as possible on foreplay, teasing you, edging you, making you cum over and over so that by the time he gets to what could be considered the main event, you're barely functional. And what he lacks in stamina he'll more than make up for in adoration, showering you with affection and making you feel like the only person in his world, like he would literally die without you.

Perpetua: Whether you think he's a full-on creature of the night or just a weird little guy, he's...huge. Not dangerously so, but definitely enough for a new partner to be intimidated and more than a little nervous. He's eager to learn, desperate to please you, but inexperienced himself and pretty self-conscious about it (mostly because more than one partner in the past has gotten as far as seeing him in all his glory and excused themselves rather unceremoniously), so he needs you to be patient with him. Go slow and give him lots of gentle instruction and enthusiastic praise, and he will move heaven, hell, and earth to leave you satisfied. In spite of his shaky confidence, he's not shy about communication and will ask you lots of questions...what you like, how it feels. You will never experience someone more loyal and devoted once you coax him out of his shell, once he knows you really do want him. And if you can physically handle him...he. will. ruin. you.

Nihil: Nowadays he only has eyes for Sister Imperator. Plus he's dead, so I guess don't worry about it.

[a-perpetual-rise]

My Christmas wish is for tumblr to let me keep this up with no warning 🎁

Cardinal Terzo in his twink era 💜

[lucifixion-pose]

𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

⛧ dividers by me / feel free to reuse (with credit, please) ⛧

One of his flock keeps coming late to Mass and Papa Terzo can only take it for so long. The behavior must be corrected.

⚠️EXPLICIT, 18+, MDNI⚠️

⛧ Read on AO3

Pairing: Papa Terzo / first-person POV 5k words POV has a vulva/vagina and is addressed in feminine terms (sorella). Content/Warnings: Claws, glove kink, body worship, a lot of eye contact, grindin', oral sex, Terzo feelings, vaginal fingering, the inherent eroticism of the...Anti-Eucharist? What do we call Satanic Communion?

⛧ Okay look I wrote this in like two days and it's messy as hell but that fucking DIABOLICAL GIF hasn't let me know peace since the moment I saw it.

Late for Mass again. The fourth week in a row now. I'd just been having so much trouble falling asleep lately, and waking up was even worse. I tried to sneak in unobtrusively but Papa's mismatched eyes landed on me immediately. He paused in the middle of his sentence, drumming his gloved fingers on the pulpit for a moment before continuing.

When it came time for Communion I dutifully lined up with my siblings, anxiously awaiting my turn and sending a quiet prayer to Satan that Papa, his representative on Earth, may have forgotten my face. I kept my eyes down as I knelt before him and opened my mouth to receive the Sacrament. After a beat, my heart dropped. He wasn't moving. The Body of our Dark Lord would not be given to me so easily today. When I finally met his gaze he tilted his head just a touch and quietly tsked at me before finally holding out the wafer.

"The Body of our Lord," he said.

"Nema," I murmured. He didn't place it on my tongue as usual, instead making me lean toward him to take it in my mouth, the tip of one of his golden claws cold against my tongue.

When he said, "The Blood of our Lord," his voice dropped lower.

"Nema."

As before he held the chalice just out of reach, subtly wagging a finger at me when I didn't immediately come to him. When the wine hit my tongue I looked up at him again, receiving only an enigmatic stare. As I rose and walked back to my seat I could feel his eyes on me.

I kept my eyes down for the rest of our Black Mass, trying my best to hide behind the people in front of me, but sure enough, when the service ended I was asked to stay behind. When the basilica was empty of everyone but the two of us, I finally dared look at him. He crooked his finger at me and led me to the vestry, holding the door open for me.

"We can speak a little more privately in here, sorella, yes?"

The vestry was smaller than I'd expected, smaller even than my own little room, though much more richly realized with dark wood almost enclosing the entire space. One wall was lined with shelves and cabinets, the one opposite had an opened closet door where spare vestments hung. The golden hem of one of Papa's albs caught my eye, just peeking out from the shadows.

The only furniture in the room was a leather-padded chair and the small table set next to it. Papa sat down with a soft groan and crossed his legs, then smoothed his chasuble over his knees and sat back, looking at me expectantly.

"I'm sorry for being late for Mass again, Papa," I said.

"This is not the second time, or even the third, is it?"

"No, Papa."

He seemed to want more from me but I couldn't find the words. All excuses felt flimsy in his presence. He started drumming his fingers again, the metal tips tapping loudly on the table, pointedly communicating his annoyance.

"And why are you late...?" He asked the question like I was an idiot. Frankly, I was starting to feel like one.

"I've been having trouble sleeping, Papa. And waking up."

"Why?"

"I..." I trailed off before shrugging helplessly, "I don't know."

"Stress?"

"I guess? I don't really know."

"You seem tense," he said thoughtfully, his fingers stopped their clattering little wave; he tapped them against the table as one, "Come here, sorella."

I hesitated and he waved impatiently, continuing to beckon me until my habit brushed against him.

"You do not indulge in the pleasures of the flesh very often here, I am told."

"What?" I'd heard him just fine; The heat rushing to my face made that clear.

"Your siblings all have their fun together, but not you."

I bit my lip and shrugged again, looking at the tasteful hardwood flooring as though an answer were written in the grain of the wood.

"Look at me," the low, disapproving voice that had appeared during Communion returned, brooking no protest. I shivered when I met his eyes and his fingers tapped loudly on the table again. 

"Do you not feel those desires?" Beneath the commanding tone there was an understanding, primed to turn sympathetic if need be. I'd been here a long time and never indulged - it wasn't a leap to think perhaps it wasn't something I wanted.

"No, Papa. I...I feel them." He had it backwards, unfortunately. A lack of desire would be much easier here. I simply hadn't found anyone who was worth spending time with. Nobody else here was like him, after all. 

"It is a very easy way to relieve stress, you know? Tension," a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when I swallowed hard, trying to stand still and ignore the ache settling between my legs.

He cocked his head to the side and considered me for a moment before asking, "Do you like men, sorella?"

Of course I heard him, but once again couldn't stop a surprised "What?" He raised his eyebrows and waited, one claw rapping hard into the table.

"Y-yes, Papa," I cleared my throat, trying to will away the blush I felt taking over my face, "I...I like men."

"Good. Then kneel."

He stood, the rustle of his vestments and click of his shoes covering the whimper that escaped me. I slowly sank to my knees, heart pounding, skipping a beat at the sound of the lock turning.

He sat back down in front of me and said, "Closer," gesturing until I was between his knees. He looked down at me, studying me, finally reaching for me. 

The tight black leather around his hand was smooth against my skin as he touched my chin and tilted my face to really look at him. Cold metal grazed my neck, and he cracked a smile when I shivered.

"The last time you were kneeling before me you just waited to receive His Body," he said, tracing my jaw with his fingers, "Do you think that is what our Lord wants?"

"I...I don't know. No?" I mumbled. How was I supposed to focus on anything other than his touch? His thumb swiped across my lips, pulling them apart.

"No, sorella," he said gently, "You should come to the Sacrament eagerly. The Lord Below celebrates desire, particularly of Him." A golden claw slipped between my lips, hooking on my teeth just enough to make me move closer. His knees bumped against my side and I squeezed my arms closer to my body, unsure if I was allowed to touch him, unsure what I'd do if I could. His thumb pushed further into my mouth for just a moment before retreating.

"I will teach you how to worship," he leaned back in his chair, the warmth of his thighs surrounding me as his hips slid closer. He rested his elbow on the little table and held his hand toward me, palm-down.

"Well?" he said after a pause, "Did you think we would use His actual Body?"

"N-no, Papa..."

"Then come to my hand."

When I stretched forward he held up a finger to halt me, saying, "'Yes, Papa,'" pointedly.

"Yes, Papa."

He nodded for me to continue. As soon as my lips touched him my eyes closed and he stopped me again with a scolding tsk.

"Sorella," he said sternly, "Does our Lord ask you to come to Him blindly?"

"No, Papa."

"No, only the Nemesis would ask you to take him in darkness. You come to Satan with open eyes, understand?"

"Yes, Papa," my cheeks were blazing hot now as I stared into that captivating white eye. I was unable to stifle a soft moan when his gloved fingers finally passed my lips, the leather so tight and supple it felt like his living skin. His expression grew darker, dreamier as I took him in and out of my mouth. The next time I moaned around him I unthinkingly closed my eyes again.

Tsk.

"His Body, sorella. Again." He seemed to be waiting for something.

I tentatively said, "Nema, Papa," and that proved to be the correct answer. Unfortunately, he had to repeat himself only moments later. I couldn't help it: the claws weren't as sharp as they looked, thankfully, but they were hard and whenever they touched the back of my tongue my body would reflexively whimper and try to close my eyes.

"His Body, sorella."

"N-nema, Papa."

The way he would linger when he was all the way in my mouth made me squirm every time. I tried to go faster - not only to avoid disappointing him more but because I wanted it faster, but no. He pulled away again, a dark amusement glinting in his eyes.

"You cannot rush devotion," he said, "Luckily your Papa is a patient man, eh? His Body."

"...Nema, Papa."

His two middle fingers were offered now and his index finger was curled against my cheek, the tip of that golden claw just barely digging into my skin.

"One cannot hurry into Satan's grace," he said quietly, then, "His Body, sorella. Again."

"You must come to Satan thoughtfully, sorella. His Body."

"Again. Our Lord wants you to approach him with an open mind and wonder in your heart, understand?"

"You must appreciate and admire His grace and light, sorella. Again. His Body."

"How can you appreciate Him if you take Him too quickly to even taste Him?"

"Come to Him devoutly, sorella. Come to Him with reverence."

"Take Him lovingly onto your tongue and the heart will follow."

"Again. His Body. His Body. Again. His Body. Again. Again. Again."

I was shaking when he finally left my mouth and simply stroked my cheek rather than scolding me again. My knees ached and the collar of my habit was soaked from a steady trickle of drool that had crept down my neck. I tried my best to keep still but couldn't help pressing my thighs together, the heat building in me approaching intolerable. My panties were soaked, dragging conspicuously with the slightest movement, constantly tearing my focus.

"You did well," he said, looking at me with warm, understanding eyes, "And how do you feel?"

"My...My knees hurt, Papa," I tried to contain the whining pitch that desperately wanted to come out.

"Poor dear," he said, mostly sympathetic and only a little mocking. He motioned for me to rise and gently touched the reddened skin, inspecting it with a satisfied hum before looking back into my eyes.

"Would you like to go?" He glanced at my knees again, "Or do you feel there is more for you to learn?"

I swallowed and felt my legs tremble beneath me, "I...I'd like to learn more from you, Papa."

"Good," his hand wrapped smoothly around my wrist and pulled me closer, parting my legs with his knee, "Sit."

He sat me firmly on his thigh before I could even think to ease myself onto him, and a kind of smug satisfaction gleamed in his eye when I whimpered at the impact. His hand slid around my waist, settling at the small of my back and pulling me even closer, rubbing my aching cunt along his leg. Purely out of reflex I put a hand against him when I lost my head for a moment. I gasped when I realized what I'd done and jerked my hand away, but he returned it to his chest, flattening his palm against the back of my hand.

"I am just a man, sorella," he said softly, then added, almost hesitantly, "Your touch is welcomed."

"Y-yes, Papa."

"So, tell me," the hand holding mine to his chest drifted away, "How long has it been for you? Since you've been with someone," he clarified. Because I was straddling his leg my habit was already above my knees, but now his hand was there too. He would push the soft black fabric just a little further up, then slowly drag his claws down my leg, striping my thigh with thin lines before repeating it. 

"It's...been a few years, Papa," I bit my lip as he moved under me, his leg and hands working in tandem to prevent me ever sitting still. His fingers reached my hip and slid under the waistband of my underwear, idly tugging at the fabric. 

"A shame we did not meet earlier," he held me still with nothing but a look as he hooked a talon around the elastic and followed it inward, musing, "I could have taught you so much."

"So, sorella, what have you learned today?"

"W...what?"

"Have you forgotten already?" His fingers were still under the waistband as he moved them back to my hip and started making me move along his thigh.

"N-no, Papa, I didn't forget," I bit my lip again and whimpered as my needy, throbbing cunt rubbed against him. 

"Then tell me," he was so close that I could clearly see his eyes for the first time; one a lovely green and the one I'd always thought was just white was actually the palest blue, though both were difficult to see with his pupils flared so wide under half-closed lids.

"You...you can't rush devotion," I managed to keep most of the words steady. He hummed a mmhmm and the hand at my back pushed me to keep moving. When I started grinding against his leg on my own a satisfied sigh rumbled from deep in his chest.

"You have to...a-appreciate His light," I whimpered when his clawed fingers dug into the flesh of my hip, "And have wonder in...in your heart."

"Good," he murmured, "More."

"Our Lord wants...wants..." I bit my lip as I tried to focus on anything but my cunt, dripping with its desperation to be filled. 

"Focus, sorella," he sounded amused but just a touch out of breath himself, and pushed his leg up against me.

"Mm...y-yes...Yes, Papa...Our Lord...wants you to approach with an o-open mind," remembering anything that had happened before this moment was approaching impossible.

"More," he said quietly as the claws dragged inwards from my hip. He searched my eyes for permission before sliding his hand into my panties, breathing out a satisfied sigh when I whimpered and grabbed the silky robe between us with a tight fist. He chuckled again when my hips jerked toward his hand.

His voice was almost sing-song when he said, "Sorella," in a reminding tone. 

"How- nng-"

He cut me off, looking more than a little smug as his fingers worked further in, rubbing along either side of my slit, slowly dragging the tips of his claws along the puffy, sensitive skin.

"H-how can you appreciate Him," I whimpered when I saw his eyes were having trouble staying open too, yet still they held me, "If you...take Him too quickly to...to taste Him?" A soft sound came from him, just a little something carried on a tremulous breath, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. Even under the neat lines of paint on his face I could see his skin blooming with color.

"Take Him with your tongue and...the heart will follow," I said, and his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before locking back onto mine. I had to shift my weight to stay comfortable and accidentally brushed my knee against him. It was hidden well under the robes, but the catch in his breath told me what I'd felt was his cock. 

He wasn't commanding any more recitations of me, only breathing through full, parted lips as his fingers finally slipped inward. 

"So wet for your Papa," he purred. The waver in his voice when he felt the slick betrayed his calm facade. Two fingers slid inside me, gently, carefully, as another quiet moan escaped his lips. He slowly worked them in and out, my own moans failing to camouflage the sounds of wet leather.

I could feel the claws, yes, hard as they were, but it didn't seem to be the first time he'd done this; his hand was deft and sure, his skill easily overtaking the brief flashes of discomfort. His other two fingers were rubbing along outside and the claws there did dig in, poking at the tender flesh every time he pushed deep inside. Pain and pleasure warred as I clenched around him, pleasure winning out every time.

I'd been gripping his robe this whole time but now, watching his eyes mist over with desire, my hand moved on its own and traveled down his body. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered shut again when I rubbed my palm along the outline of his cock. 

"How can I appreciate Him," I breathed, "If you...If I don't take the time to taste Him?" Papa didn't seem to care that I'd gotten the words wrong, especially when I squeezed him between my fingers. He tipped his head back and groaned softly before moving his fingers to my clit. When I cried out and squeezed his cock again he muttered something as his free hand went under his robe.

"Just...just a moment, sorella," he said hurriedly, the hand on me stilling for a moment as he tugged at his vestments, freeing them from under my legs. He pushed the chasuble aside and had started pulling his alb up as well when his fingers started moving again. His eyes and attention snapped back to me when he grabbed my hand and placed it on his bulge. 

"Sorry," he breathed, "Sorry about that, now..." he seemed almost shy suddenly, as if he were embarrassed to tell me to touch him. As if simply feeling how hard he was hadn't made me moan with a mad want to feel more. He shifted in his seat, making me lean over him more, bringing my face so much closer to his. His finger was still moving so smoothly over my clit and it was getting harder and harder to both stay in place and look at him. Every time he made me cry out his cock would twitch so strongly, and he would quietly echo my moans.

"Papa," I said, "Please...I..." I started unfastening his belt, grabbing at his pants to try and free the cock I needed so desperately to touch. "You- take Him with your tongue, that's...that's what you told me..."

"Yes," he breathed, "You will, sorella, soon." His hand joined mine, assisting as I started losing focus. His claws were digging into me, helping keep the finger on my clit in place as he pulled me closer to climax with every motion of his finger.

His lips parted with a breathy moan when I finally wrapped my hand around his cock, again when I spread his leaking precum around the head. I saw him looking back and forth between my eyes and lips, and his mouth was so very close...

"Papa, can...can I-"

Those full lips interrupted me, need guiding our tongues to one another, the lingering taste of the Sacrament a reminder of what higher needs we were serving together. Every time I rolled my hips toward him I felt the metal points more acutely, but with every jolt of pleasure I minded less and less. By the time the heat finally burst through me each little stab was a welcome visitor, strange as they were. My head fell back as I cried out and his mouth was on my neck, breathing his own needy moans across my skin as I shuddered in the close embrace of his arm hugging me tight.

His lips found mine again, eagerly taking in the sound of my bliss, smiling when I whimpered at his touch. His hand moved slowly, sweetly, just on the edge of anything that would overstimulate me but playing with the sensitivity nonetheless. His cock twitched when he made me shiver, a reminder that he was still held by me, still in need.

With every stroke of my hand he seemed to melt a little more. Our leader, our guide on this Earth, Papa Emeritus the Third, touched by divinity and little else - now rocking his hips in time to my hand, his vestments crumpled and pushed out of the way, the smeared paint around his mouth revealing the soft, flushed skin of a mortal man. His hand twined into my hair, crushing our lips together in a kiss that only got messier and more frantic as he lost his composure. He couldn't keep his hands still - grabbing my hips and ass to keep me grinding against him, dragging his fingers along my thigh, the claws digging in and releasing as they wandered my body, finally tugging at the sleeve of my habit.

I broke away from the kiss that we'd seemingly fallen into hours ago and said, "I want- let me taste you, Papa, please, I-"

He ignored me and pulled at my sleeve again, "This," he said, "Take this off." I managed to unzip myself and he helped pull it off, letting it pool around my waist as he mouthed at my naked breast, groping the other.

He sighed happily against my skin and said, "I know you want- I know what you want, sorella," he sucked at my nipple for a moment before continuing, "but I want to hear you cum again, so," he looked up at me and smiled, "you will." His tone was as decisive as his grasp when he took my hand off his cock and laced his fingers through mine. He leaned back and nudged me with his leg, watching me grind on his thigh with a hungry, approving smile as he lazily stroked himself. He was still squeezing my breast, idly rubbing his thumb across my nipple as his attention flicked between my eyes and my cunt.

The claws weren't digging into me but pressing in just enough to make their own indentations in my skin, and when his thumb swiped again it briefly left a thin trace in the skin above my nipple. My thighs were covered in lines from hip to knee, and the sight gave me an odd thrill. I pressed his hand harder into me and moaned as the pinpricks turned into tiny sparks of pleasure. He seemed amused but squeezed tighter and delicately pinched, catching my nipple between the claws, his breath hitching when I shuddered with pleasure.

When my hips started falling out of any rhythm and my cries were almost a constant note, he pulled at my nipple again to bring me closer, bring me back to his mouth. He took my nipple in his mouth again and groaned when my nails dug into the back of his neck, and when my orgasm surged through me like lightning he dug his claws in and moaned softly into me.

"Good, sorella, so good for your Papa," I heard him faintly. His arms went around me as I slumped against his chest, the smooth, supple leather on his hands soothing the scratches he left in me, making me shiver when the metal points brushed across my back. As I caught my breath I felt his hitch and saw he was slowly pumping his cock. He touched my chin and made me look him in the eye again before drawing near, as if to kiss me again, but instead his lips went to my ear.

"Devotion is shown on your knees."

"Yes, Papa," I shivered. I managed to rise on shaking legs before kneeling again. He slid forward in his seat, gripping his cock as I moved closer, letting out a shaking breath when my lips touched him. When I wrapped my hand around him he loosened his grip but kept his hand close, grazing my skin with a claw whenever I was close enough. I mouthed at the underside of his cock, running my tongue along the length of him, whimpering when his claw tapped my cheek.

"His Body, sorella," he murmured, sucking in a breath when I met his eye again.

I dutifully said, "Nema, Papa," before tonguing at his leaking slit, savoring his trembling breaths as much as my first taste of him. I wrapped my lips around his cock and gently worked his foreskin down, following it with my mouth and taking as much of him as I could. When I moaned softly around him I felt his hand go around the back of my head, grabbing my veil to direct me.

"Good," he breathed, moving my head faster, "That- ah- good, sorella, just...just like that," his other hand slid along my arm to my shoulder before raking back down, the gold sketching lines across my skin. The sensation made me shiver, made me forget I'd even closed my eyes again until I heard it again.

"His Body," he reminded me, so quietly I almost mistook it for a breath. When I tried to respond he kept me in place with my mouth full.

"His Body, sorella," he laughed softly and drummed his claws against my arm. I made a questioning noise and he laughed again. He brushed his thumb across my cheek and gave me an encouraging smile. I tried to say it, managed something like eh-aw and he started moving my head again.

"It is a different way to take the Sacrament," he said breathlessly, "But you have- ah- have to do it properly, you know?" He pulled at my veil, raising me up more on my knees as his hips started rolling, thrusting his cock into my mouth more and more quickly, more deeply. His grip tightened on my shoulder, the five little points of almost-pain only making my moans louder. He groaned and tipped his head back, his whole body trembling as he panted desperately, whimpers filling the room until he gasped and pushed all the way into my mouth.

"Fuck," he choked, and his body locked for a moment until a deep growl rumbled from him and he spilled into my mouth, thick and hot and coating my tongue.

His hands loosened and he slid further down in his chair as his body went slack, his mitre dangerously close to tipping from his head as he panted for breath. A shiver rushed over his whole body from the soft parting licks I gave him. He squeezed my hand and let out a soft phew before looking at me, giving me a tired smile as he adjusted his mitre.

"Thank you, Papa," I smiled at him and flicked my tongue under the head of his cock even as he was softening in my hand.

"Ah," he flinched, "That- that will be enough, sorella, thank you." He sat up straight and tucked himself back into his pants, loudly clearing his throat as he set his vestments back into place. When I had my arms back in my sleeves he leaned over to zip up the back for me, his face lingering close to mine before giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. He brushed some stray hairs from my face and adjusted my veil for me, then took my hands to help me stand.

I tried to make myself presentable and his hands came to rest on my hips as he watched me smooth my habit. When I was done he sat back and cleared his throat again, looking away.

"Well," he said quietly, "I...I hope this has been, ah, helpful, sorella."

"Yes, I...Thank you, Papa." I stood for a moment, unsure what to do as we both stewed in the awkwardness that settled over the room, then turned to leave.

"Sorella?" his voice was soft and uncertain, so unlike the Papa I'd only known from afar until today. When I turned he beckoned me closer, taking my hand when he could. He looked up at me, searching my eyes for a moment before pulling me to him again for a parting kiss.

"Be well, sorella."

I waited outside the doors until I heard his voice echo through the basilica. He had already started his sermon when I entered, and his mismatched eyes lingered on me as I took my time finding a seat. Whenever my attention would drift and I started looking around the room, at all the beautiful artwork and ornamentation surrounding us, a sharp tap would echo from the pulpit.

When it was time for Communion I kept my eyes to the ground as I knelt before him. I waited before meeting his eye and he made me reach for the Sacrament again, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he subtly gave me a disapproving shake of his head.

Once the basilica had emptied he cleared his throat loudly and opened the vestry door, tapping his fingers against the wood as I approached.

"Late again, sorella."

"Only by a minute, Papa."

"A minute late is still late," he scolded, shutting the door behind us, "And I see you still do not understand how to properly take the Sacrament."

"I am a slow learner, Papa," goosebumps rushed over me when his fingers curled around my shoulders.

"Very well." His breath was warm against my neck.

"Kneel."

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 💜

I am handing out spiritual Neosporin and band-aids for all the psychic damage those claws have caused to the coochies of our minds.

As usual, do feel free to tell me if you jork it to this; it will make me unspeakably happy and proud.

If you enjoyed Terzo being such a patient and helpful Papa and can spare some cents for a broke bitch, I have a tip jar

⛧ Don't know why I made Terzo a sweet softboi here so don't ask. Turns out it was me being a flippin' genius.

⛧ Have instead a little note from my outline that made me laugh:

⛧ Yea that's basically it that's the story.

Also I guess sometimes people want to be tagged when I write things?????? I guess let me know if you? also want? tagged????

@angellayercake

[cenotaphghuleh]

Awakened

Pairing: Retired Terzo x GN!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Consensual somnophilia, alcohol intox (mentioned vaguely), oral sex, fingering, inappropriate use of Terzo's gloves.

I was in need of some more retired Terzo... so here y'all go! We find our lovers celebrating a recent milestone...

Please pardon any mistakes with the Italian 🤭

The sensation begins in the half-remembered realm between dreams and reality. A brush of fabric, the ghost of a touch pressing at the apex of your thighs, a sigh exhaled against sensitive flesh. You moan softly, and the sensation fades as the void of sleep pulls you down again.

It's not too soon before you're pulled back into the waking world, and the memories of last night begin to resurface. There had been wine, perhaps a bit too much wine, as Terzo had celebrated the ten year anniversary of his magnum opus Meliora.

You stretch languidly, feeling yourself flush at the memory of his passion. How he'd taken you roughly against the door of his quarters, neither of you willing to wait a second longer.

How he'd fucked you again, wild and fast, into the plushness of your shared bed. Every thrust of his hips seemed to simultaneously pull you apart and bring you back together, falling into ecstasy.

Losing yourself in the softness of his body as he claimed yours; a stark contrast to the bruising grip of his fingers into your skin. Remembering the sting of teeth, the molten movements of his mouth, desperate cries and moans echoing into the night.

Hearing soft words of reverence and worship ripple through your memory in brief moments of respite, falling between bruising kisses. It felt like his lips were hardly able to bear being apart from you for longer than a breath.

Gently, he'd unfurled you under his touch for a final time; long, slow strokes of his hand teasing you until you were crying out for him.

You'd fallen asleep tangled together in each other, so spent you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. You remember his voice, velvet wrapped in shadows, lulling you into weightlessness. Groaning sleepily, you're suddenly all too aware of a slickness between your legs, enveloping you in warmth.

Eyes still closed, you reach down, gasping as your fingers tangle into soft hair. Terzo chuckles as you lazily fuck yourself down onto his tongue, sending delicious vibrations to your core. His movements become more insistent; soft, slick motions of his lips and tongue torturing you expertly.

'Good morning, amore,' he murmurs, pulling back to blow a soft puff of air over your swollen sex. Baring his teeth, he smirks as you whimper his name brokenly.

'You were crying out for me in your sleep, and you sounded so sweet, I couldn't help myself...'

He dips his head down again, nipping softly at your inner thighs. Your grip tightens in salt-and-pepper tresses as your back arches off the bed before settling again. Terzo grins wolfishly as you finally open your eyes to look down at him, blinking languidly.

Probing fingers move from your waist to grip your hips. You yelp in surprise as cool metal nails press bruisingly into sensitive skin, marks from the night before already beginning to blossom. You squirm slightly, spreading your legs wider to chase the sting as your eyes flutter closed.

'Do I have your attention now, cuore?' he coos, pressing a leather-gloved hand flat onto your chest. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin under the material of the gloves, a stark contrast to the coolness of the gold nails adorning each finger.

Eyes rolling back in your head, you think back to the conversation from last night.

You remember mentioning, under the spell of too much wine no doubt, how sexy you found those old gloves. What you'd missed was Terzo fumbling in his dresser in the wee hours of the morning once you were asleep, pulling them out and laying them gently aside.

Scratching gently down your torso, Terzo's head lowers, his tongue licking a searing stripe up the length of you. He hums in satisfaction as you writhe underneath him, drinking you down as easily as the wine. Gentle, skilled fingers find the burning ache of your arousal, playing with you teasingly.

Awareness suddenly slams into you as he drags a nail over your most sensitive spot, an intoxicating cocktail of pain and pleasure making your head spin. Smirking, he does it again and you howl, tangling your hands into his hair and rutting your hips desperately upwards.

'Calmati, my insatiable little devil,' he chuckles, pinning your hip to the bed with his free hand, 'let me take care of you...'

You feel the frigid kiss of metal around your fluttering entrance, and you muffle a shout of pleasure into the pillows. Growling, Terzo slowly fucks his fingers into you, spreading you apart until he finds the source of the searing heat deep within your centre.

Dipping his head again, he takes you back into his mouth, sucking hard, all the while simultaneously grazing the nail of his gloves along your sensitive walls.

You don't have time to warn him, knotting desperate fingers into silken hair. Holding him in place, the blooming pressure between your hips bursts in a white-hot explosion, soaking him in your release.

You think you black out for a moment.

The insistent motion of Terzo's tongue and nails continues, encouraging never ending waves of slick out of you, soaking him. Once he hears your screams melt to whimpers of overstimulation, he pulls away.

Laughing breathlessly, he swipes two fingers through your spend, pushing them between his lips and sucking in a debauched manner.

'Utterly delectable,' he purrs softly, licking his lips.

You slump back onto the mattress, stars still twinkling behind your eyes. Everything suddenly feels heavy, the softness of sleep cocooning you once again. Pulling off his gloves, Terzo throws them aside carelessly before rejoining you under the duvet, opening his arms to you.

Turning to him, you snuggle against the softness of his chest. The sensation of his lips in your hair, coupled with the hypnotic sound of his voice pulls you back under the spell of sleep.

Holding you close and enjoying the warmth of your body pressed against his, Terzo is also fighting a losing battle against his eyelids. Pressing a delicate kiss to your temple, he finally allows his eyes to flutter closed.

'Ti amo, la mia anima.'

Calmati - calm down

La mia anima - My soul

Taglist: @saintbowie, @iputhepinprincess, @hangnailme93, @copiaspet622, @a-perpetual-rise, @thegholdenghoulz, @leatherfaceologist, @queer-fictions, @ghuleshbabe, @faggoty-andi, @zealoushound, @copingcopia, @holdnarrytight, @blackberries45, @music-lover23, @burichu ♡

Thank you for your support! If you would like to be added to/removed from the taglist, please let me know! <3

[lycanthra]

tags/warnings: gender-neutral reader-insert, smut/PWP (fluff and smut), fingering, rough sex, creampie, oral sex

MASTERPOST ✦ READ ON AO3

i could not get this prompt to work in a way that i liked for each Papa, so this ficlet is ONLY Terzo x Reader, i’m sorryyyy. it’s also pretty long because it got away from me oop, but there’s a fun little dynamic here (hopefully) that i enjoyed, it’s almost ‘choose-your-own adventure’ vibes—it’ll make sense when you see it.

MDNI, explicit, 18+, 4700 words (just a warning before you click on ‘keep reading’)

“Rough or gentle?”

“There you are.”

You jump as his hand wraps around your wrist. It’s like he materialized out of nowhere. 

All around you is chaos; Siblings and ghouls and congregants rushing around to prepare for the next part of the day’s festivities. 

“You were late,” he says. 

“Only by a few minutes,” you protest. 

He’s already dragging you through the church—but not toward the exit, where everyone else is heading. Instead, he leads you deeper in. You feel like a fish swimming upstream, even as everyone around you parts for him like the Red Sea.

It speaks to the significance of today that no one stops to try and chat him up. 

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and says, “On this, the day of the Rite of Invocation.” But the look he shoots you is playful and amused. “And how loud and disruptive you were when you came in, birba.” 

You roll your eyes. 

You know damn well that you were as quiet as a shadow when you slipped into the church—you even held the door until it swung into place so that it didn’t slam. You’d slid along the back wall to find an empty space to stand and watch the ceremony, and nobody so much as glanced your way. Well, no one but Terzo. 

He’d been up on the dais with the other Papas—retired and current—looking bored and lackadaisical. And like he’d sensed your presence, he’d turned the moment you settled against the wall. His mismatched eyes locked onto you, and he’d given you a cocky little smirk that you felt in the backs of your knees. 

There wasn’t any time to see him this morning. The annual Rite of Invocation was an ‘all-Papas-on-deck’ sort of thing, which meant that Terzo was gone before you woke up. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the next part of today?” you ask, dodging a tall man power-walking past you both. You rack your brain. “What is it… the feast?” 

“That’s what I’m doing—getting ready. I need your help.”

“With…?” 

“Getting me out of these accursed vestments. The most noble task, no?” 

You wait until he glances back at you so you can be sure he sees the second roll of your eyes. 

He laughs. It crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

Then he drags you through an old wooden door and into the sacristy. 

It’s a small, claustrophobic room, smelling of incense and smoke from extinguished candles. There are old wardrobes and cabinets—in impeccable condition, given their age—and a washing basin that you’re not sure even gets used these days. A bench with a padded cushion sits against a wall under a suggestive-but-tame-for-the-Ministry painting that you’re pretty sure is meant to depict an orgy. A few of the Papas’ robes are hanging in garment bags on the wardrobes—you recognize the purple of Perpetua’s—and the vanity table where papal paints are applied is littered with makeup and brushes. 

You’ve only seen the sacristy once—back when you first started working at the Ministry. You look around quickly, trying to take it all in. You’d kind of expected something more a little more grand. 

When you turn back, Terzo is already tearing out of his vestments. He’s impatient, almost careless as he tosses his mitre onto the vanity and yanks his robe over his head, leaving his hair standing in all directions. You open your mouth to tease him, or maybe to tell him to be careful—doesn’t he know how expensive this all is?—but then he’s on you. Breath short, he crushes his mouth to yours, and you stumble back against the wall. 

Both of his hands come up to your face, cradling your jaw like you’re something precious, even while his tongue dominates your mouth. He tastes like espresso and Altoids. 

You laugh a little, the sound muffled against his mouth. Between kisses, you manage to say, “Terzo.”

He gives an appreciative hum. “Yes, amore?” 

His hands are on you—one still gloved, one bare. He slips them beneath your shirt, fingers skating up your ribs, and you shiver. Your blood ignites in an instant, desire stirring low in your gut. You try to speak again, but he nips your bottom lip and all that leaves you is a gasp. Your stomach clenches with want. 

You slide your hands up his front. He’s left in tailored slacks and a plain white undershirt—you don’t know if it’s what all the Papas wear under their robes traditionally, but well, Terzo’s always sort of bucked tradition in his own way. You let your fingers play at the collar of his shirt, the material damp from his sweat. You can feel the jump of his pulse. 

When you turn your head to break the kiss, he’s undeterred. He trails his mouth up your jaw, his breath hot. Your fingers twist into his shirt, your throat going dry, and you blink a few times to try and clear your mind.

One of you has to be the voice of reason. 

“Terzo,” you say again. 

And again, he says, “Yes, amore?” 

“You have to get ready.” 

He scrapes his teeth against the sensitive skin just under your ear, making you jolt against the wall. He says, “This is helping me get ready. It’s a very important part of the process.” 

“Anyone could walk in.” 

His hands slide down to your ass next, squeezing and tugging you against him. At the same time, he presses forward—he wants you to feel the growing bulge in his pants. He says, “They won’t.” 

“We—we don’t have time.” 

“We don’t have much time,” he corrects, burying his face in the space between your neck and shoulder. He noses the collar of your shirt aside and breathes you in. “So you must answer quick, dolcezza: rough or gentle?” 

The base of your spine thrums. You throb between your legs. Your face burns a little, embarrassed by the way your body so quickly reacts to his words. “That’s—you’re ridiculous—this is no time for—” 

“I can pick for you,” he says with a chuckle. 

“Terzo—” 

“Rough… or gentle?” 

He pulls back so he can look into your face, and his eyes are smoldering, lips quirked up at the corners teasingly. The paints on his face are pristine, but his hair is wild. He’s beautiful. 

If you were really worried that there wasn’t time or that someone could walk in, he would listen to you. He’s not the type to try and fight you when you say ‘no.’ 

But you rarely say ‘no’ to him. 

And because you know he really will make the choice for you, you blurt out the first answer that comes to mind. 

⟡⟡⟡

“Rough.”

Maybe you’re in a mood. Maybe it’s how he looks right now: eyes on fire, hair a mess, the way the dark thatch of hair on his chest pokes out from beneath the collar of his undershirt. He wakes the animal inside you, and sometimes that animal just needs. 

Your answer makes his eyes flash. The smirk broadens into a grin. “As you wish.” 

And he’s on you again. 

He kisses you harder, lips slanting against yours as he licks into your mouth. His hands return under your shirt so he can play with your nipples—tweaking and tugging on them. The dueling sensation of his gloved left hand and his ungloved right hand makes you writhe against the wall, your body moving like you have no control over it. One nipple gets the soft warmth of his bare fingers, while the other gets the cold sting of the metallic clawed tips on the glove. 

Pleasure and pain bleed into each other. You gasp and whimper, clutching his shoulders desperately, and he happily swallows every little sound you make. 

He crowds closer, digging his erection into your hip. He’s fully hard now, tenting his slacks, and a thrill races down your spine. You’re sometimes scared—worried that it won’t always feel like this with him, that your bodies will get tired of one another. But you burn so brightly that the thought is easily swept under the rug as quickly as it pops into your head. 

You shape your hand against the hard length of him—hot and pulsing, even through his pants—and you give him a quick squeeze. His breath audibly catches. He breaks the kiss and bites out a short curse. 

But he gives you no time to feel smug about it. 

He works his bare hand beneath the waistband of both your pants and your underwear. As his warm fingers find you, you jolt again and make a soft noise. His touch is electric. You feel it all over, like someone’s thrown a bucket of ice water over you. He teases you—sliding and squeezing. 

A thoughtful sound leaves him. “Look at how ready you are for me. And to think you tried to talk me out of this.” 

You try to speak, but the only sound that leaves you is a low, “Hnngh.” 

Which only makes him laugh as he strokes against you. Playfully, he says, “Ah, I get it. You were trying to be responsible, sì?” 

You nod quickly. You’re starting to grind against his hand, chasing that delicious friction.

“And yet you were late to the Rite of Invocation. Not very responsible of you, tesoro.” 

“Only by a few minutes,” you remind him breathlessly. 

He laughs again—a fond sound. 

Before he hauls you to the vanity and bends you over it.

He hooks his fingers into your pants and yanks them down, pulling them and your underwear down over your hips. He doesn’t take them off completely; just drags them down enough to expose you. It’s actually pretty warm in the sacristy—really warm—but the air on your bare skin makes you gasp. Goosebumps prickle to the surface of your skin. Your face catches fire, and you dart a quick look at the door. 

But then he’s tracing your entrance with his fingers. Starting to push them into you. 

You look over your shoulder with a soft, “Wait.”

He pauses. Immediately. Raises his eyebrows. 

You look down at his hand—his bare hand. Biting your bottom lip, you look at his other hand. The one still wearing his clawed glove. 

He flashes a wicked grin. “Sei un diavoletto.” 

You barely have time to give him a quick smile in return before he switches hands, teasing your entrance with the metal claws now. And then, without warning, he pushes two fingers into you. You gasp and arch at the stretch, and he presses deep. The points of the claws are cool and sharp, but he’s careful with them. This isn’t the first time you and he have played with them like this. 

As he pulls back, the claws drag just a little against your inner walls. It lights up your spine. Your heart skips a beat. You ache with anticipation. A shaky little moan eases out of you. 

But this isn’t the time to draw it out. He works you open with his gloved fingers—pushing deep, scissoring his fingers, getting you ready for him. The tips of the claws kiss at your insides, the briefest jabs and pokes that don’t necessarily hurt, but they promise that they could under less skilled hands. Just as you’re starting to push your hips back to meet his movements, his hand retreats. 

A final drag of the claws makes you cry out—both at the slight sting and in surprise. 

He chuckles and you hear him unzip his pants. But then he says, “Shh, amore. The sacristy is not very soundproof, you know.” 

A fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you. It’s bad enough that anyone could walk in at any moment, but you hadn’t considered that even if they didn’t, they might still hear you. You try to straighten and turn to him. “Maybe we should—” 

But your words trail off as you feel the broad head of him at your hole. A thrill slides through you and you tremble. 

He places a hand between your shoulder blades and presses you back down over the vanity. There’s a moment—a heartbeat—and then he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one possessive stroke. 

A blinding flash of heat tears through you, pleasure and pain, the feeling of suddenly being so full, and you clap your hands over your mouth. It only slightly muffles your cry. 

He rasps out a delighted laugh. 

“You made your choice, no? We’ve no time to go back now,” he teases. “But please—be as loud as you want, dolcezza. Let them hear what happens when you can’t be on time.” 

He doesn’t let you adjust. The stretch is a sweet sting, a burning pressure, and as he starts to move, your vision blurs. It’s almost too much. He sets a brutal rhythm as he pounds into you, his skin slapping against yours in a way that seems impossibly loud in the tiny room—and floods you with humiliation at the thought of someone overhearing. And yet… you feel a rush at the same time. 

Whatever his reputation before his retirement, Terzo picked you. 

A part of you almost wants someone to hear. 

His hand is still pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you flat against the vanity, and with the other, he grips your hip. It’s his gloved hand. The claws bite into your flesh—heightening, pushing you higher, pulling tight. Your world has narrowed to the drag of his cock and the stab of those claws. And you’re already so close. 

Every thrust punches the air from your lungs and slams you against the vanity, making the mirror wobble. You cling to the edge with one white-knuckled hand, and you keep the other firmly over your mouth. It doesn’t stop the sounds you make: ragged gasps, whimpers, broken moans. You even bite your knuckles in an attempt to quiet yourself, but it’s useless. 

Because the desperate way he takes you has the pleasure burning white-hot in your veins. Your nerves are singing with it. 

He groans your name, voice low and full of heat. 

And it sends ecstasy rippling through you in a way that has you bucking back against him. 

He moves the hand from between your shoulders, taking a fistful of your hair and yanking your head up. “Let me see you, birba. Look at what a mess you are for me.” 

You don’t want to look. Not at your flushed cheeks and dazed eyes, pupils blown as he fucks you dumb. But you look past yourself and at him in the reflection—at the tightness of his jaw and the way his mismatched eyes burn into yours. His grin is roguish and cocky. As he drives into you this time, he holds himself there and rotates his hips, grinding into you. 

Oh. You were a lot closer than you thought. 

The whirlwind of sensation crashes into you like a speeding truck, sending you hurtling over the edge. You cry out his name, and he releases your hair so you can bury your face in your hands—anything to try and stifle the desperate sounds keening out of you. Both of his hands go to your hips now, and he hauls you back against him as he fucks into you faster, chasing his own pleasure. 

He grunts as you squeeze and pulse around him, and he slams into you a final time before he stiffens. He paints your insides with thick streams of come, flooding you with his heat, and he holds onto you so tightly that you’re almost afraid the claws on his glove will make you bleed. 

He doesn’t pull out of you right away. Instead, he leans over you so he can brush a kiss against the back of your neck—a touch so gentle it feels disconnected from what just happened. His chest presses to your spine and you can feel the wild thumping of his heart, beating in tandem with your own. He’s whispering, you realize belatedly, telling you sweet nothings in Italian and saying your name over and over, like a blessing. 

You’re sore and achy. Your scalp burns where he pulled your hair. And you can feel the sticky mess leaking out of you from around his cock and coating your quivering thighs. But your heart swells all the same. 

“I could stay like this forever,” he says. 

“There’s no—”

“I know, I know, tesoro. No time.” 

With a dramatic sigh, he eases out of you. You gasp a little at the sudden emptiness—at the spill of his come as more of it leaves you. He tugs your pants and underwear back into place, playfully letting the waistband snap against you. The material sticks to you uncomfortably, sticky and wet from your combined mess, and you shift and adjust your pants as you straighten. 

He grins like the cat that got the canary. 

⟡⟡⟡

⟡⟡⟡

“I can pick for you.” 

“Terzo—”

“Rough… or gentle?”

“Gentle.” 

His mouth pulls up into a smile that’s equal parts sweet and playful, and you feel heat creeping up your neck and into your face. Sometimes you just can’t handle the way that he looks at you. 

“Feeling sentimental?” he says. 

“Maybe.”

He curls a hand against the side of your neck and leans in to kiss you again. It’s deeper than before, more thorough, and it’s enough to make your head feel light—like you’ve been drugged. Your hands tighten in the material of his shirt, holding onto him like you’re afraid he’ll change his mind, like he’s ever changed his mind about this. About you. 

When he pulls back, his eyes are tender—but full of fire, too. “Come,” he says. “Let your Terzo take care of you.” 

He takes the padded cushion from the bench against the wall and lays it on the floor. Then he moves to lie you down on top of it, and you go easily. It’s not the luxurious California king mattress you’re used to, but it’s certainly not the most uncomfortable place you’ve ever had sex. 

As he covers your body with his, his mouth returns to yours. His tongue swirls around yours—like a dance—and he pushes his bare hand beneath your shirt, skimming it up over your stomach. His palm is warm as he cups your chest, and his thumb slides against your nipple. You almost jerk at the pleasure that shoots through you, like you’ve jammed a fork into an electrical outlet. He smiles into the kiss—you feel it against your lips—and then he lets his fingers trace around your nipple; circling it, pressing against it, lightly stroking it. You arch into his touch, gasping as your spine tingles. 

“I wish we had more time,” he remarks, almost like he’s musing to himself. He kisses you again, then looks down at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “But one must prioritize in moments like this, you see?” 

He sits up and grabs for the waistband of your pants. He makes quick work of both them and your underwear, dragging them over your hips. As he slides them down your legs, the points of the metallic claws on the glove ghost against your skin. 

It makes you shiver. Or maybe it’s the way the air hits your bare skin as he exposes you, drawing out a hard ridge of goosebumps. He tosses your pants aside and takes one of your thighs in his gloved hand, the claws dimpling your flesh as he holds you open. His mismatched eyes drink you in. 

“Terzo,” you say, blushing. 

“Hmm?” he says innocently. 

“Time crunch.” 

With a little grin, he deliberately lowers himself between your thighs and presses his mouth to your sex. Electricity rides your nerves as he kisses you, and your hips buck, but he pins you to the cushion—hands on your thighs, keeping them spread so he can work. He mouths at you almost lazily, licking and sucking like he has all day, and not like there’s a dinner he needs to be preparing for. 

When he hums against you, you gasp out his name.

The wet warmth of his tongue has you writhing beneath him, and you tangle your hands in his hair—stroking against his scalp, wordlessly encouraging him. Your control frays and you push up toward him, trying to grind against his mouth. He moves with you, never breaking stride. He doesn’t necessarily go slow, but there’s a thoughtfulness to the way he devours you—he’s meticulous and wholly focused on you. 

And the pleasure coils in you, tight and fast. You sigh out a soft, “Please.” 

But he abruptly stops. He crawls up your body, chin glistening with a mix of his saliva and you. As he unzips his pants, he says in a thick voice, “I need to feel you.” 

You nod quickly—breathless—and your hands go to his hips as he pulls out his cock and lines up with your entrance. He teases you a little, but only until you gasp, and then he pushes into you. He sinks into you inch by inch, and a moan tumbles out of you when he bottoms out. You’re so full of him that your mind turns to static, that you can think of nothing else but him, and you swear you can feel the pulse of him against your inner walls. 

Bracing his hands on the floor on either side of your head, he grins down at you. “Careful, cuore mio. The sacristy is not nearly as soundproof as you might think.”

And when your eyes widen a little and your cheeks catch fire, he only laughs at you. He ducks his head and kisses you again—deep and hungry—and he starts to move. He finds an easy rhythm, rolling his hips languidly, and you wrap your legs around his waist so you can take him deeper. You’re rewarded by a low groan that stirs in his chest, and it’s a sound that rides down your spine and lights your blood on fire. 

He lowers himself to his elbows, caging you in beneath him. Your hands are splayed against his ribs, holding onto him in a way that can only be called possessive, and you meet his kisses with the same fervor he’s giving you. His hips never lose their steady rhythm, not even when you suck on his tongue—he simply laughs again, like he’s impressed. 

It becomes less about thrusting and more about rocking—he stirs into you with his cock, rubbing against the spot inside you that threatens to unravel you. You’re trembling under him, clinging to him desperately, and he swallows every little gasp and whimper that crawls up your throat. 

He breaks the kiss and grunts out a quick, “Cazzo. You feel so good.” 

You want to say something clever or sexy, but when you open your mouth, all that leaves you is his name. It comes out tight and strained, and the heat that flashes in his eyes when you say it tells you that he feels it like a physical stroke. He huffs a little and presses his forehead to yours—such a tender gesture, even as he grinds into you with a maddening friction that’s undoing you from the inside out. 

“I’m close,” you manage to bite out. 

“So come for me.” 

“I said close, not there—ohh—” 

He drives into you deeper and holds himself still, at just the right angle, and your words turn into a long, drawn-out moan. You give him a mortified, wide-eyed look—because if there’s anyone outside the sacristy, they definitely heard that—and he laughs. It’s a rough sound, like it hurts him, and he covers your mouth with his again like he intends to keep you quiet this way. 

It doesn’t work. 

Because he reaches a hand between where your bodies are sealed to tease you, and it’s just enough to push you over the precipice. The rising tide of your climax suddenly swells, engulfing you in a blinding white light, and another moan—one that’s much louder and would be more embarrassing if you could think straight—rips out of you. Your head thumps against the cushion as your back bows. 

And you’re gasping and saying his name and whining as you break for him. 

He buries his face in your neck and rides it out, rutting against you and murmuring little things like, “sei tutto,” and “non hai idea di quanto ti amo.” 

When he comes, he tenses and quivers over you, lightly biting your neck to stifle his groan. You feel his release—the way his cock spasms inside you, the rush of warmth as he fills you up. 

It never gets old, being so completely his…. 

He’s still twitching a little as he comes down, and his hips give a slight jerk as he moves to pull out. You suck in a sharp breath, sensitive—and he rasps out a chuckle. He lavishes you with quick, soft kisses: to your brow, your chin, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. It’s ridiculous and you love it. 

“Stay right there,” he says as he slips out of you, and you sigh—somehow both contented and disappointed. 

He pushes himself to his feet, surprisingly graceful, and he fetches a small wet towel so he can clean you with a gentle, reverent touch—you guess the washing basin does get some use after all. Then he redresses you, helping you into your underwear and pants like it’s the most sacred duty that could ever be asked of him. 

Your heart is full of light as he pulls you to your feet. But your legs are full of jelly and you stumble, falling into him and needing to be steadied. 

And despite the tenderness in his eyes, he gives you the smuggest little smile. 

“You seem very proud of yourself,” you say. 

“And why not? Look at how quickly I made you come.” 

You snort out a laugh and smack his shoulder, too blissed out to blush like you normally might. His smile softens, and he catches your hand before you can reclaim it. Pulls it up so he can brush his lips across your knuckles. His hair is wet with sweat, hanging wildly over his face, and you can see the beginning cracks in the face paints—running lines at his temples. 

It is hot in the sacristy—almost unbearably so. Why he thought this would be a good place for a quickie, you’ve no idea. 

You look into the mirror on the vanity and rake your fingers through your hair, trying to make yourself look more presentable. You sigh. “I don’t even need to look at a clock to know we’re going to be late.” 

“Fashionably, perhaps.” 

“Thank Satan people don’t care about me showing up late to things, huh?” You toss him a playful look. 

“Cheeky,” he says affectionately. You start to preen, but he swats you on the ass and gestures to the door with his other hand. “You should hurry, vita mia. Before anyone misses you.” 

“You won’t miss me?” 

“I will persevere. I must—if I wish to make it to round two after dinner.” 

And he kisses you so deeply you feel it in your toes. 

The church is near deathly quiet as you slip out of the sacristy—such a vivid contrast to the chaos of before when Terzo initially found you. You breathe out a sigh as you carefully shut the door. 

But your relief is short-lived. Movement to your left makes you jump, startled. A Sister of Sin is tidying up after the ceremony, and as she turns to you, taking you in, her eyebrows rise higher and higher with every detail she notices. The sex flush. The sheen of sweat. The rumpled clothes and messy hair. 

It’s all you can do to stammer out, “I was just helping—Papa Terzo requested my—we were just—uh….”

Before you simply give up and duck your head to scurry off.

And Terzo was right—the sacristy isn’t nearly as soundproof as you would have hoped. Because you swear you can hear him laughing on the other side of the wooden door before you walk away. 

Damnit. 

birba - rascal / naughty thing amore - love dolcezza - sweetness  tesoro - darling / treasure / sweetheart sei un diavoletto - you little devil  cuore mio - my heart  cazzo - fuck / expletive  sei tutto - you’re everything non hai idea di quanto ti amo - you have no idea how much i love you  vita mia - my life 

[zombiequeens]

Smut prompt with Terzo (as sender: 2, 8, 12, 14) and reader (as receiver: 9, 17, 22)? 👀

I haven't written in such a long time, and it's just like me to start again and take on such a big list of prompts 😭 I'm so sorry for how long you waited and for how rusty I am, but I hope you like it! It can sometimes be hard to incorporate so many prompts naturally but I tried my best. I've missed writing so, so much!!!

Terzo was my first Papa and though I'm a Perpetua girlie now, I'll always have a soft spot for him ♡

Tags: Fem & AFAB reader, affectionate/loving Terzo, established relationship, penetrative sex

18+ MDNI ♡

The silvery moonlight creeps in between weighted velvet drapes to meet the warm glow of the ministry lights, shading Terzo's bedroom in a deep mauve that blends to shadow in each corner of the opulent room.

You can hear soft footsteps as he tiptoes in the darkness in an earnest but futile attempt not to wake you from your slumber, only as peaceful as it could ever be without the warmth of his body against you, his familiar scent enveloping you as he whispers into your ear to narrate your dreams with his honeyed voice.

"Terzo?" you mumble, the words clumsily leaving your lips as you search the shadows for the silhouette of your love.

"Tesoro," he breathes, his husky voice low and tender as the glint of a single moon-kissed eye catches the light from the shadows. "Forgive me, I thought I was being quiet."

"You were," you coo, extending out an arm as if you could pull him into bed from across the room. In a covert way, you always can.

You can make out the corner of his lips lifting into an endeared smile as he makes his way towards you, clad in only a soft white towel secured around his hips, a sense of immediate peace overcoming you as his hand finds yours, his thumb carefully circling the skin stretched over your knuckles.

"How is it that you always look so beautiful," Terzo muses, shaking his head as his contrasting eyes narrow playfully. "Even when you aren't trying?"

The shadows of the young night could never veil the crimson flowering on the apples of your cheeks, your eyes shifting away from his loving gaze in embarrassment as you press your lips together to suppress a smile.

"Hey," he purrs, slowly lowering himself on top of you until his slender hips are gently pinning you to the mattress, a hand reaching up to brush your flushing face. "Still so shy, angel…"

When you turn your head to meet his eyes once again, you're met with his undeniable, beguiling beauty. Straight tresses of sable hair fall over his forehead, shielding you from the effervescent light of his eyes, one coloured shades of fawn and green and the other a crystal white. You reach up to stroke the curve of his jaw, admiring the perfect slope of his nose before your gaze falls to the soft curve of his Cupid's bow.

"You want to hear about beautiful…" you mutter, raising an eyebrow at him as your directness seems to amuse him before leaning in to press your lips to his, met with the soft, clambering embrace of his own in the dance you both know so well.

Terzo deepens the kiss as he allows more of his weight to anchor you to the bed, a gasp escaping from your lips as you can feel him pressed to the soft skin of your stomach, his hand finding its way behind your head to grip your hair as he softly commands your body; both of you speaking in little whimpers and moans as it becomes clear what you need from each other.

"I need you," you whisper into the warmth of his lips, the words getting caught between your desirous mouths.

Terzo pauses for a moment before planting another kiss to your lips. "What was that, Tesoro?"

You scowl at him for barely a second before you have no choice to surrender, his Hell-blessed face flushing to contrast the cold moonlight and betray his lust as his chest heaves into yours.

"I need you."

The shadows shrouding your bodies seem to seep into his eyes for a moment as they darken to mirror them, a poorly constrained smirk twisting his perfect lips as he inhales.

"Then you shall have me, sweetheart."

The inflection on his voice, almost a growl now, sends a shiver down your spine as he trails his kiss from your parted lips down to your neck, and then your chest, suckling softly on each nipple as he tugs at the fabric to expose them.

He takes his expedition down to your navel, glancing up at you as he slides the silken fabric over your hips and over your thighs until you can kick it off, rendering your body completely bare beneath him.

You flinch when adept fingers dance down to where you're squeezing your thighs shut, blood rushing to meet his long, pale digits as every nerve ending is set alight.

"Open your legs for me, angel. I want to see you," he breathes, his voice thick and heavy with longing as the first signs of your arousal begin to wet the tips of his fingers.

You can only nod as you part them, a gentle nudge of his hand encouraging the soft, dampened flesh as it trembles.

"That's it," Terzo praises, your core tightening at his collected praise.

He slips a finger beneath your folds, admiring the slick dripping from them before pressing his thumb to your delicate nub, electrifying pleasure coursing through your body with each circling stroke.

"S-so good," you whimper, closing your eyes as you reach down to grab at his wrist.

"Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me," Terzo purrs, his other hand gently gripping your chin as your eyes flutter open.

You shift on the growing wetness on the sheets below you as you grind your hips into the bed, at the entire and hopeless mercy of the beautiful man before you as every adulation is transformed into soft utters of his name, over and over again.

"Please…" you cry softly in desperate prayer, panting as your legs squeeze around his wrist in an attempt to stave off the sweet tension building inside you.

Terzo cocks his head, enchanting eyes half-closed as he smiles weakly. "Please what, amore?"

You shake your head in resignation as your eyes burn into his.

"Tell me what you want."

"Fuck me," you groan, tugging at where the towel is folded over his hip to unveil his snowy skin. "Please."

His hand covers yours gently as he assists you in shifting the towel all the way and your eyes find their way to his already hardened cock, pulsing vines undulating with need in rhythm with his racing heart.

You don't have time to admire his slender but strong frame further as he takes your hands in his again, fingers interlacing as he holds them on either side of your head against the pillow as your bodies meet again and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

"Wrap your legs around my waist, Tesoro,"

You oblige, hands resting on his shoulders as his throbbing cock is nestled in your folds.

"Love?" you breathe, finding a strength and confidence only his love can afford you as he listens intently. "D-don't hold back."

"I've got you, amore," he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of your ear as he slowly eases inside you, your walls closing around him as sweet, searing heat spreads throughout your body.

"F-fuck," you moan, trying in vain to spare his perfect skin the wrath of your fingernails.

"There, now," he gasps, his voice threatening to break as he draws his hips back only to sink into you again and again, filling you completely as your bodies collide.

"Faster…" you moan. "Harder, please…"

"Arch your back for me," Terzo growls, his arms wrapping around you as you follow his command so he can hold you closer than before.

With a fervent grind of his hips into yours, he's back inside you, working the sweet spot swelling to meet his length as he pounds you into the downy confines of his safe bed.

"Terzo!" you cry, tears of bliss streaming down your face as he catches them with tender kisses in contrast to the way his hips are slamming into yours.

"My angel," he coos, gritted teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck as he alternates between playful nips and apologetic kisses.

"Mark me," you beg, your skin tingling with hunger for the sting of his teeth. "Mark me, so everyone knows who I belong to."

You hear a sharp intake of breath as he takes a slip of skin between his teeth before sucking hard, the sharp pain drowned out by pleasure to barely a graze as he leaves his brand on you.

"I-I'm going to cum," you murmur, the world around you nothing but a strobing, nebulous blur of midnight and wall lamps as constellations of stars burn in and out of existence in the periphery of your vision.

"Cum for your Papa, Tesoro," he breathes, his fingers soothing your cheeks as he keeps the infernal pace, delivering an unrelenting, fiery pleasure unto your body that your wildest dreams could only hope to conjure.

You tremble and writhe beneath him as your release overwhelms your senses, all else in the universe fading to inconsequence as he finds his own release at the clench of your body, both of you panting and crying out through the ferocious tide of bliss sweeping over your bodies.

You lazily wipe the sweat beading on his dark brows as you catch your breath, both of you glistening in the warm afterglow of your brief but cherished excursion to Heaven.

"I love you," Terzo whispers, taking his time to let each syllable sink in as he searches your face.

"I love you more." you say without thought, only to be met with furrowed brows.

"What a sweet little liar you are, hm?" he teases, the soft lines on his face contorting as his lips twitch into an almost-smile.

You want to protest, to spend all night sitting in his lap and describing your feelings for him, knowing with all of your lovesick heart that mere words could never do them justice - but as he pulls you into his arms, your head resting on his firm chest as he pulls the comforter over you - your conviction is no match for the heaviness of the slumber overtaking your body, never having felt so totally safe and relaxed as Terzo softly strokes your hair.

I'll get you back, love…but for now, let's rest.

[ghuleshbabe]

I promise I am still working on my asks but I had the start of this idea in my drafts for months. I was heavily inspired by this post to finish it 🥰

I give you angsty smut with a little shit of a man (affectionate) 😍

Side note: The tag list is brand new! Please let me know if you would like to be added 🖤

Unmasked

An argument turns into something neither of you can stop. Papa Terzo’s mask cracks — and what’s left is all hunger, heat, and truth.

Coupling: Papa Emeritus III x Female reader

Word Count: 1,552

NSFW under the cut

It starts with an argument- not loud, over the top, yelling. The type where every word lands like a strike.

Sharp. Quiet. Intense. Precise.

The kind of arguing where the air is hot and thick with everything that neither of you are saying.

The argument itself isn’t even about any one thing in particular.

It’s about everything- weeks of tension, distance, exhaustion.

But also the way Terzo has been slipping behind that flawless Papa persona like it’s his own personal armor.

He stands in front of you in his full papal regalia, face paint immaculate like a cathedral fresco, robes flawlessly cascading around him in dramatic folds. Perfect. Untouchable. Concert ready.

That is exactly what sets you off.

That perfect mask he hides behind.

The perfect distance between you.

The perfect wall he uses to keep you at arms length as if you are just some other fan.

You accuse him of hiding behind it all- behind the persona he has built. Of choosing that persona over the man you love underneath.

“You don’t let me see you anymore,” you bite at him. “Just this-“

You gesture up and down his form- the makeup, the stoic posture, the practiced and perfected smirk.

“-this mask you hide behind.”

His eyes flash with something dark and dangerous. He snaps back. Voice tight with aggravation and something sharp underneath. Hurt simmering underneath all of the arrogant cockiness radiating off of him.

“So you think you understand what I need to be? What I must be?” He snorts in annoyance.

“I understand you’re shutting me out.” You snap.

“You think you know the man under all of this?! You think you understand what it costs to wear this face?!” Terzo is seething.

You step closer.

He steps back.

It actually breaks you.

In the heat of the exchange and the anger and hurt you feel bubbling up in your chest, you reach out and catch the edge of his pristine face paint, smearing it.

Streaking it.

Breaking the facade.

A blemish.

A crack.

He freezes.

His pupils blow wide. Chest rising like you’ve just struck him directly in the heart. A single line of black cutting through the white, dripping down his cheek toward his mouth like a singular tear.

His breath catches.

The flawless mask completely fractured.

Terzo, the man underneath, suddenly and openly exposed.

You whisper, a sting in the tone of your voice,

“I’m not asking for Papa…I’m asking for you.”

He breaks.

He moves before the last syllable even leaves your mouth. Grabbing you so fast, you barely have time to gasp before your back slams into the wall with a thud.

His hand is in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly you know it will bruise tomorrow.

His lips crash against yours, messy and desperate, claiming and punishing. Hot, bruising and frantic.

Paint smearing between the both of you.

There is nothing elegant in it.

Nothing rehearsed or sweetened.

Just hunger.

Just Terzo.

His robe slips off his shoulders while he pulls you so tight against him that he cannot be bothered with where anything falls. Your hands claw at his robes, ripping embellishments, shoving fabric aside until it falls and pools around his hips.

You tug at what is left of the paint as you place your hands on either side of his face.

He groans.

A sound that’s half anger and half need, like you’ve stripped away something sacred.

“You like ruining me, eh?” He growls. Voice trembling and wrecked.

“I like seeing you.” You breathe.

He curses in Italian, biting your bottom lip so hard it makes you gasp loudly. The sound goes straight to his cock. You feel him, hard and straining beneath all of that fabric, rutting against your stomach as if he physically cannot help himself.

He roughly shoves your thighs apart with his knee, a growing desperation that now borders on frantic need. Without warning he hoists one of your legs around his hip, your clotting ripped off in sheer annoyance- an obstacle he refuses to fumble with or navigate. He pulls everything off until your bare back is scraping the wall causing your breath to hitch.

His gloved fingers flawlessly find their way between your legs- a loud satisfied groan leaving his lips when he finds you soaking wet already.

“Così bagnata…”

So wet.

“For me?”

His voice cracks at the edges. The question too honest and too real.

“For you.” You reply breathily in his ear.

He curses again, rough and reverent, as his fingers immediately slip inside of you. Working you perfectly, he pumps in and out of you hard enough that you can hear the wet sounds echoing off the stone walls of his dressing room. His thumb precisely finds your clit, working in tight and fast circles that make your head spin.

“You clench around my fingers like you’re begging to be fucked.” He growls.

You’re moaning into his shoulder, nails digging into his bare chest, scraping lines through paint that has smudged all over him. Every single mark you leave pulls another helpless and wrecked sound out of him.

“Terzo-“

“Say it again.” He snarls against your neck. “Not my title. Say my name.”

Your fingers entwine in his raven hair, pulling his head back to force deep eye contact with you as you peer into his mismatched eyes.

“Terzo.” You moan out.

He shudders, something breaking deep inside of him.

He pulls his fingers away and you whine in desperation at the loss of contact. He shoves his pants down just enough to free his throbbing cock.

The head of his cock slides against your slick entrance, a collective gasp leaving both of you.

He murmurs against your throat, voice rough and predatory.

“You want the man? Bene. Then you take all of him.”

He pushes himself into you fully in one swift motion- causing you to cry out.

The stretch is sudden and deep- filling every place inside of you that you have been needing him most.

He doesn’t ease in. Nor does he give you any time to adjust before he is fucking you with raw and reckless need. Each thrust slamming you harder into the wall. Your leg tightens around his waist, pulling him as deep as possible and flush with your hips- the delicious friction hitting your clit perfectly with every single movement.

“You feel this? This…is where you belong.”

Your eyes roll back into your head and close involuntarily. His hand is immediately on your chin pulling your gaze back on him.

“Look at me while I ruin you.”

You obey, a loud moan leaving your lips as you make eye contact.

“Tell me you missed my cock. Say it.”

“Fuck…Terzo-“ you whine, your head spinning with pleasure, eyes locked with his. “I m-missed your cock. So much. I need you.”

“I should fuck you like this every time you mouth off.” He chuckles darkly, causing a smirk to form on your lips.

Everything becomes frantic.

He takes turns mouthing your pebbled nipples while his hands roam over every inch of your body he can grasp.

Your hands wander all over his chest and through his luxurious locks of hair.

His makeup is smeared all over your skin like bruises made of ash and black kohl.

He kisses up your chest until he meets your lips- like he’s starving.

As if the break in the paint freed something deep and feral within him.

His hands are everywhere. Your waist, your throat, your jaw- smearing what’s left of his paints across your skin with a Roman numeral 3- claiming you.

You’re both ruined by it.

“You think I don’t want you?” He groans out, thrusting harder into you at a punishing pace. Voice cracking.

“I would burn the whole fucking ministry to the ground if you asked it of me.”

His words punch the air out of your lungs.

Your orgasm punches back.

“Brava, bella. Let me hear you fall apart.”

“Terzo!!”

It hits you hard. Sudden and blinding.

Your nails rake down the bare skin of his back as you clench around him, trembling. He chokes on a moan, his thrusts faltering at the sight of you falling apart beneath him.

“Fuck- Cara-“

He’s gone.

He spills deep inside of you with a desperate cry. Hips driving him through it until he’s a shaking mess. His forehead drops to your neck, breath hot and ragged against your skin as you both try to catch your breath. His body still thrusting as if he can’t get enough of you- like he can’t stop touching you.

When he finally stills, he stays pressed against you, cock still buried inside of you, hands trembling where they now hold your hips.

You don’t speak.

You don’t have to.

Eventually he lifts his head, eyes much softer than before, raw beneath the smeared ruin of his paint. He looks like a man stripped of everything but the truth.

“All I ever wanted” he whispers barely audible, “was for you to see me.”

You cup his face. Messy. Ruined. Beautiful.

“I do.”

“No more running,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours once again. “No more hiding. Not from you.”

This time, when he kisses you, it’s not desperate. It’s not frantic.

It’s honest. A promise.

❤️‍🔥Taglist: @ghoulish45 @iputhepinprincess @enchantedchocolatebars

@gh0ul-dinner I’m tagging you in this one because of the linked post! Let me know if you want me to add you to the taglist 🥰