#bishop!copia

[ragequeen94]

Some art for CHAPTER 3 of Inferno.

Ch 2 art

Ill be honest. I love how these boys turned out. Drawing them all casual with no paint was probably the most daunting thing. However…. Every time I draw secondo he looks more and more like my very Italian very bald father. We will not be dissecting that specific issue any further.

[sillyandquiteawkward]

im playing favorites surely. but to me. secondo and copia are friends. esp later in life. like terzo move tf over for a sec.

also friends in the way your boss/coworker is like your weird half brother but you both have that same flavor of neurodivergence and love love love paperwork and clerical duties and you just click. like secondo used to be scared to interact with copia bc he saw himself in copia so he was just mean nasty awful to him instead. emotions? no. violence.

this was not good for anyone involved and copia holds a grudge about it but they end up settling things. like brothers. observe.

[osiiiris]

No peace in Hell - Chapter 3

Papa Emeritus III x Angel OC [IYRIN’s sequel]

Pairings: Terzo x Angel OC, Cardinal Copia x Angel OC, Alpha Ghoul x Angel OC, the slightest mention of Terzopolitus.

Summary: Whatever God does, the Devil does better.

Warnings: graphic depiction of violence, dark fic, magic, explicit sexual content, smut, nsfw, explicit language, mental health issues, religious conflict, mind manipulation, violence, couple fight, unprotected sex, abuse, fear play, power unbalance, major character death.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 3

-Occam’s razor

The Abbey's secret passages formed an intricate network of winding corridors and hidden doorways leading to areas inside and outside the building. Only a few knew of their existence, and fewer still knew how to navigate them with the skill Iyrin had developed through time spent studying the routes, memorizing twists and turns until they could traverse the tunnels in silence, becoming a ghost within the walls. This morning was no different. With swift, silent footsteps, Iyrin moved through a narrow, concealed doorway that led into an elegant private studio by simply shifting a mirror to the side...

[Read more on AO3 or Wattpad.]

[nocturnal-bishop]

Copia let Dante hold one of his rats and they're getting along

[cardinalmoroni]

Also look, I didn't grow up Catholic and have only recently learned anything about them and their hierarchy BUT I think it's interesting that they're Papa Emeritus because that just implies they're retired Papas. So calling Copia Papa Emeritus IV is implying he's already retired from the position. Idk I think it is interesting.

[ficandkaboodle]

Analyses of Most Ghost Characters be like…

Terzo was a tragic and extremely deep figure who, based off observations provided by his ghouls and Bishop Necropolitis, was a brilliant mind whose ideas were bastardized and squandered, which resulted in a disappointed and bitter husk of a man who still made an effort to display kindness. However, we will likely never truly know the full story of who he was because he lied so damn often.

Most of how we perceive Secondo is arguably the result of Sister badmouthing him as well as ghouls being brutally candid about how he acted in interviews. However, there’s reason to believe Secondo might’ve been just as multifaceted as Terzo, in that he wasn’t being his complete self to the audience. There’s evidence that could suggest Secondo did not enjoy being Papa in its entirety so much as the perks, which were ironically also hindered by him being Papa at the end of the day. It’s not hard to interpret him as someone who might not have enjoyed being a part of the bloodline at the end of the day because of what it meant he had to sacrifice.

Copia is a manchild, likely as a result of how he grew up: Orphaned, likely a social outcast, very likely undiagnosed. As a result, he might’ve become convinced that the only way to rise above it was to become someone worthy of adoration: Papa. But even after he ascended, his troubles didn’t stop: He had to learn his parentage, didn’t address the fact that his brothers were now dead, and spent the last few months he had with the woman he now knew was his mother dissociating because he developed a fear of death. This fear, mind you, that easily ties back into the theorized likelihood that he placed his self-worth into his success. And this is before getting into his willingness to be a puppet —

Papa Nihil’s complexities come in the form of his tendencies to escape reality and the consequences these brought. He was very likely an absent father, which would have had effects on his sons (say, attention-seeking tendencies; a distrust in authority; abandonment issues). In fact, the only things he seems to seek from his youth is his extremely short-lived music career and his unstable relationship with a woman who ultimately kept quiet about their son(s) they conceived together and ultimately played his lust and delusions against him to play nepotism. And by leaning into this, he got his own children killed. He only “became a father” after he died, and it’s sad that he actually seems his most lucid then. What’s all the more mind-boggling and makes you wonder about his tenure is his ability to be in the moment and try and convince Cardi to learn to do the same. It makes you curious: Was Nihil actually a good Papa when he wasn’t distracted?

Sister Imperator is willfully emotionally constipated and will justify it as being “for the good of the church”. She has definitely been affected by her decisions and what she’s done, from her relationship with Nihil to her giving up her babies and watching them at a distance, only interacting from a work standpoint. She lies, keeps secrets, has people killed off, all to tie her spawn into the position as Papa, which is curious considering her position means she’s already above the station of Papa. She does care about Cardi, but she doesn’t care for him the way he needs to be and, as a result, arguably only exacerbates his anxious tendencies. She’s an extremely interesting character but it’s so easy to water her down to just being manipulative and evil.

………………

Analyses of Primo —

Primo is fucking crazy man I don’t — Like, he might be a serial killer; he would punch a panda for profit; we aren’t even entirely certain he’s human like I would legit headcanon that Primo is a changeling and the fandom would run with it because what choice do we have, he honestly actually could be!!!

[soongtypehuman]

10 characters, 10 fandoms

Rules: list your favorite character from ten separate fandoms, then tag 10 people.

Thanks go to @nists for tagging me.

Star Trek- Data

Alien(s)- Bishop

The Eternal Champion- Elric

Ghost- Cardinal Copia/Papa IV

Detroit: Become Human- RK900

Murderbot- Murderbot

Beetlejuice- Beetlejuice

Aeon Flux- Aeon

Hellsing- Alucard

Space Odyssey series- Dave Bowman (as the star child/disembodied consciousness)

If you haven't already done this, please consider yourself tagged. I am tagging you.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Aether: "Fun fact about Dew; He's actually pretty high up in the church's leadership, because after he became a ghoul, he felt like he needed to educate himself on the faith, and took all the rites to become a sibling of sin... Well, flash forward, and the guy's a bishop now, it's crazy." -watching Dew conduct mass alongside Copia- "...What's even crazier is that that man up there right now looking all serious and proper was riding my dick, like, ten minutes ago and begging me to call him a good boy." Aeon, choking on the communion wafers he's been snacking on: "Koff-Uwhat??" Dew, giving them both a death stare from the altar: -mouthing, "Shut up" before going back to reciting lines with Copia- Aether: -doing heart hands at him- Aeon, drinking water Cumulus slipped him over the pew, whispering: "I want to go home..."

[cowboyemeritus]

Hi!!! I think you’re one of the best Ghost writers on this dang app! I wanted to request something, if that’s okay?

I’d love something about being fated mates with Copia. I’ve watched Nosferatu and I’m feeling the desire of some mighty powerful predestined pairings 😈

Thank you!

Hey! Thanks a lot - you’re too sweet. ❤️

Okay, yes, anon. I also saw Nosferatu and I hear you. I see you. Let’s fucking do this.

I originally had an idea for something cute, but evil Copia is too sexy powerful. Hope you enjoy :)

“How did you find me?”

Copia’s wide, beaming smile morphs into shocked confusion. He blinks once, twice, rebooting.

“I, eh-“ He huffs out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy to see me, amore. It didn’t hurt you like it hurt me?”

Every step away from him had felt like walking on broken glass. Of course it fucking hurt. But Copia had lost his mind — his humanity — and it had been unbearable. You would have fallen into that abyss, too, if you hadn’t left.

“How did you find me?” You can’t tell if you’re shaking with rage or with fear.

Copia smiles again. The sight at once makes your heart melt and your stomach churn. He gestures to his new suit, the collar, brooches, and grucifix glittering in the afternoon light. “I’m running the show now.” He takes another step closer and you flinch, your pounding heart skipping a beat. Your reaction has him pouting like a kicked puppy, but he persists. “Nothing can keep us apart. No Nihil, no Sister.” He chuckles. “Psaltarian is still around, but he always liked you.” The knife block is off to your left. The thought that you should arm yourself crosses your mind, but you remain frozen in place. Copia sighs. “Of course I was going to find you, cuore mio. Now we can finally be together, like we were always meant to be.”

Suddenly your eyes are stinging, then welling up. You curse yourself for the display of weakness.

“You’re insane.” He appears unmoved by the insult. “If you think I’d be anywhere near you after all that… that shit, then you’re out of your fucking mind.” At this, his once kind eyes darken. Something in them glimmers, ice cold and deadly.

“I did what I had to do to-“

“They were your brothers.” His white eye twitches.

“They were in the way-“

“Your fucking brothers!” Memories of the three bombard your psyche. You think of Primo and his garden of carnivorous plants, of listening to old ABBA vinyls with Secondo, and of Terzo, and his dreams of a better future. A tear finally spills over, carving a burning path down your cheek. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Copia, fists balled at his sides, takes a deep, steadying breath. He looks you dead in the eyes and it’s like there’s bugs under your skin, creeping and crawling and eating you alive.

And yet, those eyes. His face has changed, but those beautiful, soulless eyes are almost exactly the same. It’s a welcoming sight. The revelation makes you feel a little sick, but your resolve is already slipping. If he’s oblivion, then you’d gladly fling yourself into the void.

“Everything I have done,” he says, keeping his voice low and measured, “has been for you. For us. I have struggled, I have made myself a fool, and I have killed, all so that we could be together.” You sob.

“How dare you say that to me.” Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You sniffle, shaking your head. “You’re sick.” Knees giving out, you slide down the side of the counter, sinking to the kitchen floor. Copia is on you before you can resist, wrapping his arms around your frail, weeping form.

It’s like coming home.

“If I am sick, then I am sick with love for you.” He is so dreadfully good with words when he wants to be. A gloved hand finds your chin, lifting your head to look at him. The late-afternoon light hits just right, creating a golden halo around him that is so perfectly ironic. Copia: your guardian angel, your worst nightmare. It had been golden hour when you’d first met, him a spry young bishop and you a new Initiate, hungry for life and unaware of the strings of causality puppeteering you both.

Copia pulls you into him. He buries his face in your hair and inhales, a shudder running through his body. It’s a perverse gesture, but you don’t have the energy to protest. Years of running — from him, from the Clergy, from yourself, from destiny — have taken their toll.

“Every waking minute, I have thought of you.” He sounds almost like his old self, but something about his delivery is too smooth, too sure of himself. He must have practiced. “And every night, you have haunted my dreams.” You don’t doubt that; your days and nights have been very much the same. “I am meant for you, amore. I couldn’t let you go if I tried.”

All this profession does is make you cry harder. You are so unbelievably weak for him, it’s shameful. And he’s right — no matter how fast you run, no matter how long you hide, you two are bound to one another by forces far beyond your comprehension. You’ll always be pulled back in the end.

When you first laid eyes on him all those years ago, it felt like something had clicked into place. Now you understand why. It sends you reeling through all five stages of grief at once.

“I love you,” you whimper, tears soaking into Copia’s expensive-looking jacket. “I can’t not love you.”

“And I love you,” he coos, petting your hair just like he used to. “More than anything.” The years, the agony of it all, seems to melt away as you huddle on the floor, crying until you’re too exhausted to keep going. Copia never stops holding you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear like nothing between you had ever changed.

When your outburst finally ends, you pull away a bit. To your surprise, Copia lets you, instead taking one of your hands and pressing his lips to your knuckles. Instinctively, you know the warmth in his eyes is a facade, but you can’t help the butterflies that flit around in your stomach. Maybe if you pretend really hard you’ll go back in time, to before all this madness began and you were just two stupid kids in love. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Come back with me.” You can’t tell if he’s begging or demanding it. “Come home. No more bullshit, I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything like that ever again.”

You don’t believe him.

“Okay.”

[liliummagpie]

Hello here!!!!!

Here’s a little fanart of Terzo and Omega from Primo's era, based on a headcanon:

*During this time, Terzo was an archbishop, and Copia was a bishop.

*Terzo was a bit more rebellious back then.

💖🌻💕🌿🌌✨

[leezlelatch]

What is one of your Ghost hot takes? (If you want to share!)

Ohohohohoho.

Well.

Okay.

I want to preface this by saying people’s headcanons are fine. I would never want someone to feel bad about their own imagination, or what makes them happy in the world they created in their mind.

That being said, I feel like Terzo is rapidly becoming a caricature. Let’s look at the source material: he’s slow and sensual, an advocate for healthy sex and the female orgasm. He’s funny as all get out, and very sweet with children. He is concerned for his audience’s safety, and isn’t afraid to tell someone off. In the Summoning videos, it appeared that Sister was somewhat afraid of him as evidenced by the way her face contorted in fear as his clawed hand rose to grip her shoulder.

In the account of Terzo’s younger days by Bishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis, we see a man hopeful for the future of his congregation. Excited at the prospect of becoming Papa.

It begs the question, when did he become disillusioned? What happened?

How did we get here? Where he is described as a man who hates everyone including himself. A man burdened with darkness, and wounds that have never healed.

Terzo is a character worth exploring the complexities of. How did he grow up? Was it any different than his brothers? What difficulties did he face in becoming Papa? After becoming Papa? Why was the Grammy not enough? Why was he beheaded, and did Sister wait for the serum injected into his veins to wear off so she could see the light leave his eyes? Did Copia know?

Nobody has to explore these things. And I encourage creativity above all else.

But queer characters aren’t always hyper-feminized. He can be hairy, he can be a top, he can be gruff and angry and any plethora of human emotion. He can be masculine just as much as he can be feminine, and vice versa. It is a spectrum, after all.

He isn’t just a *** bucket.

[ragequeen94]

NSFW ART FROM CHAPTER 5 of my Fic INTERNO

Art from this fic now has its own tag

[fishwithtitz]

A Simple Existence (a Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader one shot)

A/N: This one was written specifically for my sweet cheese, my main babe Jen (@copias-juicebox). Her birthday was on Wednesday and this is a very belated present created with her in mind. Girl, you wanted subby sweet Copia, you got him! Love you so much and I'm so happy I met you. Alles Gute zum nachträglichen Geburtstag!

Also, special shout out to @anamelessfool, @eyeslikelilith, and @portaltothevoid for beta'ing and feedback <3

If you'd like to be on my tag list, please comment!

⛧⛧⛧

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader / 5.1k words

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, hints at dub-con (if you squint?), oral sex, piv, language, cock worshipping

ao3 link

Over the past few weeks, it had become more commonplace for Papa Emeritus IV to be sitting at his cherry wood desk, pen in hand as he rifled through various Ministry tasks late into the night. 

To many, Papa was a figurehead of the church — both through his leadership in the spiritual sector of the Ministry and as frontman of the Ghost project. But so many didn’t realize the influence he had within the planning and implementation of the church and its projects as a whole. 

It was almost as if he breathed much-needed oxygen into the lungs of the abbey and transfused his own lifeblood into the theatrics of the band. The Ministry was, to put it simply, his everything. It was something you had come to love and loathe about the man.

Tonight was no different than any other night the past few weeks. Copia sat perched in his worn office chair (the one he’d taken with him from his stay at the abbey in Venice during his time as a bishop), papal paint smeared somewhat from the occasional swipe of his palm against his cheeks as he thought through a complex task. A banker’s lamp and the starlight were the only sources of illumination in the office space — a tell of how late into the evening it had become. 

You’d sat up night after night waiting for your Papa to come back to his chambers at a reasonable hour. Most nights ended with you falling asleep as you sat  against the headboard in your shared bed or lounged on the loveseat in the sitting room. Tonight, however, you’d had enough. You were worried that the ministry was taking advantage of the Satanic pope’s hardworking and passionate spirit and the last thing you wanted was for him to spiral into burn out. Tonight, you would put your foot down. 

It was a short walk from the Papal chambers to Copia’s office. You’d made the trek what felt like hundreds of times and this specific time, it was as if the route had been cut in half. Perhaps that was the speed at which your bare feet carried you, or perhaps it was the simmering frustration you had bubbling in your chest. Nevertheless, you didn’t bother to knock before you pushed on the oaken double doors to Papa’s workspace. 

As soon as you shut the heavy door behind you, Papa’s head sprung up in alarm as if he had been shaken out of a trance. You walked into the spacious office, nightgown flowing behind you like an estuary, and stopped a couple of meters away from where he sat. 

“Il amore mio, what are you doing h-”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You found yourself cutting off his tired greeting.

Copia pressed his thumb and forefinger against his temples, gently rubbing them as he closed his eyes in defeated frustration. “I haven’t looked at the clock in a while.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” you answered for him, taking a step towards the cherrywood desk. “Come to bed.  It’s not doing you any good burning the midnight oil.”

Copia’s hand dropped from his temples and on any other occasion, you would smirk at the sight of the smudged paint on his fingertips. “I assure you that I have plenty of fuel left for this candle’s flame, amore mio,” he said. 

“But you’re burning it at both ends!” you retorted, voice raising in a mix of sympathy and frustration. “Copia, it’s not a matter of if you’ll drive yourself into the ground but when.” You moved to round the large wooden desk, and as you approached him, your expression softened. “All of this can wait until tomorrow,” you said, voice slightly calmer now.

You shifted behind him and snaked your arms around his shoulders, resting them on his strong chest. Your lips pressed to the hair atop his head.  The salt-and-pepper streaked strands that once were combed back on his head but had since begun to fall into his eyes and around his temples. “Just, come to sleep. I miss you. I miss my Papa.”

And you realized that this man, this hopelessly devoted man beneath the cloak of your arms was the picture of leadership. A perfect blend of authority and quiet strength. Measured. Loving. Dedicated. And when necessary, absolutely ruthless. 

Papa sighed at your admission and reached up to place his non-dominant hand over one of yours, his pen still gripped tight in the other. “Il mio amore,” he began, voice apologetic and oddly tinged with dampened annoyance, “you must understand that I am everyone’s Papa. The work I do is necessary to maintain and grow the ministry — our outreach, our education, charity — the very diffusion of our beliefs lies within my leadership.”

At his dismissal, you felt your grip around him loosen, your hands sliding from around his shoulders as you stepped away from him. “You think I don’t know that? You are one man, Copia. You can’t do it all,” you began as you ran your hand through your hair in frustration. You stepped to the side to better face him, hoping to see him — even just a glance at the mismatched eyes you were growing to love. “I’m tired of watching you run yourself ragged trying. And quite frankly, I’m tired of being left behind while you choose your work over everything else in your life.”

Copia’s eyes finally rose to meet yours. His voice changed from his more understanding and apologetic (possibly even patronizing) tone to one of seriousness. “My work is my duty…my oath to the lightbringer, to his infernal majesty.”

The earlier simmering of frustration in your chest came to a roaring boil at his retort and you moved to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you leaned just slightly over his desk. “Well, I suppose it’s good to know where your duties lie.”

With that, you left the office, leaving Copia to ruminate in the reverberating slam of the heavy oak door and the ringing of your words repeating in his head.

Copia tried his best to finish up the task he’d been in the middle of when you’d stopped by his office at the end of the clergy wing, but no matter how much he attempted to focus, he couldn’t drag his mind away from the argument you’d just shared. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he had been neglectful in other areas of his life. After a light yawn escaped from his lips, he decided to pack up his work and return back to your shared room. Afterall, he probably owes you an apology.

He didn’t even remember walking back to the papal chambers, the weight of his exhaustion being so heavy that it dulled his sense of time. Despite this, when he entered your shared room, he still had the wherewithal to show slight shock that you were still awake and waiting for him on the sitting room chaise. 

“Tesoro,” he started, walking around the loveseat to approach you, “I am sorry for the way that I spoke earlier—”

His apology was cut off, however, when you held up a hand as if to nonverbally signal for him to stop. His eyebrows creased just slightly in confusion.

“Go to our bedroom and get undressed,” you said, voice devoid of any emotion yet strangely demanding given your usual countenance. As he opened his mouth to protest, you raised an eyebrow, holding your hand up again to silence him once more. With this, Copia’s eyes adopted a slight glimmer and his lips fought the desire to curve into a smirk. He knew what this meant. 

He took a step closer to you and his voice lowered as he spoke. “You want to play Papa tonight, dolcezza?” As he approached you, you fought the desire to conform to him, to allow him to take hold of the reins that he so often gripped. 

You steadied your countenance and gave him a simple nod in retort. 

This time, his lips made the final curve into the smirk he had tried to withhold. As he made his way into the bedroom, his gloveless hand reached towards his neck to loosen his blue cravat (a favorite of yours, he remembered), and unfasten the buttons lining the center of his shirt. He shrugged both of them off and set them on the bench at the foot of the bed before working to remove his pants, belt, shoes, and socks. Soon enough, he was left only in his boxers, and he began to move towards the bed, assuming your insistence that he get some rest.

Instead, you nonchalantly walked by him as you rounded the four-poster bed. “I said undressed, Papa,” you remarked coolly.

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised once more, before his expression crinkled slightly. “As you wish, amore mio,” he said. Your face remained stoic.

The truth was, as you waited for him to return from his office after your discussion, you realized that you had two choices. You could be angry with him for the neglect he’d shown to your relationship. It would definitely be well-founded, and you had every right to give him a prolonged cold shoulder in retaliation. 

Or, you could approach the situation with the empathy you had craved from him. You could help him realize that his ascension to papacy did not require him to work himself to the bone. On the contrary, it should allow him to revel in the devotion that others craved to provide to him.

You’d decided on the latter.

Papa slid the silken fabric of his boxers down his toned legs (oh, how you’d love to worship those legs) and let them pool on the floor below as he stepped out of them. You motioned to the bed with nothing more than a flick of your gaze, and he sat against the edge. 

“Back against the headboard, Papa.” Your voice felt weirdly not your own. Not that you were complaining, by any means. You felt a surge of confidence and power prickling through your body and you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what he felt like when he presided over Mass. 

Copia scooted his body back to the headboard, back flush against the aged wood, and set his palms down against the pillows. After reaching down to grab his discarded cravat (to which you internally smiled as you noticed the blue hue), your feet carried you towards him, padding softly against the carpet in the papal suite, and you pulled up the sheer organza of your nightgown to reveal the thigh-high stockings you’d adorned while waiting for him to finish in his office. His pupils widened. 

Slipping them off with deliberate purpose, you gathered them both in your hands by their length and reached to grab his right wrist. Without hesitation, you looped the black nylon fabric around him and began securing him to the headboard. “You better than anyone know the values of our church,” -the nylon tightens- “the importance of self indulgence” -pull- “practicing the sin of lust” -loop- “showing our devotion to the one below through celebration of carnal desire.” He watched as you tightened the knot, testing its strength, his eyes deeply curious as he allowed this scenario to play out. You then brought forth his cravat and secured his left hand to the other side in symmetry. 

You backed away and admired your prize. There he sat — the leader of the Ministry of Satan, Papa Emeritus IV, his Unholy Eminence, looking back at you while restrained against the bed with his infernal eye burning. With what? You wondered. Curiosity? Anger? Lust? Annoyance? Intrigue? He opened his mouth to speak, and you reached forward to press a single finger to his lips. 

“You’ve spent so much time speaking on behalf of the church that I think you’ve forgotten how to listen.”

And it was true. All of his duties hung heavy on his shoulders. His ascension to papacy only seemed to increase the workload, and in recognizing his competence, the other senior clergy members dumped task after task upon him that he knew were not required of his predecessors. But, he’d wanted this. He’d yearned for it for so long. How could he stand up against the very ministry that he vowed to serve eternally?

Once more, you lifted up the flowy nightgown to reveal a pair of white satin lace panties. A symbol of purity, innocence — a stark contrast to your actions and the wicked man in front of you. Your thumbs hooked under the waistband and you slid them off, before neatly balling them up in your fist. “Open,” you directed. Surprisingly, Copia obeyed. You smirked and pushed the fabric past his lips and into his mouth, effectively silencing him. 

Your attention turned to his legs splayed out before you. His strong thighs sat parallel to one another as they rested against the pillow-top mattress. Stretching forward, you began to run your hands along each thigh, enjoying the feel of the muscles beneath your palms as they lightly flexed under your touch. “I love these thighs,” you murmured, almost to yourself. You moved to straddle him, climbing just above his knees with your legs on either side of his. Lifting your arms slightly, you loosened the front tie to the bodice of your nightgown, then pulled both breasts out of the scoop neck. They sat directly in front of his painted face, and your eyes watched his as they traveled across the expanse of your chest, his kohl-colored lips barely parted. You swore you heard a noise escape from them. 

You leaned in, breasts brushing against his bare skin as you hovered your mouth by his ear. “Patience,” you breathed, a smirk evident in your tone. As you pulled away, you licked your lips and continued. “You’ve proven that you’re very good at doling out orders. Now,” you trailed your finger down his chest, pausing at the bottom of his sternum, “let’s see if you know how to follow them.”

You knew at this moment that your attention, your affection, was what he craved. However, you also knew that for him to learn to let go, you couldn’t give him what he wanted so easily. Not just yet. So, you leaned back slightly and hovered your bare crotch against his own. You could feel the heat of the both of you and you smiled, pushing down just barely to push your mons against his length. It involuntarily twitched against you and you used this moment to pull back further, earning you a near whine from him (which you purposefully ignored). 

As you sat back against his legs, you looked back down at them, biting your lip. “Fuck, touring has done so much for you. I can’t get enough of these,” you spoke, running your hands along the skin of his quads. “You never have time to let me feel them against me. How sculpted the muscles are, how strong they feel…”

With that, you shuffled your body so that you were straddling his left thigh, your own heat ghosting against the skin of it. You began to press your core down against him, putting pressure against your clit. Looking up, you locked eyes with him. “Do you feel what they do to me?” you asked, beginning to move your hips just slightly, just so, so that he could feel your wetness slipping against him. “How wet it makes me just thinking about touching you?” 

Copia groaned against the fabric of the panties in his mouth. It was muffled but audible, which made you realize just how loud it would be without the gag. 

“And yet…you deny me? All for your work?” Your voice took on a tone of inquisitive mock innocence and hurt, and you creased your eyebrows for effect. Forgetting about the restraints, Copia moved his arms to grab onto you, but groaned again as he realized he was secured into place. 

“What was the saying? ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?’” At this, you reached down and grabbed onto his erection, trapping it between your leg and his as you ground down on the top of his thigh, pussy pushing down much more forcefully. You let out a moan and tilted your head back at the feeling. He was nearly shaking beneath you. 

Your hips found a slow yet strong rhythm as you gyrated against him. With every forward movement, your leg squeezed against his cock and he let out a series of noises — muffled whimpers and moans — and eventually, his eyelids tightly pressed shut. 

“Is…is pastoral care one of your duties, Papa?” You breathed out, your own voice becoming more lust-dipped as you moved against him. “When you’re taking care of your flock…all of your flock…does that include their desires?” You reached up and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “Aren’t I not part of your flock, Papa?”

He nodded in your hand, eyes nearly ablaze as he all but came undone beneath you. He was so hard it was almost painful, and as you moved above him, riding his thigh like a fucking mechanical bull, your own visage was morphed into one of powerful pleasure. Your tempo increased and you let out a shaky moan at the pressure building low in your abdomen. You were close to feeling the release you’d craved from him for god knows how long. This, along with his own impending orgasm, caused him to spit out the panties from his mouth. 

“Dolcezza, please, do not tease me like this,” he whined, words dripping with need. His papal paints were smeared around the mouth and chin from your touch and you bit your lip at the sight. He pulled on the wrist restraints. “Need you,” he choked out. You smirked and immediately ceased your motions against him. His face fell.

“Let’s see if you can use your mouth for something more useful.”

You moved from his thigh, leaving his cock unattended as it dripped for you, hungry and red, nearly pulsating. Suddenly, you stood up and straddled him, bringing your core directly to his face. His increased breath danced across the slick of your pussy and you held back a groan of your own. “If your duties lie only to the church, then maybe you should prove your devotion to honoring the one below.”

Without warning, you slid your hand into his hair and brought his mouth to your wet heat. A strangled groan erupted from him and he immediately dove in, nose against your mound as he fervently moved his tongue between your impossibly slick folds. You reached out with the hand not currently lost within his hair and gripped onto the top of the headboard to steady yourself. 

Copia flattened out his tongue and you began to buck your hips against his face, riding him as he broadly licked up and down your clit and to your entrance. You were certain you were making some sort of pleasurable sound, but at the moment, it was as if the world and all of its stimulation paused. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of his skillful mouth against you, his eyes shut as he ate you out like a starved man. 

His tongue moved to flick against your sensitive bud and he wrapped his lips around it before sucking harshly. It was a move that he knew drove you crazy, and the burning in your thighs as you tried to stabilize yourself heightened the pressure. You could feel your own legs shaking, but you continued to grind against him, and for the first time, you wished his hands weren’t restrained so that he could fuck you with his fingers, too. 

“You are so good at this,” you hummed out, looking down to watch him as you rode his face. The previous tension from your near orgasm on his thigh was back, and your own reserve was faltering. He flickered his eyes open and growled against your cunt at the sight of you above him, trembling and absolutely wrecked from arousal, and the combination of the vibration of his noises and intensity of his stare sent you reeling over the edge.

You cried out his name, head snapped back as your hand gripping onto the headboard turned white-knuckled. He continued to move his tongue up and down your folds, occasionally flicking his tongue against your oversensitive clit as he helped you through your orgasm.

Eventually, you pulled away sea-legged and released your grasp from his now messed coif, sinking down onto your knees. Your own breath was ragged and you gripped onto his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. He looked directly ahead at you with a prurient expression, the paint of his cheeks and nose and chin smeared and saturated with your arousal. In a normal situation, he’d make a racy or teasing remark, but he remained silent. It was as if he had finally learned his place. 

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you placed a solitary kiss to his sternum, relishing in the feeling of his chest hair against your lips and chin. You then moved south, mouth lightly kissing and sucking on the skin of his abdomen, the angular hip bones that framed his cock, and the trail of hair right below his belly button. 

His neglected length twitched as your face brushed against it and you smirked, sitting up just barely to look at it. Reaching out, you grasped onto him, grip firm, and began to languidly stroke. 

“How could I forget about you?” you cooed, thumb pad pressing against his frenulum before you continued your pace. “You deserve to feel good.” He groaned at the contact and his head jerked back against the solid headboard. You chuckled darkly and licked your lips at the sight of him below you. “The lightbringer would be disappointed if their chosen figurehead didn’t properly spoil in self-indulgent sins of the flesh? Wouldn’t he?”

Copia whined beneath you, but you paid no mind, continuing your slow movements. You lowered your head, breath tickling against the end of him, and began to rub his shaft and tip against your cheeks and lips. “I love your dick,” you said, voice barely above a sultry whisper. You began to press kisses to every inch of his cock, savoring him, worshiping him. 

He squirmed beneath you, and unable to restrain himself, he groaned out, “Cazzo, please.”

You stopped and peered up at him. His eyes were shining with tears of frustration and you were sure that the mix of submission and denial was pushing him to his limits. But despite the look of exasperation on his face, you knew him well enough to know what he truly desired in this moment. And he trusted you completely, fully, to deliver him to reverie. 

“Let me take care of you,” you said, pressing a kiss to the very tip of him before laving your tongue over him slowly. Copia moaned loudly and his hips twitched up into your mouth, requiring you to hold him down with your other hand. “You don’t need to control everything,” you responded, mouth still pressed against his length. 

Had you been looking up, you’d have seen him nod in response, but you were too focused on what was throbbing in front of you to pay him any mind. Lips parted, you descended down his length, taking him as far into your mouth as you possibly could. Copia hissed in response and you smirked around him. You knew that the sudden sensation of warmth would be nearly unbearable, too much, and you delighted in being the one controlling his fire. 

You hollowed out your cheeks and slowly popped off of him. With a swift readjustment of your frame, you straddled his thighs (marveling at the drying slick on the left one), and took his chin in hand. “Look at me,” you murmured, and he obliged. Your non-dominant hand traced the contour of his jaw, fingertips now glazed in white and grey paint, and you dipped your index finger between his lips as you positioned yourself over his cock and sunk down. 

The Satanic Pope’s mouth dipped open and a low groan slipped past your finger still perched on his lip. Your own center was still sensitive from your recent orgasm and the sensation of fullness was almost overwhelming, so you stilled your movement to allow for the both of you to adjust to the feeling. For the first time, you dipped your head forward and rested your forehead against his own, your hand cupping his jaw. You could feel the sweat slicked between the both of you and you closed your eyes as a soft, shaky breath escaped you.

After a moment of blissful stillness, you opened your eyes to look at the man you currently had caged in by your arms and thighs, and you carded your fingers through his hair. His gaze held a knowing fire that you recognized as one of silent permission, of need, desire, of his own restrained dominance. With that, you gripped at his hair near the scalp and tipped his head back as you lifted yourself almost completely off of his length. 

“Out there, you might be the leader of our congregation. You might proselytize to millions of siblings and fans. But right here,” your grip tightened, and you leaned in to whisper against the shell of his ear, “right now, you answer to me. How badly do you want it?”

“Merda, badly, so badly,” he growled. You pulled away and your telltale smirk returned to your features. He looked positively sinister. His face flushed beneath his skull paint and sweat was beading across his brow. Both of his eyes nearly black from lust-blown pupils. A manifestation of evil incarnate. 

“Then take it. Take everything you need.”

And take he did. His hips canted up into you and he slid in to the hilt, flesh pressed against flesh, and you fell forward into his shoulder with a near-howl of your own at the fullness. Your hands found purchase against his pecs and you matched his movements as he pumped into you frantically. Every movement stretched you further, licked flames against the sore muscles of your legs, but you ignored the pain and moved with purpose. Your lips found his and you kissed him for the first time this evening, pouring out your loyalty into the action as his tongue pushed greedily into your mouth. 

As you shifted your position atop him just slightly, his cock brushed against your g-spot and you cried out in euphoria. The corners of his lips curled against yours as he panted through his movements, knowingly hitting that spot with every single upward thrust. 

You swallowed back another moan as you tried to speak. “Fill me so good,” you nearly slurred as you pulled from the kiss. “Look at me,” you said, voice less commanding and more sweet. You knew your release was imminent and you wanted him to visualize the effect he had on you. How he made your body implode as he dragged you down to hell himself.

Your own words were rushed, nearly babbled as you continued. “Look at how good you make me feel.” His eyes locked with yours and you rested one hand on his chest, the other snaking to grasp onto the nape of his neck, while moonbeams erupted in your skin as your climax took hold. Your jaw dropped just slightly and although your mouth threatened a moan, no sound came out as he fervently bucked up into you. 

Your shared motions sped up and you could feel how close he was by the sloppiness of his thrusts as he helped you ride out your release. “Take what you need,” you repeated in a pant. “Take everything you need from me.” 

You pushed through the overstimulation and watched as his hands balled into fists in the restraints and he planted his feet firmly onto the bed, fucking up into you like he never had before. His eyes shone with unsprung tears and he was spitting out a slew of curses in Italian, with affirmations of love peppered in throughout. 

“Cazzo, dolcezza, I-” And just as hard as he had climbed, he crashed down violently. He came roughly with a sound that sounded like a mix between a groan and a sob, hips jerking as he pumped his spend into you with wild abandon. He filled you so deeply that you could feel him beginning to leak down your inner thigh as he pistoned through his orgasm. 

“So good for me,” you purred, pressing a kiss to the place where his hairline began at the top of his forehead, ignoring the sweat-soaked strands that fell into his tear-filled eyes. As you pulled away, you saw one of those tears fall and you quickly swiped it with your thumb. And with that, it was as if the dam had been broken, and both eyes began spilling rushed streams down his cheeks. 

You moved to quickly untie his wrists from the headboard and as soon as he was set free, his arms wrapped around your middle and his head fell to your chest. “So good for me,” you repeated, more of a coo this time, and you pressed another kiss to the top of his head as your hands lovingly traced up and down his back. 

You sat like that for a while, holding him as he softened inside of you, his tears and quiet sobs the backdrop of your denouement. He almost surprised you when he lifted his head to properly look at you. 

“Mi dispiace, tesoro. I don’t know…I’m not sure where this is coming from,” he admitted, thumbs rubbing against the curve of your spine. 

You smiled softly, reassuringly, and brought one of his wrists to your mouth. A red mark had formed from the friction of the cravat, and you kissed at it soothingly. “You have needs too, Papa,” you said as you continued to kiss at the sensitive skin. He hummed in response and you smiled again, this time a little wider. 

“Thank you for letting me love you.”

And in his eyes, you saw a dawning realization, a comfort of sorts that came to flood his mind. He had known this had been an exercise of shared power, of course, of allowing you to express your needs in a way that the both of you enjoyed, even though you hadn’t previously explored the swap in control. However, as you took the reins, you’d gifted him with something he hadn’t anticipated — you’d guided him to liberation, encouraging him to release his expectations (the ones he’d built up of himself and the ministry) and just be. 

Your permission for simple existence was the best thing he hadn’t known to ask for.  

image/gif credit: imgur

[osiiiris]

No peace in Hell - Chapter 2

Papa Emeritus III x Angel OC [IYRIN’s sequel]

Pairings: Terzo x Angel OC, Cardinal Copia x Angel OC, Alpha Ghoul x Angel OC, the slightest mention of Terzopolitus.

Summary: Whatever God does, the Devil does better.

Warnings: graphic depiction of violence, dark fic, magic, explicit sexual content, smut, nsfw, explicit language, mental health issues, religious conflict, mind manipulation, violence, couple fight, unprotected sex, abuse, fear play, power unbalance, major character death.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Chapter 2

-Trophy

Just in time for the evening’s event, Bishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis II had arrived that very morning. Iyrin had observed the meeting in the entrance hall of the Abbey, where Terzo had personally greeted the Bishop instead of waiting for him in his office as protocol required.

The Bishop was a mildly attractive man, around the same age as Terzo, with light, mostly gray hair that must have once been a pale blonde, blue eyes, and, apparently, a good temperament…

[Read more on AO3 or Wattpad.]

[nocturnal-bishop]

Just some doodles of my Ghost OC Bishop while I develop him more 🖤

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 16th

Public Sex, Papa Emeritus II x Reader

Masterlist

Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Public sex; cheating; exhibitionism; power play; abuse of power; forced cucking (so, dubcon); fingering; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; public masturbation; degradation; finger sucking; cum eating?; breeding kink; creampie;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

I went a bit feral with this... please enjoy the depravity.

Papa Emeritus II was, for lack of a better term, a menace to the Ministry. He had always been a bit of a ladies’ man, but upon taking over Papacy from his older brother, he became a pure, unadulterated nightmare. For the most part, he never abused his power. He never threw his title around and stomped his feet every time he couldn’t get something his way. He would always sit back, contemplate, and form a solution even if it wasn’t the ideal outcome. However, he hated most of the Clergy members. Most of the Cardinals that surrounded him, the Bishops, just most of the people who decided that they would try and brown nose their way to Secondo’s position. Or at least into becoming his right-hand man.

The thing about Secondo was, he never had right-hand men. Knew all he needed to know about men given that he was one and, quite frankly, he couldn’t stand them. No, no, Secondo had right-hand women and enbies. Career-driven, powerful women, and enbies that had tempers and formidable demeanours rivalling that of Mt. Vesuvius. To be perfectly honest, his previous right-hand would have made Vesuvius shake to the size of the Viminal Hill in Roma.

Secondo would never sleep with his right-hand and personal team, of course not! And how dare you suggest such a thing? That would be a breach of his power, a total imbalance of the Force. No, no. He would never sleep with them. He would, of course, provide pleasure should they ask for it, though. The man was an open book many had read. A beautiful person teary-eyed and complaining that their spouse wasn’t pleasing them right? Ugh, a plague on their house. As leader of the Satanic Church, where the vulva’s orgasm was the utmost of their priorities by order of the Dark Lord and father, Lucifer, it was his right - no! His duty as Papa to make sure that this person felt loved and appreciated, and so overstimulated they could hardly walk. But that was neither here nor there. It was only his duty after all.

So, needless to say, when sweet, young, distraught you walked into his office in tears, he was beside himself. His favourite Sibling is struggling? No, this can’t happen - not on his watch. You didn’t want to tell him at first for fear of being unprofessional, but Papa was insistent you unburdened yourself. When you explained that you’d caught your partner in bed with another Sibling and he didn’t feel in any way remorseful for what he’d done, Secondo almost hit the roof. He was only able to keep himself calm for your sake. However, once he was no longer seeing red, devising a plan was as simple and easy as taking candy from a baby. Your partner was a piece of shit to you, but he was also just a general piece of shit. He was one of those brown-nosers who was after a higher position in the Ministry. He practically sold you into Secondo’s employment so you could put in a good word with Papa. But you were the kindest, sweetest, most angelic in the Ministry, and Secondo couldn’t quite bring himself to hate or be wary of you. And so now he was hatching his own plan for revenge on your behalf.

There were plenty of things he could have done, but only one thing he wanted to do. One thing that would really send a message. You. And with your consent he did just that. Papa was, unsurprisingly, the best you’d ever had. And every time you two slept together you were reminded of just how awful your partner was and how much you’d been screwed over. And so by welcoming Papa into your bed you were actively disrespecting your partner in a private way. And while it was good enough the first three times, your partner was none the wiser and was certainly not being shamed for it. Revenge is best served cold, but yours had only just entered the fridge.

You didn’t have a plan so much as a spontaneous idea stemming from the perfect situation. The Clergy had a twice-yearly dinner that all the higher members and their partners would attend. Meaning you would be there with him. And you were just as stunning as usual. You chose an emerald, sequin ensemble that made you look divine and flattered your body in such a way all eyes were on you. And this clearly frustrated your partner as when Secondo found you in one of the alcoves you were sobbing again. “He was fucking her in one of the rooms. Sister Imperator informed me. Now she knows, everyone else will.”

Secondo wrapped you into a warm hug and allowed you to cry into his robes. He was a bitter, miserable old man to most, but to those closest to him he was insanely kind and thoughtful. Ruthless and intimidating, but wonderful. “I want to embarrass him.” Secondo told you. “I want to humiliate him the most. Sathanas, if I could, I’d spread you on the dinner table and have my way with you in front of him, and watch him try to keep his cool head in front of the entire Clergy.”

You didn’t know what came over you. You didn’t know why you said what you said, but you looked him in the eye, wiped a tear away and said, “Do it.”

Secondo was clearly taken aback because he asked for clarification.

“I want him to hurt. I want him to suffer. I want you to let everyone know how much of a piece of shit he is. Ostracise him.”

Secondo gulped and looked at you with wide eyes and his hands tightened their grip on your waist. He let out an involuntary groan at the thought and before either of you could change your minds, he took you by the hand and led you back to the dining hall. He waited a second longer just so that you could make sure you looked presentable and like you hadn’t been affected by your partner’s infidelity and you entered the room, disappointed to see he still wasn’t back yet. Secondo had a plan, though, kissed your hand and told you to sit in your seat until your partner came back. Secondo would go back to his.

The power he exuded just walking back to his high backed seat had your thighs rubbing together to relieve the pressure that was building in your core. He sat down, tilted slightly to the right and resting his whole body on the arm rest, with his knees spread apart and anger in his eyes. He was intimidating, almost emanating a black smoke that subtly alerted people to his foul mood and warned them to steer clear. Your eyes were so fixed onto his, you didn’t notice your partner had walked back through the door with his own lover following moments after, until you watched Secondo’s eyes trained onto him and glowering as he came over and placed a chaste kiss to your temple. As subtly as he wanted, Secondo patted his thigh while making eye contact with you, inviting you to come over to your Papa. And you did just that, making excuses to your partner and walking over to Secondo, butterflies fluttering in your stomach in fear but mostly excitement.

Secondo took hold of your hand once more and placed a kiss to the back of it, chivalrously greeting you and welcoming you back into his presence. He decided against making a speech, believing that in this instance actions speak louder than words, and so he delicately grabbed you by the waist and guided you to sit atop his lap, the backs of your knees hooked over the armrest he was leaning on before. Now his hand rested on your thigh, and his thumb was stroking the sequined material there while his eyes gazed up at you. He sat up, stretching his back all the way up so his lips could reach your neck and attached them to your most sensitive spot. He chuckled when your eyes fluttered closed and a breathy moan escaped you. “Straddle me.” He ordered, loud enough for only you to hear.

You obeyed, hiking your outfit to it’s most comfortable position and allowing you to sit comfortably on his lap. People had begun to take notice now, but conversations were still being had. He cupped your face and pulled you down for a kiss, wasting absolutely no time in making it as filthy as he possibly could. Never had Secondo been so brazen as take a Clergy member’s wife into his lap and treat her like a common whore in front of the whole Clergy. The thought alone excited him more than he could possibly say.

His gloved hands came down your hips and grasped onto your ass cheeks, pulling your body closer to him and giving them a rough squeeze. Into his mouth, you moaned, loud enough now for more to start taking notice and conversations to begin dwindling. You barely heard the hushed whispers of people discussing how scandalous it was. But the whispers didn’t stop Secondo from taking one of his hands to his lips and spitting on it. Nor was he deterred from pulling your clothes to give him better access to your core. The only face and voice he was focussed on was yours as his middle finger made contact with your now sensitive clit. The only reaction he gave was when he watched your mouth hang open with the pleasure from the leather. Your face alone was almost enough to make him cum in his robes, but he did everything he could to make sure that the only place he’d cum tonight was inside you.

When you had gotten used to the feeling of his finger on your clit, he once again spat on his finger and used that one to breach your walls, tapping up just as you liked and making you let out a much louder moan. Whoever’s attention you didn’t get, you had now. Your hips began to move on their own in a grinding motion so you could wriggle his fingers deeper into your desperate hole. When he added a second finger, your loud moan was coupled by your back arching and your head falling backwards, allowing you to open your eyes briefly to see the entire Clergy staring back at you. Most had amused faces or disappointed looks, but your eyes flickered over to your partner to witness the look of sheer fury on his beet-red face. There was his spouse, in the lap of Papa Emeritus II, getting her pussy pleasured by him in front of the whole Ministry. You felt your nipples growing hard beneath your clothes at the thought of his embarrassment, and just how much he wanted to stop this but had no authority or power. No one did. Secondo was head of the Satanic church now - he could do what he liked. Which is how you’d both been allowed to go on for as long as you had.

“Papa!” You screamed as he hit a particularly great spot inside of you.

Secondo chuckled. “There?”

“There!”

“Cum for everyone here, principessa. Show them how pretty you look when you cum on Papa’s fingers.”

And oh boy, did you. Secondo’s fingers were playing you like an instrument he’d been playing for years. It was like he knew every single one of your quirks and desires and used them against you while he touched you. The combined eyes of the upper-Clergy and your irate partner’s expression caused you to tip quickly over the edge and cry out as you did so, toes curling and eyes shutting.

Once you’d come down, Secondo guided you to the table where he gently sat you upon it, situating himself in between your open, yet tired, legs. Secondo’s voice sounded again, “Ripple!” He called.

One of his Ghouls came forth instantly and waited for his master’s instructions. “Yes, Papa?”

Secondo’s eyes moved towards your partner and he grinned slightly. “Make sure all the paperwork for Mx. ______’s divorce is prepared. I want her free from that cheating scumbag as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Papa. Right away.”

Ripple turned and made his exit, and when you watched him go, your eyes locked onto a particular Cardinal whose sinful smirk had caught your attention: Cardinal Terzo Emeritus. He stood, clearly not comfortable seeing what was about to come next, but he shot you a casual salute before picking up his glass of wine and pulling his own squeeze for the night, and his personal Ghoul with him as he walked away. Of course Terzo appreciated this display, it was probably something he’d do himself if he was given the opportunity. Rumours of his own infamous orgies spread like wildfire after every single one - this would normally be right up his alley.

Secondo, still looking at your partner and once your cunt was exposed to Secondo and only him, proceeded to press himself inside you. This animalistic display of dominance was almost too much for you - you were about to go feral over Secondo and the way he was silently daring your partner to do something as you were willingly defiled in front of everyone. The gasps other people made as Secondo was sinking himself into you set your body on fire, and you fell backwards onto the table allowing Papa to see you entirely.

“Are you ready, principessa?” Secondo asked looking down at you.

“Yes! Please fuck me, Papa!”

He gripped onto your soft waist for leverage as he started his movements, snapping in and out of you over and over again and making you scream with each hit. You were, perhaps, going a little overboard with some of the noises you made, but the majority of them were completely involuntary. Secondo’s cock was the best you’d had, and his attention to your body made him an expert in you. He knew you liked it rougher, filthier than most of his previous partners. And now he could add exhibitionism to the list. The way you clenched around him every time you locked eyes with someone new made his own grunts and groans appear.

“Does that feel good, principessa?” Secondo asked, his eyes locked onto your body as it jiggled with the force of his thrusts. “Do you like the Clergy watching your Papa fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“Do you like watching the Clergy touch themselves while your Papa fucks you?”

“Oh fuck!”

Secondo wasn’t lying, there were numerous Cardinals and Archbishops present, rubbing their very obviously hard cocks over their robes as they watched Secondo bury himself deep inside you over and over again. And fuck did it turn you on to see that. Quite a few people had left for reasons you couldn’t ascertain, meaning the people that were left either wanted to remember this whole scene for later, or enjoy it while it was still live. You had noticed that the remainder of Papa’s Ghouls were ushering people out as well, no doubt to give you as much privacy as possible under the strange circumstances.

Your cunt tightened, however, when you locked eyes with your partner once more, laughing deliriously at the look on his face. He couldn’t look away from you whoring yourself out to Papa - like this! While you still looked at him, you let out a loud, obnoxious moan, and set your hands to work. One pinched your nipple and played with it while it was still under the fabric of your outfit, the other moved down to your clitoris and rubbed it matching Secondo’s pace. This earned you an appreciative grunt from him.

While your eyes were still locked onto your partner’s, Secondo spoke again. “Tell me, whose cock is better? Mine or his?”

“Satan! Your c-cock is so much better, Papa!”

“Why, principessa?”

“You’re b-bigger! And you reach deep inside of me. Oh fuck! Papa, you feel so good! You always touch me in places he can’t reach!”

“Poor baby. Did he always leave you unsatisfied?”

“Yes!”

“Could he make you cum?”

“No! E-every time he fucked me I was disappointed!”

“How many times have I had you, principessa?” When you couldn’t answer, Secondo grew impatient. He landed a particularly hard thrust against your cervix that had you screaming. “How many times?”

“Four!”

“How many times have you cum around my cock?”

“Fuck, Papa! I don’t remember.”

“Try harder for me. How many?”

“Maybe - fuck, Papa! T-ten times? Papa, you’re gonna split me in half!”

“Where did we fuck the first time, principessa?”

“On his desk! I’m so close, Papa, please!”

“You’re mine now, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Papa!”

“Say it.”

“I’m yours, Papa! I belong to only you now. I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“Cum for me. Show him what he’s been missing out on all this time. Remind him how much of a waste of space he is.”

With one final flick of your wrist, you came undone on Secondo’s cock, your body tensing and locking as you rose off the table. Your breath escaped you and your eyes widened. You couldn’t breathe or see. All you could do was feel. Feel your fingers still working at your clit while Papa continued to ride you in front of the Clergy members that were left behind. He was still going as you came down from your second orgasm. His gloved fingers wrapped around your hands and brought yours to his lips. His tongue flicked out as he took each individual finger into his mouth, sucking off your cum from them and moaning as he did.

“Papa!” You called up to him weakly. “I want you to cum deep in my cunt!”

He took your fingers out of his mouth and grunted in agreement. “You want Papa’s cum?”

“Yes! I want you to fill me up. I want you to fuck me full of your cum and show everyone who I belong to. Remind everyone I’m yours.”

“Knock you up,” he grunted, “do what your failure of a spouse couldn’t.”

“Please, Papa! Cum inside me!”

“Be a good girl for Papa and take it all, won’t you?”

“Yes, Papa!”

“Take it, principessa. Take every fucking drop.”

And with that, it was Papa’s turn to topple over the edge. He stilled inside you and let out a gutteral groan, releasing his seed and filling you just as you asked him to. You’d won. Your partner was completely humiliated, but the cruel beast inside you wanted to take it one extra step. Once Secondo had pulled himself out of you, you sat up and swivelled round on the table, resting your back against him. Papa took this opportunity to kiss your neck and move up to bite your ear, hanging over you protectively and dominant just to further stake his claim to you. You spread your legs once more, and showed your partner exactly what had just transpired. You shot him a smug look as you spread your cunt apart and Secondo’s cum began to drip out of you and onto the table. All of the orgasms Secondo had given you were exquisite, but watching your partner walk out of the dining hall a smaller person than before came as a close second.

Just before he left, Secondo shot him a middle finger that only you were really paying attention to, and it made you giggle. It made Secondo giggle, too. This whole ordeal had been about revenge but it also brought you closer to Secondo - and right now, even though you were still in front of a few people, the whole moment felt very intimate and private. That was when you realised you were falling for him.

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