#mood

Thank you @ghoulzs and everyone who got me to 5 reblogs!

Ok first of all...AHHHHHHHHH UNHOLY FUCK WHY IS HE SO MAJESTIC AND PRETTY lord I NEED him lol 🥺🥺🤤😂😂😂

Fr tho he looks so beautiful in this photo 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

My favorite Ghost song is probably the one where he says “to the sound of the monstrous cock” or something like that

10 posts!

escape the ministry

alternative title: deathbed

i didn't know which papa to choose, so i didn't. fill in the gaps, it can be any papa of your choosing.

also, welcome jimmy boy. [he's freaked out by the devil... or is it guilt... who knows :) ]

[MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY]

Phantom Of The Opera premieres in 15 minutes.

To every artist and writer that mention the Papas being hairy…I love you.

Goose bumps fr

Happy Pride!

Il Cuore Della Principessa Papa IV x Fem!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 1.7k tags/warning: thigh riding, daddy dom papa, kisses, cuddles, google translated italiano summary: overworked and exhausted, Papa insists you take a break.

“Sorella?” Bleary-eyed you look up and see Copia standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of him. The sight of him in his black suit with his meticulously painted papal paints makes you smile, albeit tiredly. You hum in response, stifling a yawn as you do. You’ve been in the library for hours now—what time was it? You glance at the large clock on the wall and notice it’s nearly eleven o’clock. Another glance out the large windows of the abbey library shows the darkened sky and you can hear the rain steadily pattering against the glass. There is barely anyone else in here. You’d only ducked out briefly for dinner and that had been hours ago.

You stretch your arms up, luxuriating in the feel of your poor cramped muscles getting a break from the hunched position you’d been cooped up in. You drop your arms and try to stifle another yawn, twiddling the pen in your hand.

“It’s time to rest, cara mia,” says Copia, coming around the large table and placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“But I have to get this done for Sister Imperator,” you say with a sigh, eyes dropping down to look at the pages strewn before you. Why did you agree to help Sister with Papa Terzo’s taxes…a nightmare.

“You can do so tomorrow or the next day,” he says, taking the pen out of your unresisting grasp and throwing it on the table. “Pick up your things.”

“But Sister—”

Copia takes your chin gently, but firmly, between two gloved fingers to make you look up at him.

“I am your Papa, not Imperator, and I said pick up your things,” he repeats evenly. “Now, dolce.”

With a sigh, you grab all your documents, placing them back into the numerous folders. Really, you could have worked in Sister’s office. But it was so much calmer in the library—and there was so much more space. Also, you did not like all the prying questions she had about you and Copia. You know she meant well, but it was annoying…and also, you had no idea what your relationship was with the head of the church.

He effortlessly steers you out of the silent library and towards his papal chambers, taking the folders from your hands and carefully placing them on a nearby coffee table when you enter the room. The chill from the rain had permeated the old abbey, but it was currently being banished by the low fire crackling merrily in the fireplace. When he seats himself in the overly gilded, yet surprisingly comfortable, chaise lounge in front of the flickering flames he pats the space next to him. You follow, legs dragging with how tired you are to sit next to him. Immediately he pulls you into him so your head is in the crook of his neck and your legs tangled with his as you lie together on the lounge. The smell of chapel incense still clings to him from this morning's sermon, along with the heady mix of his cologne and that earthy yet undeniable scent that is so purely him. You bury yourself into him with a contented sigh, eyes closing as you relish in the feel of the warm fire and his arms around you.

“You’ve been working so hard, dolce,” he says, voice a gentle tease. “I’ve been lonely without you.” 

Your eyes snap open at that and your hand fiddles with the fabric of his jacket as you listen to the steady beat of his heart underneath your cheek. You watch the flames flicker low in the grate for a moment before you speak.

“You’re Papa, you cannot be lonely,” you say, trying to not sound like a jealous child. But you are. You are certain he’s still managed to find someone else to warm his bed while you’ve been working overtime. You try to keep your voice casual, despite the way your words make your heart ache in your chest. “You can have any sibling you wish to keep you company.”

“I only have one principessa,” he says, the words rumbling against your cheek as he speaks.

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead. It’s sweet. But it still makes your eyes prick as your chest is suddenly overwhelmed with feeling. You don’t want to share him. It doesn’t matter if he only calls you that, it still doesn’t stop the bitter feeling you have knowing he is still kissing others the way he kisses you. Or that he touches them with the same fingers that are now skating over your cheek.

“Mmm.” You keep fiddling with his suit jacket, fingers tracing over the embroidered grucifix.

“Principessa.” His voice is a gentle admonition. You ignore him, still letting your fingers worry the embroidery. He takes your hand away and forces you to lean back so his slightly unnerving gaze is upon yours and you quickly look down, unable to face it. “Principessa, look at me.”

Reluctantly you do and a gloved hand cups your cheek while staring defiantly at him, willing yourself not to cry. The smell of him and his hand on your face is overwhelming you, your chest aches as that unwavering gaze holds you.

“Just you, amore mio,” he says. 

You try to look away again but his hand holds you firmly. “Copia, I—” The words fail you. You cannot speak as they catch in your throat. Yet you do not need words, the man knows you too well by now.

“Shh,” he murmurs, sitting up and pulling you towards him so you’re in his lap, legs straddling him and habit bunching around the tops of your thighs. “Papa has you.”

Your throat closes with the emotion and you suck in a sharp breath to steady yourself. He removes his gloves before you feel his large hands in your hair, soothing against your scalp. When he brings you closer, tucking your head under his chin you can’t help the few tears that fall. You’re so tired, and stressed—oh, you are happy to help Imperator, but it’s a lot of tedious work. The possibility that you do not have to share this man with anyone else is too much right now and the inviting pull of sinking into his embrace is too hard to ignore. All you want is to stay safe in his arms, letting the soothing motion of his hands stroking your hair lull you into a gentle reverie.

“Do you need Papa?” he asks, once more tilting your head up to look at him. He sighs at the sight of tears on your face and you press your lips together to stop the sob from escaping. When you give a quick but fervent nod, he wipes the tears from your cheeks. “No more tears, principessa.”

He leans his, lips capturing yours effortlessly. Despite the paint, you melt into it. Or perhaps you have simply grown too used to the paint, and the taste of it is merely a promise of pleasure to come. The hands in your hair move to hold your face as his tongue snakes into your mouth. Your own hands are pressed against his chest, the solid feeling of it is a steadying comfort as you are consumed by the urgent way you respond to his kiss. Your entire body is suddenly on fire for him, the melancholy starting to slink away back into the shadows as Papa nips at your bottom lip. A whimper manages to escape and you press your mouth against his with earnest, grinding into his lap in your desperation to be closer.

“Papa…” you whine.

The man nips at your lip again and you feel the gentle rumble of his low chuckle when you press yourself down against him again. It’s impossible to ignore the hardness pressing against you when he is wearing those tight trousers and you’re overcome with wanton desperation at the thought of him buried within you. Hastily you move to undo his jacket but he grabs your wrists with ease and you catch the smirk on his smudged lips.

“You have such little patience, principessa,” he teases, releasing your wrists and shifting you over so he can spread his legs. With you now straddling a single thigh, he pushes it up against your clothed sex. Your hands move to grip at his shoulders as it sends a wave of bliss rolling through you, leaving only a want for more in its wake. “You need to calm a little…relax, si? Go slow.”

You nod and he presses his thigh up against your pussy again making you moan. The friction feels far too good and you don’t need any more words from him to start rubbing yourself against his thigh. It’s solid beneath you and whenever he presses it up to meet you, causing your clit to throb at the added pressure your breath hitches.

“Good girl,” he says, hands moving to hold your waist. “You use Papa.”

Your movements get quicker as you feel your core tightening, the tendrils of bliss just within reach. You are sure you must be ruining his trousers, you can feel the sodden fabric of your knickers as you rub yourself against his thigh. It’s nowhere near as good as having his cock in you, or his fingers, but right now you are too keyed up to care. It’s friction, delicious friction, and the way Papa holds you in place has you keening. The tension snaps quickly when he presses his thigh against your clit and you come, the sweet relief making fresh tears prick at your eyes.

You ride it out against him, moaning as the pleasure ripples through you. Hands grip his suit jacket, creasing the fabric as you frantically hold onto him. A few moments pass as you come back to yourself, breaths evening out as Papa brushes a hand against your forehead before leaning in to plant a kiss.

“Does that feel better, la mia piccola principessa?” Another kiss is pressed against your forehead and you can’t help but smile. “Tell me.”

“Yes, Papa,” you breathe, sliding closer to him so you can tuck your head back under his chin.

“Sei l'unico per me, dolce.” Arms wrapping around you, he holds you close. “Just you, capisci? The only one for Papa.”

Amore mio - My love

La mia piccola principessa - My little princess

Sei l'unico per me, dolce - You’re the only one for me, dolce

Capisci? - You understand?

I have not proof read this and its like 12:30am but WOOH.