emeritusing

[emeritusing]

Hi, people! I'm moving to @togetherasone! I got tired not being able to interact with people from this Ghost side blog, so I created a new (proper) one!

[emeritusing]

Confessional - Cardinal Copia x F!Reader [Part 2]

Summary: Cardinal Copia is driven out of his mind when you disappear from the Ministry. He cannot find you anywhere, hasn't seen or heard a peep of you, and it's beginning to take its toll. But he's not the only one who's noticed your absence…

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Pathetic Copia, panty-sniffing kink (except it’s not panties...), masturbation (male), endless pining, a very scheming Terzo

A/N: I cannot believe the response I got to Part 1 of this fic... it was my first ever Ghost fic, and yet y'all blew it up! Thank you SO MUCH. 🥹 You wanted a part 2, so here's your part 2. And soon, part 3...

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 [coming soon...]

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

How much torture can one man endure before he breaks? How long does it take for a man to go insane?  

The Cardinal supposed it was six days worth. Six days of torture, and he was dangerously dangling over the edge of sanity... And if he was being honest with himself, the majority of it was self-inflicted. 

He didn’t mean to torture himself. He never meant to debase himself so, and somehow managed a full six days before he gave in the first time. And if you hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth, perhaps the guilt that had made a permanent home in the pit of his stomach would have been enough to stop him – but just those first six days of not seeing nor hearing anything of you around the ministry were enough to drive him utterly demented. 

But the longer he went without seeing your pretty face in the halls, or hearing your sweet voice when you sang at Mass with your siblings, or being in any kind of proximity to you, the more confident he became that he would never be found out. You would never catch him in his filthy little secret... 

The first time had been a mistake – or so he told himself. Something he did in the heat of the moment, one he couldn’t control and felt utterly miserable over after.  

Those six days he had been on high alert, hoping to see you in the halls or in his seminars but nothing. He wanted so badly to apologise to you, his shame of what he felt was him corrupting your sweet nature in that damned booth but he’d not been given the chance. You’d simply evaporated...  

And so, after he had done a lap of the ministry in search of you one last time on the evening of the sixth day, he sulked back to his quarters trying with all his strength not to pull his greying hairs from his temples in frustration. He slammed the door behind him, frisbeeing his biretta from his head and to some distant corner of the room before he threw himself down on his bed with a huff. 

After a few deep breaths to calm his irritation, he stood and shook the coat of his cassock off, tossing that somewhere else in the room – frankly, he could care less where it landed, as well as the shoes he kicked off. He sat back down against the headboard of his bed, head laying back against the wall as he stared at the ceiling, closing his eyes for a moment of peace. 

But since confessional, he hadn’t been granted a moment of peace at all. No, his mind was occupied.  

Whether it was the guilt, the shame, the unprofessionalism... or on better days, the images you had planted in his mind of your sinful dream... even the sounds of your mewls and whines from beside him and the smacks to the wood as you’d met your end, kicking out involuntarily as you’d climaxed... His mind was always occupied. 

That evening had been no exception, his mind wandering over those pretty little noises you had made, the way you’d said his name almost breathlessly, the sounds of your fingers sliding through your slick as you practically cried for him.  

The Cardinal found himself once again struggling to control himself – he'd managed to for the last six days but by this point he was just exhausted by it all. How could he hold off anymore? How could he sit here and torture himself with vivid memories of you fucking yourself beside him without allowing himself to indulge in the privacy of his own quarters? 

His thick cock had already swelled in the confines of his pants, as it had many times since your encounter but this was the first time he would allow himself the depravity of actually touching himself to the thoughts of you. It had felt too filthy, too impolite to you to do such a thing and yet after six fucking days of no interaction at all, he was too frustrated to deny himself a moment longer. 

His gloved hands slid to his belt, skilfully unbuckling with one hand as the other palms himself through the material. Before long, he had freed himself, and the black leather of his glove was swallowing his cock over and over as his hand stroked languidly, a low hum emanating from deep within his chest. 

How he wished it was your far softer and more delicate hand, perhaps your mouth if he was lucky enough. But this was the best he could do, pathetically stroking himself behind closed doors to the mere memory of you. What he’d give to worship you, to feel you and to taste you, to smell you again.  

His eyes shot open, his mind cruelly reminding him of the unwitting gift you had left behind... He looked guiltily to the side of his bed, to his bedside cabinet where if he was not mistaken, the drawer knob was glowing at him. But hey, that could just be his descent into madness...  

And it was that madness that had made him do the unthinkable, right from the beginning. He had kept that glove of yours – the glove you had left in such haste, the glove you had baptised with your juices. It sat in his bedside cabinet, under a stack of old Beano comic books he hid from plain sight in case a member of the clergy came to his chambers and judged him for the one thing he kept with him from his childhood. 

He’d be lying if he said that it had sat there and been forgotten about; it certainly hadn’t. But tonight was the first time he had considered retrieving it at all... He couldn’t, could he? He certainly shouldn’t... But his mind had been swimming with could haves, should haves and would haves for six fucking days and frankly, he was done with it.  

To hell with it.  

He reached over to the drawer and yanked it open, shoving the old Beano comics to one side and rifling until he found that discarded piece of lace he’d stolen. He rolled it in his hand for a moment, the other resuming the slow strokes to his cock. He shut his eyes again, head lolling back as he stroked, over and over, moans rolling from his half-painted lips between gentle curses and whispers of your name. 

As if the Cardinal couldn’t become anymore unhinged in his blissful state, he brought your glove to his face, catching the lasting aroma, a delicate bouquet of sin. He growled to himself like an animal, fist pumping himself to the point of no return, his cock angry and red, profusely leaking over his own gloved hand. His abdomen tightened, a garbled groan muffled by his fist pushing the lace against his face, cock jumping in his hand. 

It was quite pathetic really, how quickly Copia came as soon as he pulled that glove from its’ hiding spot. He’d made a mess over his shirt, whimpering into the glove as spurts of his seed landed as far up as his chest. And yet, he continued to fuck his fist into overstimulation, cock pitifully attempting another orgasm as more cum simply dribbled over his glove this time around. Even then, he only stopped himself because the stimulation was becoming painful... Although he was sure he probably deserved that.  

As he sat limp on his bed, the haze of his release fading quickly as realisation of what he’d just done hit him. With tired limbs, he balled the glove back up and threw it back into the open drawer beside him, smacking the drawer shut in anger at himself. How could he be so debauched? So disrespectful? 

So perverted.  

It was bad enough he was thinking of you. It was bad enough that he was masturbating over the thought of you. But that... he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for acting this way. It didn’t matter how he felt about you, didn’t matter that he was transfixed on you or infatuated with you. This should never have happened... 

And yet, there was a next time. And another time after that.  

In fact, as the days passed and turned into weeks – still without so much as a glimpse or a whisper of you around the ministry – he found himself going back to that drawer more and more. The last time was never the last time, no matter how much he promised to stop, to behave himself. 

There was always a next time...  

You’ve been hiding for almost four weeks. How you were getting away with it, you weren’t sure... Perhaps you had memorised your Cardinal’s movements a little too well in the time your fantasies had begun to take hold, and so now you were able to avoid every possible encounter that may have been.   

After all, how on earth could you face him? You were absolutely mortified at yourself and the thought of being anywhere near the Cardinal made your skin crawl... Not because you despised him, or held any animosity towards him at all – how could you, possibly? - but because you felt like a fool; an idiot who got too caught up in the moment, confessed something that overstepped every conceivable boundary a person can set, and had managed to make the poor Cardinal stoop to your pathetic level.  

You had utterly humiliated yourself. 

In your efforts to avoid Cardinal Copia, you had in turn ended up avoiding most of your duties as a Sister of Sin. No seminars, no services... You had skipped on your work duty more often than not for fear of bumping into him in the hallways, faking some terrible stomach flu for longer than could be believed.   

You had even skipped out on Black Mass – a big no-no in the Ministry. Unless you were on the reaper’s death bed, you were to be at Black Mass.  

As the service was held, Papa Emeritus III took to his pulpit and noticed immediately that one of his siblings was missing. How disappointed he had been to come to realise it was you who hadn’t showed. You were one of his favourites, so sweet and virtuous. Whilst he did enjoy corrupting his Sisters of Sin, somehow he always felt you had been off limits... Still, a harmless flirt to keep you on your toes had never hurt. His soft spot for you was nothing if not platonic and playful. 

The Cardinal had noticed your absence at Black Mass also, and frankly it concerned him. Had he driven you out? Had you left the Ministry altogether? He’d not seen you for three fucking weeks, and he couldn’t help but feel a panic rise in his chest, that ever-nagging guilt growing into a nauseating feeling of utter self-hatred. He’d never forgive himself if you had left...  

After Mass had ended, Terzo grabbed the Cardinal for a quiet chat in his office. He knew damn well that you never missed a Latin seminar, that Copia likely saw you more often than most.  

“Cardinale, forgive the intrusion on your plans for the day. I’m sure you have places to be,” he began as he sat behind his desk. Copia stood in front of him, wringing his hands nervously. Part of him wondered if he were to be chastised for his behaviours, as if somehow Terzo had known... Had you told him what had happened at confessional? Did you tell him you were leaving... because of him?  

“Non è un problema, fratello. (It’s no problem, brother.) My only plan was to prepare for the week’s seminars.” His voice wavered slightly, and yet Terzo never noticed as it wasn’t unusual. Copia tended to be a little nervous around Terzo. He looked up to him so much, always had... But to Terzo, Copia was the annoying little kid he would make eat the bugs as a ‘joke’ while he and his older brothers looked on and laughed. And all Copia had ever wanted was to be just like Terzo.  

“I merely wondered if you had seen Sister _____ in your seminars lately? I noticed she wasn’t at Black Mass and... well, that’s not like her, is it?” Terzo asked, leaning on the desk on his elbows, waiting for an answer.   

The Cardinal could feel a drop of sweat forming on his brow. This felt like a trick question, like Terzo was expecting something of him. 

“Uhhh, I... I haven’t. It’s not like her, hai ragione (you’re right) .” 

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning back in his chair. “I wonder what the matter is? I’ll be sure to look out for her, make sure our piccolo topo (little mouse) is alright. Please let me know if you see her in the next few day, si?”  

Copia let out a quiet breath of relief, the conversation seeming to end without suspicion. “Si, fratello. I will update you. Would you...” he stopped himself, wondering if this might be overstepping, implicating himself somehow, but deciding to continue, “would you mind letting me know too? If you see her, I mean...” 

Terzo looked up at Copia with eyes narrowed and a smirk playing on his painted face.  

“Why would you like to hear, Cardinal? Hai una cotta, eh? (You have a crush?)” he teased. Copia’s eyes widened, panic clear on his face.     "N-no! No, I just... This is unlike her,” he panicked. 

 “I wouldn’t judge, Cardinal. She is a pretty young thing...” he mused, winding Copia up further just as he had since childhood. 

“No, fratello... I mean, well, si, she is but... I don’t...” Copia stumbled, making himself to be more obvious.  

“He doth protest too much,” Terzo laughed, “I will tell you if I see our pretty little Sorella around. You can go back to planning your seminars, Cardinal.” Terzo waved his subordinate out of his office and gladly, Copia took the chance to leave with his head hanging low. 

Outside the halls had quietened after the end of Mass. Copia leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat from under his biretta on his sleeve. He felt so burdened, so absolutely horrified at the thought that now even Terzo had noticed your absence in the ministry. God, he hated that he called you pretty... He hated that Terzo called you ‘piccolo topo’. His reputation proceeded him, and Copia would be damned if he got to corrupt you... 

In the days after Black Mass, Copia tried desperately to find you around the Ministry – with no success. He would end up defeatedly walking back to his chambers late each night, having hoped that maybe he would find you in the kitchens or the library. If you had been trying to avoid him, perhaps you would be eating later, studying in the middle of the night... But nothing. 

But at least he could go back to his room, to his bed, to your glove.  

The knock at your dorm door remained ignored by you, forcing Sister Katia, your bunkie, to get the door with a roll of her eyes. She’s just about had enough of your shit, having to pull twice her weight lately to accommodate whatever this episode was. The only reason she hadn’t lost her cool at you was because she knew this wasn’t like you, and whatever was causing this – it had to be bad. 

“______, it’s for you. A ghoul,” she sounds exasperated... Perhaps you should make the effort to at least see what the Ghoul wanted, praying to Sathanas that it had not been Copia who sent him your way.  

You pulled yourself from your bunk, your depression-outfit of three-day old sweats and a faded old graphic t-shirt making even the Ghoul at the door look at you in vague disgust. He said nothing to you though, his eyes following an arm he stretched out, holding a note with a very telling red wax seal over the fold – a ‘III’ in roman numerals that screamed Terzo...  

“Oh, shit,” Katia was not one for subtlety, clearly seeing the same wax stamp and realising that it was, in fact, a summons to visit Papa in his office the next morning. Dread filled you, the colour draining from your features... Papa only summoned Sisters of Sin for two things, and in your current predicament, both options felt like an option you would rather avoid.  

He was either about to make a move on you, to have his way with you if you were to let him, or he was to chastise you and dish out punishment as he saw fit for your little disappearing act.  

“Thank you, Ghoul. I uh, apologise... for my state,” you smiled weakly. He bowed his head slightly with a flutter of his eyelashes, as if to say ‘no problem, Sister’ - a ghoul of few words, this one... - and he turned to leave, walking down the hallways as Katia closed the door.  

“Well, open it... You know Papa doesn’t mince his words. Are you in trouble, or about to get laid?” Katia smirked as she tried poorly to lighten the mood. You rolled your eyes and popped the wax off the paper, unfolding to read your summons. 

“Sorella _______,  

It has come to my attention that you have been missing from the ministry for quite some time now, your duties going abandoned.  

Should this note find you well, I expect you in my office at 8am sharp with a very good explanation as to why.  

I look forward to your company,  

Papa Emeritus III”  

Had you not thought of yourself as such a tiny little insignificant cog in the Ministry, maybe Terzo’s note wouldn’t have come as such a surprise to you – but knowing your Papa had noticed your absence and was, shall we say, less than impressed unnerved you.  

“Suppose you’ll have to shower now,” Katia bumped your shoulder with hers. “Oh and wear that short habit with the red stitching you’ve got! You’ll need to butter him up a bit, by the sounds of it...” she winked, climbing into her bunk and picking up her discarded magazine.  

Perhaps she was right... If nothing else, perhaps it may distract him just a little, to give you enough time to weasel your way into an excuse for your absence. Terzo could easily be swayed if you indulge him just a little, without having to compromise your own integrity. 

Your hands shook as you lifted a fist to lightly knock on the large double doors of Papa Emeritus III’s office, fear setting in that you were about to have to fight for your place at the Ministry. Terzo was known to be ever so slightly more diplomatic than his brother’s, but a blatant disregard for duties always riled him up the wrong way – and in your depressed and embarrassed stupor, that was exactly what you had done for four weeks. 

“Entra,” you heard from within, the deep timbre of his thick Italian accent sending a shiver down your spine. 

You did as asked, barely opening to door to slink in as if hiding – like any sudden movement would alert him and have him pounce. You waited at the door, practically backed up against the wood and waited for instruction. He was furiously typing at his typewriter, the keys echoing around the stone walls until a loud ping sounded, and he pushed down the carriage release that had it loudly creaking back to its place. He looked up at you then, papal paint freshly adorned over his masculine features. 

When he saw the fear on your face, the shame you already harboured, his features relaxed slightly – not that it gave you any relief to your anxiety.  

“Sorella ______, how I’ve missed that pretty face in the halls, eh?” he smiled at you, monochrome gaze sweeter than you had expected. Sister Katia’s words circled your mind... 

“You know Papa doesn’t mince his words. Are you in trouble, or about to get laid?”  

While you prayed for neither, at least one was inevitable. 

“Come, stand here for me, hm? Let me see you,” he beckoned you to stand before his desk, leaning on the wooden frame by his elbows. 

Cautiously, you stepped forward, standing on the ornate rug between the two chairs he had facing him. He hadn’t invited you to sit, and you knew better than to do something you had not been asked of right now.     “There, bellissima (beautiful)!” he leaned forward, outstretching a hand to pinch at the hem of your skirt, shorter than usual. He ran the material between his fingers, tracing along the red stitching, the hair of his knuckles tickling your upper thighs. It was only now you realised he wasn’t wearing his usual white gloves. You cursed Katia for this idea, hoping not to give the wrong impression. “I like this one, Sorella. The red stitching is....” he took a deep breath in, “quite something.”  

“Th-thank you, Papa...” you stuttered. Terzo looked you in the eye, and sat back in his chair again.  

“Do you know why I called for you, Sorella?” he asked, his fingertips meeting as he leaned back.   

“I-I... I think I’m in some trouble, Papa,” you admitted, looking down at your feet, twiddling your fingers for something to focus on.    “Si, I’m afraid so. You see, I noticed that you were not at Black Mass on Sunday. It worried me, and so I spent a few days attempting to run into you, to perhaps see you in a seminar or the library but... poof, nowhere in sight,” he made a gesture with his hand, like a puff of smoke had left his palm. 

You remained silent, biting your lip.  

“Even Cardinale Copia has not seen you, so he tells me - his top student!” Your cheeks reddened at the mere mention of his name. “He seemed quite dismayed, actually...” 

You swallowed nothing, gulping down the guilt that threatened to rise. You had caused that, upset your precious Cardinal with your desperate lewd actions. Probably made him reconsider what little authority he had in the Ministry, what with the overshadowing of the Papas.  

“Do you wish to tell me what has forced you to become a mere figment of your poor Papas imagination, tesoro?” he pouted dramatically, a flirtatious glint in his pale white eye. His approach was somewhat light-hearted, and that unnerved you more than if he had been yelling at you. Was he not angry at you?  

“I... I’m sorry, Papa. I haven’t quite been... feeling myself,” you all but whispered, head hung low in shame.  

“Oh, tesoro...” he stood from his chair and rounded the desk quickly, a look of pity and worry etching deeper lines into his paint than usual, “are you sick?”  

He stood close to you – so close you could feel his warm breath grazing over your facial features – and placed the back of his bare hand to your forehead, testing your temperature. You stilled, not a single breath falling from past your lips as you couldn’t help but watch him closely. You could understand why many a sister before you had fallen for his wiles before you, but whilst he made you nervous, you simply could not fathom the idea of intimacy with Papa Terzo.     Not when Cardinal Copia still occupied your mind... 

“Hmm, you’re warm enough, sorella. Not a thing wrong with you physically, eh?” he winked and curled his finger under your chin, stepping back and sitting against the edge of his desk. 

“N-no, I’m quite alright physically.”   

“Then what is troubling you, mio cara?” 

Your palms felt clammy, the weight of the truth on your shoulders almost unbearable. There was no way you would ever tell Papa the truth, you’d burst into flames on the spot out of sheer humiliation. No, you were to keep that to yourself. 

But words failed you, and before you knew what you were doing, your eyes had filled to the brim with tears, silently spilling down your reddened cheeks.   

Terzo panicked... The only tears he was used to were that of the sister on her knees or in his bed for him, and entirely pleasure induced. But this was you, and you were neither of those things to him. He rushed to you, his hands hovering somewhere around your head as he contemplated what to do, how to help you. Hugging you felt unprofessional, awkward almost. He settled for wiping your tears from your cheeks with his thumbs as you began to sob. 

“Mi dispiace (I'm sorry), Papa...” your thoughtful use of Italian swelled his heart, “I... I’ve been in a dark place. I will do better, I promise. A-and I'll take whatever punishment is fitting.”  

Terzo contemplated for a moment. Sister Imperator had been quite insistent on some kind of penalty, especially for missing Black Mass. They had only a brief conversation on the matter when having their weekly meeting, in which Imperator suggested he decide on a fitting punishment himself, but that one should be given. 

But you looked so broken. Your behaviour was so unlike you, so out of character and whilst he didn’t know the cause of this low period, he was no stranger to the idea of depression taking hold for no reason whatsoever. He put it down to that – merely a chemical imbalance in your pretty little head. In good conscience, he could not punish you for the hole you had been in recently. At least, not without giving you a chance to bounce back. 

“Sorella, there is no punishment for you today. But I must ask you to return to your ministerial duties, si?” You were stunned to silence – that you had not been expecting.  

“I’ll have to keep an eye on you, be sure you attend seminars and Black Mass again this coming Sunday. But you must find an outlet, si? Something good for the soul. And if I find you have not been attending...” he drew in a deep breath, puffing his chest out, “...Sister Imperator will have my balls in a jar, no?” he laughed. “Don’t make me look like un debole idiota (a soft idiot), tesoro.” 

You nodded quickly, promising you would do your duties.  

“Brava ragazza (good girl),” he smirked, the flirtatious look back in his eyes. “You can start with today’s Latin seminar. The Cardinale will be pleased to see you!” His eyebrows pumped upwards twice suggestively, and rounded his desk once again, sitting back down and typing on his typewriter once more.  

“You are dismissed, Sister. Ready yourself for your Cardinale,” he smirked, eyes focussed on his paper. 

Your blood ran cold at his words, the only heat between your thighs as you were forced to picture yourself literally readying for him... You wondered if the innuendo had been intentional or not; for your own sanity’s sake, you had to choose not.  

You couldn’t bare to imagine the repercussions of Terzo, your Papa, knowing of your little... predicament. 

But you left as he dismissed you, dread filling in the pit of your stomach at the notion you had to not only face the ministry again, but you had to face him.  

Your Cardinale...  

A/N: Again, thank you guys SO MUCH for reading and loving part 1. I hope you love part 2 just as much, and look forward to part 3... (coming real soon, i promise!) In the meantime, you can submit drabble requests HERE

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 [coming soon...]

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3

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[emeritusing]

28 with terzo 😩

Inexperience Smut Prompts: Terzo, Papa Emeritus III

"Do that again."

There's a smut bellow the cut, +18 only, please. (a small voyeurism; fingering; oral sex m-f) | fem!reader

"Keep going." Terzo commanded. "Keep touching yourself for me, cara."

"Mmm, yes... Terzo..." you moaned.

"No, I'm not Terzo today, tesoro," he said, his voice husky and low.

"S-Sorry... Papa," you whispered, your eyes still closed, as you continued to rub yourself through the thin fabric of your panties.

"Molto bene, sorella," Terzo said, with a hint of lust on his tone. "Now keep going, I want you to be ready for me."

You whimpered and kept rubbing yourself. Terzo's hand moved from your thigh to the inside of your leg. He stroked up and down your skin, making you gasp in pleasure. Your eyes were still closed but you could feel him looking at you.

"You're so beautiful, sorella," he said softly. "So beautiful..."

"Papa..." you breathed, your eyes opening slowly.

"Sì, tesoro?" he replied.

His hand moved to yours inside, and he gently held your hand, guiding it. You could feel your arousal growing, as he started to move your hand faster. You gasped, arching your back off the bed.

"Ahh...!" you groaned, biting your lip as you felt the pressure building inside you.

The more you rubbed yourself, the more you wanted him to touch you.

"Please..." you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Cum for me, tesoro." Terzo whispered.

He let go of your hand, and then slowly slid his fingers back and forth over your clit. You gasped loudly when you felt his fingertips touch your clit. You bit your lip harder as he circled it with his finger, then pressed against it. He continued to circle it, moving in small circles, and then pressing hard against it. You moaned loudly, arching your back up off the bed. You breathed, your body trembling.

"You like that, sì?" he asked, smiling.

"Yes..." you breathed.

"Sì? Sì, cosa? Tell me, tesoro." he said, gently rubbing your clit.

"I love it..." you breathed, your eyes closing again.

"I love it too, sorella."

"Papa, please..." you begged again, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

"I want to make you cum, sorella. I want to make you cum so badly."

"Please, Papa... I need you inside me... " you pleaded. "I want you now..." you said softly, biting your lip.

He leaned in taking your lips on his, kissing you passionately. His tongue slid into your mouth, and you kissed him back. Your hands went to his hair, and pulled him closer, feeling his hardness against your leg. You could feel how hard he was, and it made you even more wet. You moaned into each other's mouth as you kissed, grinding your hips against his hardness. You broke the kiss, and looked deep into his eyes.

"You need to get ready for me before you can have me, cara," he whispered against your lips.

You nodded and slid two fingers inside you. You gasped, arching your back off the bed. He smiled and you moved your fingers in and out of you.

"Papa, I- I can't do it, I'm going to cum," you moaned, removing your fingers from inside you.

"Sorella," he brushed his lips on yours. "That's what Papa wants, cum for me."

"But Papa-"

"Do that again," he said, growling. "Get ready for me, tesoro."

You slid your fingers back inside you, moving them faster. He got up from the bed discarding him pants on the floor. You looked up, and saw him standing there, naked, his length hard and thick. You gasped and moaned with the view of his member throbbing in front of you.

He grinned and climbed onto the bed, kneeling in front of you. Gently, he touched your clit, rubbing it. You removed your fingers inside of you, reaching for his hand, trying to move it to your entrance. He smirked, pushing his fingers deep inside you. Terzo started to slid his fingers in and out, moving it faster and you could feel yourself getting close. You cried out, throwing your head back, feeling your whole body tensing.

"Ah! Pap-Ah! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" you came hard on his fingers, your walls squeezing his fingers tight.

You could hear him moaning softly as he removed his fingers from inside you, licking his fingers clean. He leaned down, going with his face between your legs. He licked your softly, tasting you.

"You're so sweet, you taste so good, sorella," he said, grinning. "You came so good for me, and now," he gave you a mischievous grinned. "I'll make you cum even more, amore," he murmured, running his fingers through your hair.

[emeritusing]

x

[emeritusing]

Hård rock på export, 2022

[emeritusing]

can’t you see that you’re lost without me?

[emeritusing]

Secondo bouta go sicko mode

[emeritusing]

Tesoro,

Each night, I lie awake, consumed by the memory of your touch. Your skin, soft and inviting under my hands, is a temptation I ache to indulge in, sorella. Mi amorosa, you have ensnared my soul, bound it to yours with a passion that defies reason.

Your lips, dolce and succulent, haunt my every waking moment. The way they tasted that unforgettable night, a blend of sweet and sinful, is an elixir I yearn for incessantly. To kiss you, deeply and fervently, until the world blurs and only we remain — that is my ardent desire.

Tesoro mio, the sound of your pleasure, those breathless whimpers that tumble from your mouth when I explore the most intimate parts of you-- the notes of the most divine symphony. They are a melody that plays in the deepest recesses of my mind, a tune I am intoxicated by.

I find myself longing, more and more, for the nights when I can hold you close, when I can lose myself in the depths of your eyes and the warmth of your body. Until then, carissima, let this letter be my touch, my kiss, my pledge of the boundless pleasure and love that awaits you.

With a desire that burns like Hells, Terzo

[emeritusing]

| You go down just like Holy Mary

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Dramatic vamp cardinal copia sketch

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Just a couple of Devil's.

Mine & @highwarlockofphilly's representations of 'Lucifer' for their respective fics/verses.

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"Prometheus" by Gustave Moreau

Myth and legend are mostly dead, but some still remember the old tales of those who tried to defy the gods. It was said they stole the fire from heaven, or called themselves equal. One figure was considered so prideful he was imprisoned in a pit where he gathered a legion to plan a great rebellion. Now they are merely stories to scare children, to remind them that defiance is a sin. Papa Emeritus III will steal your breath, the parents say. He will unscrew your hands and feet. He will take your eyes.

/ P. B.

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JOHN DEACON, Live in Montreal (1981)

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Thunder!!!

18 and 29!

Mac!!!! Thank you so much for the ask! Let's do this :)

18. Your boba/tea order?

I don't really drink boba tea, but my tea order is Masala Chai! Always! Firstly because black tea is my favorite tea, and secondly because I love the taste the milk and the herbs add to it.

29. Preferred pasta noodle?

Hmmmm, probably fusilli or tagliatelle pasta! (I had to actually check their names out, because I had no idea what they were called, hah)

[emeritusing]

weirdly specific and unrelated asks to know someone well:

chipotle order?

thoughts on veganism?

a specific color that gives you the ick?

mythical creature you think/believe is real?

favorite form of potato?

do you use a watch?

what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?

do you change into specific clothes for the house when you get home?

do you have a skincare routine (and how many steps is it)?

on a plane, do you ask for apple or orange juice?

anything from your childhood you’ve held on to?

brand of haircare/bodycare/skincare that you trust 100%?

first thing you’re doing in the purge?

do you think you’re dehydrated?

rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning

thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

an anxious compulsion you do everyday?

your boba/tea order?

the veggie you dislike the most?

favorite disney princess movie?

a number that weirds you out?

do you have an emotional support water bottle?

do you wear jewelry?

which do you find yourself using, american or british english?

would you say you have good taste in music?

how’s your spice tolerance?

what’s your favorite or go-to outfit?

last meal on earth?

preferred pasta noodle?

ask me anything !

leave an ask for the person you reblog it from!

[emeritusing]

This hat. Seriously, I'm obsessed

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sexy sexy filthy dirty nasty sexy words

Copia draws his gloved hand down Dew's cheek, slow and kind, delighting in the way Dew tilts his head into the touch. Looking up at him through dark lashes framing amber eyes, kneeling before him. Tight pants stretched tighter on his thighs from how he sits, helmet discarded to his side, set carefully down. For the aggression he can take out on his Stratocaster on stage, Dewdrop is remarkably gentle with everything around him, material goods and living things alike.

"Papa," Dew murmurs, and Copia feels a tremor move through him; there's a particular voice Dewdrop uses when he wants something. Silky and dark and slow. A drawl. It's what he's using now, and he hasn't the ability to deny him anything. And if Dewdrop is about to angle for a little action, backstage and hurried with Copia in his papal robes- well. It'd be sinful, of course. And it would be wrong to not take advantage of that, right?

It wouldn't do to take the virtuous path. As a follower of the Dark Lord, of course. Copia draws a breath, rubbing his thumb along a sharp cheekbone, and then down to his mouth, where he brushes it over Dew's bottom lip.

A forked tongue darts out to lick the leather.

"Are you, um." Copia tries to collect himself. He is sure he feels the heat from his mouth through the glove, as though nothing was in the way. The intensity with which all of his band ghouls approach him with, the weight of their attention, it makes him woozy. Tongue-tied. Perhaps a little stupid. None of them seem to mind; he's seen firsthand the way they lose themselves in pleasure when they're with him. And with each other, he imagines, but he's never sat back and played spectator before. They've never let him.

"Are you going to suck me?" Copia asks. Dew smiles, but barely.

"Is that what you'd like?"

"Open your mouth," Copia says, and without hesitation, Dew lets his jaw fall open, sticks out his tongue so Copia can look. Imagine. Get an idea of what he gets to look at if he chooses to cum on his face instead of asking him to swallow. "I could...feed you communion." Dew huffs out a laugh, pleased. Dips a hand under the robes and gives Copia's calf a tender squeeze.

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"Was that too stupid?" Self-conscious. The hand rubs his leg, reassuring.

"Nah, it's hot," Dew says. His hand slides higher, up his thigh, higher still, and then he's cupping Copia where he's growing fat from excitement. "Always wanted to eat the body of Christ."

It's Copia's turn to laugh a little, aroused and pleased at the statement.

"Is that how you see me?"

"You're not a god," Dew concedes, grabbing the hem of his robe and ducking under it, popping the buttons of his pants, pulling down the zipper agonizingly slowly. Better they do it this way, Copia thinks dimly. If he has to watch Dew's lips stretch around him he isn't sure he'd last long enough to really enjoy it. "You're also not a holy man," he continues. He's pulling out his half-hard cock warm fingers brushing his shaft, pulling a shiver from him. "But I'll worship you like one, if you want."