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piaart · 2 months ago

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infernal - terzo x f!reader - part nine

wonderful art by the amazingly talented @piaart

author’s note: 18+! mdni! shout to @silverandarsenic-hcs for sending me an ask and lighting a fire under my butt to finish this chapter!!! sometimes that's all it takes. there's some... muff munchin'. also once again unsure if this is even good. part one/ two/ three/ four/ five/ six/ seven/ eight. ao3 link.

"You've been quiet this evening, toppolino."

Terzo stretches out on the rug, the firelight dancing across his white paint, making it luminescent. He's discarded his jacket, the intricate white vest remaining as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows, revealing dark hair dusting his forearms. His tone is teasing but deep down he’s concerned. There is nothing comfortable about this silence and the fact that your gaze is set on everything other than him will not do.

You're nestled in the black floral wingback, feet tucked beneath you like a cat. A half eaten container of Chinese food sits on the side table next to an empty wine glass. Terzo’s eyes sweep over you, his mismatched eyes darkening with raw want. The delicate paint lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as he tilts his head, studying you like you're a puzzle he's determined to solve.

“Mmm?�� You raise your brows and shift in the chair. “I’m just… enjoying the fire.” Terzo grumbles in response, frustration crossing his features.

“Well, enough of that.” He rolls not so gracefully onto his stomach then raises himself on all fours, tilting his head at you. A sly grin spreads across his face as he drinks in your reaction — your cheeks flushing crimson and lips parting so prettily. He begins to prowl towards you on all fours. When he reaches your chair, he sits back on his heels, maintaining eye contact as he takes the fingertip of one white glove between his teeth. He pulls, slowly, deliberately, until his hand is bare. The second glove follows, both discarded carelessly on the carpet.

The effect it has on you makes him growl low in his throat, eyes darkening. You want him and he can tell.

"Come here," he purrs, reaching for your ankle where it's tucked beneath you. You're speechless. You let him pull your legs out from underneath you, unfolding them until your feet rest on the floor. His hands slide up your calves, thumbs pressing into the muscles there. When he reaches your knees, he gently spreads them apart, making space for himself between them.

He looks up at you through his dark lashes, a wicked smile playing at his lips. "There's my good girl."

“Terzo—“ His teeth close over the fabric of your leggings just above your knee. You suck in a sharp breath at the pressure, just on the edge of painful. He pulls back slightly, mouthing at the spot while his hands slide higher up your thighs, thumbs pressing firmly into the sensitive flesh.

"I demand your attention, 'fetta," he murmurs against your thigh, breath hot through the thin fabric. He works his way higher, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make you squirm.

“You have it,” you gasp, fingers tangling in his soft lock as his mouth reaches the crease of your thigh. Even through the fabric of your leggings, the press of his tongue makes you arch. You whimper as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, slowly tugging them down. A shaky groan falls from his lips, so pleased with you as you lift your hips. He marvels at the soft skin on your inner thighs, a hand skimming along them. His eyes fall to your underwear, already damp.

Terzo’s nothing more than a starved man in this moment. Starved for the taste of pussy. For attention. For putting his mouth to good use again.

And for you.

He leans forward and traces his tongue over the thin fabric of your underwear. Your hips buck involuntarily at the contact, a soft gasp falling from your lips. He chuckles against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine as his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you firmly in place. His eyes lock with yours, glazed over and black with lust. He drags the flat of his tongue over you again, more deliberately this time.

A ragged moan escapes you as your head falls back against the chair. You tug at his hair just enough to make him growl against your core. The vibration sends shivers through your thighs, making them quiver around his head.

"I… I need to take these off now, ‘fetta," he husks, his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you with pleading eyes. You nod eagerly, lifting your hips just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down your legs. He tosses them aside, his gaze darkening as he takes in the sight of you completely exposed to him. His lips part, a soft sound of appreciation escaping him.

The sight of you spread before him, wet and aching has his mouth watering. The first direct touch of his tongue has you arching off the chair, a desperate mewl bubbling past your lips. Terzo responds with a deep, satisfied groan, the sound of a man finally tasting what he's been dreaming of. His eyes flutter closed as he savors you blissfully.

"I've wanted this since I first….” He cuts himself off with a scoff, his lips against you still. “Since I read your resume.” A confession, a dark one. Thighs tense beneath his grasp, his eyes darting up to see your face. Your brows are knit so tight, lips parted with shock. But you stay put. Terzo’s mouth twitches into a smirk before settling his gaze back on what lies in front of him. "Dreamed of how you would taste on my tongue,” he snarls, his mouth lowered to press a searing kiss to your throbbing core.

His tongue delves deeper, exploring every inch of you as he spreads you open with his thumbs. Your fingers tighten in his hair, squeezing your eyes shut from the building tension. Terzo sees this and lets out a pleased growl against you. Your world narrows to the hot press of his mouth.

A loud "Oh God!" escapes your lips, your head thrown back against the chair. He pauses momentarily, a flash of something like irritation crossing his features. His fingers dig slightly harder into your thighs. A breathless laugh bubbles from your throat as you look down at him. "Sorry, should I be saying 'Satan' instead?" You’re half-teasing.

Terzo slowly shakes his head, his mouth inches from your throbbing cunt. He’s in a dream. He knows what to tell you to do and he knows that you’ll obey. His head lifts, his eyes burning with a dark mixture of desire and wickedness.

It’s over for you in this moment. How delicious is it that he knows and feels this now.

He leans back slightly, just enough to break contact but keep you trembling on the edge. His voice drops to a gravelly command that sends shivers racing down your spine. "Say Papa," he instructs, his breath hot against you, waiting expectantly for your compliance.

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your cheeks at his command. Papa Emeritus il Terzo. That was his title. The word you screamed this morning

“Papa," you whisper, the word barely audible even in the quiet room. A deep, primal growl rumbles from his chest, shuddering at the sounds of your voice. His cock throbs painfully against his tight dress pants. He's achingly hard, has been since he first dropped to his knees before you, but his own pleasure is secondary to devouring you completely. His mouth descends on you again with renewed vigor. Lost in the taste of you, grinding his hips against nothing as he devours you with desperate enthusiasm. The sounds he makes are almost animalistic - guttural groans and possessive snarls that make your toes curl.

"Ti adoro, ‘fetta," he pants between wet, messy strokes of his tongue. His words dissolve into another long, appreciative moan as you roll your hips against his eager mouth.

"Papa, please," you whimper, the title falling from your lips more naturally now. He doubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit with determined strokes. The tension builds rapidly, your thighs trembling around his head as you teeter on the edge. When he slides two gloved fingers inside you while sucking hard on your clit, stars explode behind your eyes. Your back arches off the chair as you come with a cry of "Papa!" that echoes through the room.

Terzo works you through your orgasm, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high. When you finally collapse back against the chair, he places one last kiss to your inner thigh before looking up at you with smug satisfaction in his mismatched eyes.

"Beautiful," he purrs, his painted face glistening in the firelight. “I am going to carry you to bed like a true gentleman, puffetta.”

You let out a small "oop!" as he lifts you with surprising ease, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Your mind drifts hazily to his earlier confession as he carries you up the stairs - how he'd wanted this, wanted you, since first seeing your resume. It should disturb you, how long he's been thinking about having you like this. Instead, a delicious shiver runs through you. The thought of him fantasizing about you all this time, imagining how you'd taste... it's filthy. Depraved, even. And yet…

Nestling closer into his chest, you breathe in his sweet scent. The gentle sway of his steps lull you towards sleep, strong, warm arms holding you securely against him. He brings you to his room. Your body feels impossibly heavy as Terzo sets you down. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your head hits the pillow. The sound of running water drifts from the bathroom, punctuated by Terzo imitating an opera singer. You roll your eyes, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Your phone lights up beside you, the screen casting a blue glow in the dimly lit room. With a sigh, you reach for it, squinting against the brightness. It's your roommate.

Hey, girl. I’ve been hoping to catch you in person but our schedules must be opposite, haha. Wanted to let you know that I’ve found an apartment for myself. I’ll be moving out at the end of our lease. Happy to help find someone to takeover if you wanna stay

Let me know!

You suck in a breath and reread the text again. “Oh shit. Oh fuck.” Stress immediately overwhelms you, a tightness forming in your chest. The lease ends in a month. Just thirty days to figure out this out.

The notification seems to ripple through your body, leaving you numb and frozen in place. Your mind swims, thoughts racing too fast to capture any single one. What will you do? Where will you go? How much will it cost? The questions pile up, tangling together until all you can do is stare blankly at the screen, paralyzed by the sudden upheaval.

It's as if your brain has short-circuited, unable to process this new information on top of everything else. The emotional whiplash of the day—from intense pleasure to sudden anxiety—leaves you utterly drained. You can't even form a coherent thought, much less a plan.

You blink slowly at your phone, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard. You should respond. You should start looking for options. You should... should...

Eyes flutter as the bathroom light spills into the bedroom, casting Terzo's elongated shadow across the floor. The bed dips as he slides in beside you, his body radiating warmth. Arms wrap tightly around you.. Your exhaustion is bone-deep, consciousness already slipping away as you feel his warm breath against your ear. He whispers something, the words lost in the fog of your nearly-sleeping mind. You mumble an incoherent response, a string of sleepy nonsense that makes no sense even to you.

Terzo's chest vibrates with a soft laugh against your back, the sound rich and warm. The last thing you register before sleep claims you completely is the gentle pressure of his lips against your temple.

You groan and stretch, your limbs heavy with sleep as consciousness slowly returns. The bed beside you is empty and cold - Terzo must have been up for a while. Your head throbs dully, a reminder of last night's wine, but there's something else pulling you from the cozy cocoon of blankets: the unmistakable aroma of breakfast wafting up from downstairs.

The scent of butter and cheese mingles with coffee, making your stomach growl despite the lingering headache. You blink blearily at the ornate ceiling, debating whether to venture out of the warm bed. A melodic humming drifts up from what must be the kitchen, accompanied by the gentle clink of dishes.

Finally, hunger wins out over sleepiness. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, shivering slightly in the morning air. Your clothes from yesterday are neatly folded on a nearby chair - definitely Terzo's doing. You pull them on quickly before padding barefoot toward the stairs, following the enticing smell and the sound of his voice.

You find him in the kitchen, white vest traded for a plain white t-shirt, hair slightly mussed from sleep. He's humming an unfamiliar tune as he stirs something in a pan, his hips swaying slightly to his own melody. The sight would be endearing if your head wasn't pounding and your stomach wasn't in knots from last night's text.

"Ah, toppolino! Just in time." He beams at you over his shoulder, wielding a spatula with flourish. "I make the best eggs in all of Italy. Or at least, that's what the sisters used to tell me." He winks, turning back to the stove where a pan of scrambled eggs sizzle.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot, inhaling the rich aroma. The caffeine is desperately needed - especially with the weight of your housing situation hanging over your head. You try to push the thought away, focusing instead on how the morning light catches the black paint around Terzo's eyes, making his green one pop.

"Sit, sit!" He gestures dramatically with the spatula. "Let Papa take care of you this morning." There's a playful glint in his mismatched eyes as he slides a generous portion of eggs onto a plate. They're swimming in cheese, probably enough cholesterol to kill a small horse, but they smell divine.

“They smell really good. I didn’t know you could cook?” You push around the eggs on your plate, wanting to wait for him before trying them.

"That's because eggs are all I can make without burning the kitchen down," he admits with a sheepish grin, sliding into the chair across from you. "Once, I tried to make pasta for my brothers The kitchen was closed for three days for repairs." He sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "But these!" He points at your plate with his fork. "These, I have mastered."

You can't help but giggle at his theatrical retelling, the image all to clear of Terzo clanging around in the kitchen, filling the place with smoke, spilling boiling water, etc. filling your mind.

“If they smell so good, why haven’t you eaten yet, ‘fetta?”

“I was waiting for you.” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended and his expression softens immediately.

"Amore, you are too sweet. But per favore, eat! The eggs will get cold, and then I will be very sad." He reaches across the table to pat your hand affectionately before digging into his own plate with enthusiasm.

You take a bite of the eggs and can't help but let out a small moan of appreciation. They really are incredible - perfectly fluffy and loaded with just the right amount of cheese. The morning sun streams through the kitchen windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

"The garden looks beautiful," you comment between bites, gesturing toward the window. The neat rows of plants sway gently in the morning breeze.

"The pepperoncini are finally growing," he says proudly, gesturing to a row of small pepper plants. "I almost killed them twice, but they are resilient little things."

When you've both finished eating, he reaches across the table to take your hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your palm. You sit in comfortable silence, sipping your coffee, enjoying the simple intimacy of the moment.

“I was thinking, ehhh… I would have some film time today.” Terzo stretches in the doorframe, his long limbs cast in stark shadows against the morning light. "I got the projector is working again, and I have a film I've been meaning to watch for ages." He runs a hand through his dark hair, the black paint around his eyes somehow still immaculate. “Join me?”

“Oh, that would be so nice but I just - I have some things to take care of.” Your anxiety is palpable. His eyes narrow, the playful look on his face faltering. He sees right through you, you know it. But he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“I will be in the den if you change your mind, amore.” He uses his entire body to blow you a kiss. It makes you smile and laugh.

You watch him leave, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. There's something endearing about seeing him like this - so at ease, so genuinely happy. Gone is the brooding, mysterious employer who first hired you. In his place is someone warm, playful, almost... domestic?

Your coffee has cooled to the perfect temperature, and as you take a sip, you find yourself replaying little moments from the past few days. The way he purrs whenever you are near. How his accent gets thicker when he's excited. The gentle way he carried you to bed last night. He made you breakfast.

“Ugghhhh.”

You like him so much. There's something surprisingly sweet about him that you hadn't expected to find.

A crash from the basement interrupts your dreamy thoughts. Chills run up your spine as the sound morphs into a soft Clair De Lune. That fucking piano. You had forgotten how it shook you the day before and how Terzo hardly paid it any attention once he had you in front of the fireplace. He had showered you with praise, shoved some wine in your hand and ordered chinese food. All an effort to distract you. Some of your dreamy thoughts turn sour.

The ghostly piano plays throughout the afternoon. You finish updating Terzo's calendar, process the outstanding invoices, and make sure all the utility payments are scheduled. The work keeps your hands busy, but every so often you focus on the sounds floating up from beneath the floorboards, Clair De Lune ever present, weaving in melodies from Devil Church, Spoksonat and He is.

It mingles with the muffled sounds of Arsenic and Old Lace, punctuated by occasional bursts of animated Italian as Terzo reacts to scenes. You can picture him so clearly, gesturing dramatically at the screen. Not once does he acknowledge the basement.

By the time you finish your tasks, your mood has soured considerably. Great state of mind to begin apartment hunting. The search begins.

Your laptop screen glows with dozens of open tabs - apartment listings, rental websites, Facebook housing groups. After spending some time looking, there are several options that don’t sound all that bad. You're surprised at the amount that are within your budget. After all, this job has helped you save far more than any other. The thought brings a small wave of relief - you're in a better financial position than you've ever been, really. Maybe this change, while unexpected, isn't the catastrophe it first seemed. You can make it on your own, find a place that's... normal.

The sound of Terzo's footsteps on the stairs makes you quickly minimize the browser window, though you're not sure why you feel the need to hide it. The familiar creaking of floorboards that you've come to recognize as his pacing. You try to focus back on the listings.

Just as you're scrolling through another apartment listing, a soft creak in the floorboards announces his presence before you see him. The familiar sound makes your heart skip, even as you try to maintain focus on the screen in front of you. You can feel his eyes on you.

“What is this, eh?” Terzo looms in the doorway, head tilted as he studies your laptop screen. “You are moving?”

"My roommate just texted," you say quietly, running a hand through your hair. "She's moving out at the end of our lease. In a month." You show him your phone screen, the messages still displayed. "I need to find a place."

His mouth opens, then closes, eyebrows furrowing as he processes your words. "Move in here," he says simply, as if it's the most obvious solution in the world. "There are plenty of rooms, and you already spend most of your time here anyway.”

"Oh, I couldn't," you say gently, shaking your head. "That wouldn't be... appropriate."

"And why not?" His tone is light but there's an edge to it. "It makes perfect sense, no? The commute would be nothing. And I would not charge you rent, of course.” He’s slinks closer to you, his one hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Terzo..." You fidget with your coffee cup, avoiding his intense gaze. "I-I think I need my own space. This is still new. And living here… seems like a lot. Big step, and all*.*"

His expression shifts, a predatory gleam entering his mismatched eyes as he stalks toward you. "Tesoro," he purrs, voice dropping to that velvet register that usually makes your knees weak. "Perhaps we can... discuss this further?" His fingers trail along your arm, but you step back, shaking your head.

Seeing his seduction failing, his demeanor hardens. "You like when I'm rough with you, yes?" he growls, pressing into your space. "When I take control?" For a moment, heat floods your cheeks at the memory, but you force yourself to stand your ground.

"That's not going to work this time," you say firmly, though your voice shakes slightly. "This isn't about... that."

His jaw tightens, a flash of frustration crossing his painted features. "Ah, you are being difficult, tesoro. Always so stubborn." He runs a hand through his dark hair, clearly agitated. "I am offering you a solution to your problem, and you refuse it. Why must you make things so complicated?"

He’s not listening to you at all.

“Terzo, the piano has been playing by itself all day!” You erupt, exasperated by the situation. “This place is freaky and you know it. I don’t want to live here. And besides — we’ve only just started…" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, frustration evident in your voice. "I like you so much. I just need time to think about everything, and this house... there's something not right about it. You have to see that."

His expression darkens further. The air grows heavy with an otherworldly tension that makes your skin prickle. "You want to know what's 'not right' about this house, eh?" he growls, his Italian accent thickening with his rising anger. "This house has seen things you cannot imagine, ‘fetta. Things that would make your blood run cold." His voice drops to a dangerous whisper, each word dripping with barely contained fury. "You think a piano playing itself is frightening? That's nothing compared to what truly dwells within these walls."

A chill runs down your spine as realization dawns. He’s not talking about the house. He’s talking about himself. You almost want to laugh but look on his face stops you. Is he joking? It can’t be him — he’s just a guy. A sad, retired rocker. Isn’t he?

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and mounting tension. His earlier fury seems to crack slightly, revealing something vulnerable underneath - a flash of hurt in those mismatched eyes that makes your chest ache. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and controlled, but there's an edge of pain that cuts through his carefully maintained composure.

"You want to run, tesoro? You want to pretend none of this exists?" His voice cracks on the last word, betraying the depth of emotion he's trying to mask.

“I’m not the one pretending.” You can’t hold back anymore. Ever since the phone appeared you’ve been on edge, you’ve felt crazy and you’ve pushed those feelings down because of how he’s continued to react. "You're torturing me. You've been keeping me in the dark about what's happening, never being quite truthful about anything. And you want me to live here? I don’t know anything about you Terzo.”

This silence is different, more dangerous. The way he stands there, perfectly still, jaw clenched and eyes burning with cold fury - it's unsettling. There's none of his usual dramatic gesturing or passionate Italian exclamations. Just that deadly quiet rage simmering beneath the surface, making the air feel thick and heavy around you.

“Leave. Now.”

He’s perfectly threatening.

You stare at him for a long moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Without saying a word, you stuff your laptop into your bag, movements sharp with anger. When you look up, he's already melted back into the shadows of the house, disappearing as if he was never there.Fury and hurt propel you forward as you storm through the dark hallway. The piano has finally, mercifully stopped its endless playing.

You wrench the front door open and slam it behind you with enough force to rattle the windows, letting the sound punctuate your exit.

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