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noplaceforsanity · 2 days ago

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just a teeny bit, darling

Summary: Copia parties too hard for Terzo's birthday. You do your best making sure he gets home tucked in bed.

Tags: SFW but suggestive, 18+ only pls, 4k words, gen!reader, drinking, parties, mention of throwing up (no one does don’t worry), Copia is very drunk in this, he’s a sentimental drunk too, established relationship, fluff, lovingly taking care of his dumbass.

Read on AO3 or below!

Copia isn’t the type to get plastered. Atleast, not anymore. In his days as a young Cardinal of the church, an age where he had more freedom to do as he pleased, he’d indulge himself more in the art of getting hammered.

“They had to peel me off the Abbey floor this one time.” He had mentioned, whilst telling you stories of his youth. He made himself out to be quite the party animal; participating in drinking games, going toe-to-toe with Ghouls on who can down the most liquor. Part of you wished you knew him back then, just to see his antics unfold. He was wild in his Cardinal days, today not so much.

After ascension to Papa and his increased age, Copia’s assured you that he’s lost the stamina for it, one of the supporting reasons being that touring had done a great deal on him. And he’s kept this statement to truth; leaving parties before midnight and limiting himself to two or three drinks for an evening.

You have only ever seen him casually buzzed. Nowadays, even if he had the stamina, Copia holds too much value for himself as Papa to let himself go off the deep end.

Who would expect a simple birthday party to rekindle the flames of that young Cardinal— and his questionable decision-making.

Tonight is Terzo’s birthday. A milestone number for the former Papa and, of course, Terzo wanted to celebrate in the most avant-garde way: throw a party, and invite the entire church. They cleared out the vast chapel to make room and the Ghouls helped conjure the decorations. Omega even conjured a disco ball.

The chapel looked like a makeshift nightclub, fitted with balloons and streamers, all of which were in Terzo’s favourite colours. Most, if not all of the Abbey came, and the atmosphere turned out to be just what Terzo wanted.

You took up a nice seat at the barside, nursing your favourite beverage as the night rolled on. A single Ghoul had been running the drinks, scurrying between serving and pouring.

You had spotted something fizzle out from under his dark sleeve early on in the night, and suspected he’s been using magic to get out the drinks on time. You hoped that Secondo wouldn’t notice. The second Papa always preached that magic was scared, only to be used in rituals. But the Ghoul did have a lot of guests to tend to, so you who were you to question it.

Another sip and you check the time, bobbing your head to the rock music playing above. Your watch reads past midnight, and Copia still hasn’t found you yet to leave. But you’re not really in a rush to find him.

Copia is somewhere in the room socializing with the other Papas, something he hardly had the time for. Once the two of you arrived at the chapel, you urged him to go off on his own to catch up with his brothers. He deserves all the quality time with them he can get; you know he doesn’t get that luxury often. Copia was reluctant to break off at first, not wanting to leave you stranded on your own for the evening. After reassuring him a few times that you’d be alright, off he went.

That left you on your own for the evening. You met up with old friends and some of the Ghouls. The whole party had been lovely and great time of catching up with your favourite people. Good music and good drinks too.

After a long night of chatting though, the bar offered some peace and a moment to breathe. And you expect Copia will be coming to get you soon. The bar is an easy place for him to find you.

You know this drink is probably your last, so you sip leisurely, savouring the cool liquid as it runs down your throat. This is your second drink of the evening. Being Copia’s partner for some time allowed for his own drinking habits to wash onto you. You don’t let yourself get too tipsy now when you’re out with him. And you do want to have your head clear when walking home, in order to make sense of all the gossip he’ll surely have in store. For now you wait, tapping your feet and rubbing your hands, watching the time pass.

He should’ve came way earlier, but you don’t get too anxious. He must be caught up in the conversation with his brothers, as expected if it’s free of work related duties; they could talk for hours if that’s the case, and you weren’t going to interrupt them. Instead, you affirm to yourself he’ll come eventually, telling yourself he can’t go without his beauty sleep, nor can he go too long without you.

You reach the bottom of your glass by the time Copia comes up behind you. And his entrance is nothing like you’ve expected.

The first thing that jostles your attention is the familiar sound of expensive boot heels clacking against the marble floor. Not unusual, if you can ignore the fact that the footsteps are uneven and staggered.

Before you even turn around to greet who you know is Copia, the barstool beside you is yanked out of its place from under the bar. The barstool’s feet scrape unnecessarily loudly against the floor, making space for the man who practially slaps his ass onto its seat.

“Dolcezza! Oh, how I’ve been looking for you!” With one arm slumped over the bar surface, Copia sits up straight— or atleast attempts to —on the barstool. He has a half finished margarita in the other hand. There’s a brightly coloured straw in it that twirls around in the glass as he wobbles. He looks unrecognizable compared to the start of the night.

You hardly process what is happening and already Copia is fumbling for your hand. The leather of his glove is oddly warm as he captures your hand. In a less elegant fashion of how he usually does it, he brings your hand up to his lips. He plants a wet kiss on the tops of your knuckles, making an audible “mwah!” and leaving behind a small patch of saliva on your skin.

“Tonight ’as been wonderful! And you look s’ wonderful. Oh, where do I start…” Copia is so overwhelmed he gets all tongue-tied, deciding just to shut up instead. He tucks your hand back into your lap with a goofy, starstuck smile, edges of his lips curling into badly flushed cheeks.

You blink at him, at a loss for words. The Papa of your church, your sweetheart, someone who hasn’t been drunk in a very long time, is absolutely cheesed.

Copia can hardly hold himself upright when he downs the rest of his margarita, making a dramatic “mmh!” as he sets the glass down. His face scrunches until the burn subsides, then he exhales roughly. His hand smooths back his hair which is quickly becoming messy.

Messy is a good word to describe the rest of him. The clergy collar under his gold jacket is well on its way to undone, his skull paint is smudged and sweaty, and his hair— which you remember fondly helping him slick back in the mirror prior to the party —is sticking out at the sides like wings. He looks completely unkept but also very, stupidly handsome. Emphasis on stupid.

You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, “Sweetheart, you are very drunk right now.”

“What?! No-no-no-no-no. I’m jus’ a lil tipsy. Hehe.” Copia claims, voice betraying him with how it slurs on the syllables. He frantically shakes his head, which he regrets immediately; his whole body going rock solid. Suddenly horrified, you spot the universal sign in his face that he’s about to throw up. It only lasts for a second before he breaks and starts giggling.

Watching him carefully, he looks somewhat stable as he starts wavering in his seat again, smiling to himself like a toddler.

You have to say Copia surprises you sometimes, but you didn’t expect that tonight you’d be the one taking the two of you home. And it was time to go. He nearly threw up all over the bar and you are not risking anything worse. You want nothing else for your love except for him to be in his warm bed.

Looking behind Copia to the chapel doors, you begin to estimate just long it’s going to take to get there, then get home. It’s past midnight now, sober Copia would agree that you two should boot it.

Meanwhile, drunk Copia’s distracted by the material in the outfit you’ve worn tonight, ducking forward to truly examine the handiwork that went into making it, mumbling noises of appreciation that you can’t fully hear over the music.

“Copia,” Voice slow, you rest a hand on his knee. He pops back up, and his head ends up tilted still with that ridculous smile. How it grows so quickly at the sight of you. His beloved, all dolled up and fancy for the evening, eyes radiating a sort of light that makes him breathless. Oh— how did he land you? He is such a lucky man. He cooes some sort of lovestruck babble, reminiscing in his mind on how fortunate life is that such a sweet person has become apart of it.

You give his knee a tight squeeze and he blinks out of his trance. Light glimmers off the side of his empty glass, and you wonder. Although he probably doesn’t know, you ask him, finger pointing at his emptied drink, “How many have you had?”

He glances between you and the glass, confused at first. Then his brows jump up. “Ooh! Uh, just a teeny bit, darling.” He assures, emphasizing his point by pinching his index and thumb together.

He shrugs, “Maybe four. No, uh. Five. I don’t know, I los’ count after six.” He studies the rim of the glass, clicking his tongue against his teeth nonchalantly. “Bah, s’however many Terzo had. It’his birthday, after all. Not a big deal. Non ti preoccupare.” The Italian sounds funny flowing off his tongue but doesn’t correct himself.

When he goes to flick his wrist to call the bartender over, you quickly get to your feet. Copia gasps as you rapidly close the distance between you, as if you just ditched your shirt in front of him or flashed him.

You squeeze yourself between the bar’s edge and his body, forcing his full attention on you. When you tenderly tuck your arms around his cinched waist, Copia is completely at a loss of what to do. He just gawks with parted lips, watching what you do next with wide, curious eyes.

“You had lots of fun tonight, love. Time to go home, huh?” You call sweetly down at him, fingers playing with the texturing along his gold suit jacket. “Get some sleep?”

Copia is absolutely enthralled at the sight of you above him, holding him. He’s far too lost in the sauce when you gently comb back his messy hair and rest a palm against his sweaty cheek, thumb brushing against his smeared upper lip. He doesn’t even blink.

“Are you going to kiss me?” He questions innocently, handsome, foggy eyes gleaming up at you in wonder. “You touch me like this before you kiss me.” His voice goes awfully low there and the blush that invades your cheeks is fast and heavy. There’s no hidden meaning behind his words, he’s simply curious and genuinely wants to know.

You smile down at him, full and sincere, letting your hand drift down past his neck, onto his shoulder. You don’t answer the question, but you do take his hand. Your thumb caresses over the silky material of the leather, over his knuckles that slightly tremble in your hands. “You’ll get a kiss if you come along.”

A promise that has Copia ready to go. With short little noises of anticipation and excited taps of his feets, he grins, “Okie dokie! Where we going?”

Hopping off the barstool, Copia immediately overestimates his ability to stand. You’re quick to catch him, sneaking an arm under his shoulders, saving him from going head-first into the chapel floor.

After slurred apologies in Italian for almost taking you down with them, you guide him towards the exit, in slow and careful steps. One arm around his shoulders, one hand pressed against his front.

He sighs, lowering his head, “I am very, very drunk, amore. I’m sorry.”

You steal a kiss behind his ear, in his hair, hidden from any eyes, “I know, sweetheart. Let’s go home.”

Copia hums softly in agreement.

Through the party attendees, you see Papa Secondo still with his brothers. A short glance of acknowledgement is all you need for a goodbye. He obviously sees the state of Copia and only dips his head in farewell.

Perhaps it’s the chapel’s lighting, but you swear you make out the tiniest amused smirk under Secondo’s dark paints. Moments later, Secondo snaps into older brother mode as Terzo wobbles on his feet next to him, reaching for Primo for balance. Terzo looks just as bad as Copia. You guess the two had a bet on who could do the most shots. You’ll find out the details tomorrow morning— that is if Copia even remembers what happened.

Outside the chapel, the air is calm and less dense; it doesn’t stink of booze and feels cool on your skin. The crowd thins completely by the time you reach the Papas’ wing. Copia, thankfully, didn’t wobble too hard on the walk, getting better with his balance the more time passed.

He talked in your ear nonstop, rambling about how good it was to catch up with his brothers. He rambled about Secondo’s dry sense of humour, Primo’s seemingly endless knowledge of the Abbey gardens, and how scarily good Terzo’s choice of alcohol was. You only nodded along, half listening. You were more occupied with making sure your next step didn’t lead to a pile on the floor of you and Copia.

By some blessing of Satan, you get to Copia’s quarters still on your feet. At this point in time, Copia would be the one opening the door, saying something cheesy as he offers you to enter first. But in this case, he’s more busy complimenting the choice of fragence you’ve chosen for the evening, babbling with his nose stuffed in your neck. You’re the one now who has to fish out the key from his pockets.

You stuff a hand down his back pocket and in your search Copia yelps in high-pitched terror. A startled, loud noise like you’ve just punctured him.

That writhes him out of your neck and he exclaims, “You trying to cup a feel on your Papa?” He sounds absolutely flabbergasted at such a scandalous action. How dare you grab his ass, out in the open, in the hallway for anyone to see— although the hallway is completely empty.

He tries to desparately wriggle his butt away but do manage to hook a finger around the hefty key ring sitting in his pocket. You quickly more to unlock the door. “It’s cop a feel, Copia, darling.”

He sighs again, grumbling to himself, “Shit. I say stupid things, amore. Don’t listen to your Papa.”

The door falls open, revealing the expanse of Copia’s dimly lit suite. It’s exactly how you left it: video game controllers scattered over the small sofa, the box TV accidentally left on, with Copia’s rats curled into cozy balls along the throw pillows. Copia cooes in Italian greetings at one of his sleeping babies before you even close the door behind you. Just another short walk left until you reached the bedroom where you can finally get him into bed. He needs a bit of redirection as you go along, having to turn his attention to his bedroom door repeatedly, rather than his sweet baby who’s cutely snuggled on the sofa.

When you finally reach the bedroom, Copia’s weight gets heavier over your shoulder. The sight of his bed serving as a reminder for how exhausted he is. With your help, he lands safely on his side of the bed. He ends up sprawled awkwardly, on his back, long legs dangling off the bed. Although he looks uncomfortable right now, he’s safe in bed, and a short burst of relief blooms in your chest. The next part is going to be easier.

You leave his side briefly to rummage through his closet for his black tee and red sweatpants. You find it amongst old suits from his Cardinal era. You longed that those suits would someday make a comeback. Copia was well aware of your love for them. When you return to Copia’s bedside with his clothes over your shoulder, his softened breathing makes you realize he’s nodding off. Little hitches of breath hinting he’s almost there.

You lean down, brushing your nose against the soft locks on his head. Your one hand runs through the other side. A deep hum resounds in his throat at the feeling, slowly stirring.

“Copia, sweetheart. I gotta get you in your pajamas.”

He inhales softly, sleepy disagreement in his tone. He shakes his head left and right an infinitesimal amount. “Oh no-no, I can sleep like this, amore. It is too comfy.”

Despite his words, you start to tug at the sleeves of his gold jacket and he lets you, doing his best to assist by lifting his arms for you. You gingerly slip the jacket off his shoulders, careful not to tear one of the most expensive pieces in his wardrobe. Though you are surprised he hasn’t tore a hole in it himself at this point in the night.

You lay the suit jacket neatly over his dresser, moving on to his clergy shirt. Your hands are well adjusted to opening these types of button ups. You have lots of practice during heated makeout sessions. It’s alot easier now to take the thing off of him when he wasn’t moving. You get the buttons open in rapid succession without skipping a beat. A short glance up reveals he’s still awake, watching you blearily with crossed, half-lidded eyes. The white one glows dimly.

“You are good at getting me naked, dolce, heh.” He muses, a crooked smile pulling at his smeared paints from this own stupid joke.

“I have lots of experience, sweetie.” You finish the last button at the bottom and lean down to plant a kiss on his bare tummy, nestling your cheek against the trail of soft hair down there.

He hums softly at your gentle attention. “That must help then, yes.”

You trail more kisses up his body, stealing all sorts of tiny, appreciative noises from him. You plant a final kiss above his heart before you help him shrug off the sleeves. You replace his shirt with his black tee, pulling the soft fabric over his shoulders and body.

His pants come off next, the laces undone quickly due to your muscle memory. Copia tries his best to help you by lifting his bum, then kicking off the legs. The sweatpants are looser and easier to put on, coming up on his legs smoother than the tight stage pants he was wearing. You leave his socks on and take a deep breath, standing back and surveying the worse of the mess you’ve made on the floor.

By then, Copia is almost out, half snoring in the blankets. One last swing of his legs over the bedside and you have him tucked in, warm under the covers, and pillow adjusted so he’s comfy.

When you go to give him a goodnight kiss, you realize he’s still in a full face of Papal paint. Although it’s badly smeared and sweated off, you can still recongize that he’s Papa IV. From previous experience, you know if he sleeps in that much paint, it will only create an unnecessary load of laundry, due to it ending up all over the pillows and blankets.

You find babywipes on the bathroom counter, stealing a handful for your own use. Usually, Copia’s nightly makeup routine is alot more complex, involving cleanser and expensive lotion— that isn’t happening tonight. Babywipes would do the job just fine. Scampering back to the bedroom, you crawl over the comforter on your side of the bed, tucking your knees against Copia as you lean over him, brow pinched in focus.

With one hand, you still his head, the other starts to dab away the paints using a damp babywipe. Copia scrunches his nose and groans under your hands, attempting to turn away before you gently tug him back to face you. Paint ends up all over the fingertips but you pay no mind, reaching for another wipe.

“Just getting your paint off, sweetheart.” You coo, as if to a baby. It does work. Copia only grumbles sleepily in response, never attempting to cease your efforts. “Then you can go to sleep.”

It takes two full wipes to get the stubborn, thick black around his eyes. Another to wash away the black in his lips and cheeks. A few more to get the expanse of white on his forehead. You’re gentle as you clean him, holding his jaw up with one hand, using a zigzag motion to get the white off his chin, the rest along the edge of his neck. Checking your work, making sure you haven’t missed a spot, Copia’s voice startles you and snaps you out of focus.

“You will forgive me, yes?”

Raising your gaze, Copia’s eyes are barely open. His sleepy, gravelly voice just audible for you to hear. Now, his crows feet and wrinkles are visible, showing his age; all the aging lines you fell in love with and have kissed endlessly. You don’t see the fourth Papa that the church knows well but instead, your Copia you’ve had the pleasure of loving. Hair all messy, cheeks puffy, your handsome man.

“For what?”

Copia smirks, closing his eyes. He raises his voice a bit more, still very quiet, “For getting shitfaced. Being an ass.”

You chuckle, wiping down the sharp angle of his nose. “You are an ass, that is true. But I forgive you.”

You dab away the specks of white paint almost missed, before tossing the large bundle of dirty babywipes to the floor. You’d clean it tomorrow, along with all the clothes. It’s too late in the night to do all that.

Looking down at him, admiring the soft shadows and lines of his face, you once again can’t help but comb back his hair, voicing resassurement in softened whispers, “As long as you had fun tonight, it’s okay.”

There’s a stretch of silence over the bedroom then. Peaceful and soothing, especially after a crazy night out. You allow yourself to wrap your limbs around him, slotting your leg with his own, curling an arm over his side and finding a precious love handle to squeeze. You glance between the paintings on the wall, mindlessly listening to the thrum of his heartbeat, until he speaks.

He must’ve been sobering up. “You told me I get a kiss if I came along.”

You click your tongue on the roof of your mouth, smiling, “I did.”

You find Copia’s bare cheeks to hold, grazing fingertips against his stubble. Although your fingers are speckled with dry paint, you don’t care.

You really do touch him a certain way before you kiss him. Hands dragging back through his damp hair as you lovingly press your lips on his. You easily sense his exhaustion through how slow he kisses back. Barely dragging his lips to counter yours. Noses brushing, it’s lazy yet passionate, the best you can muster after a long night. Your hands run slow through his hair, nails skimming his scalp, just how he likes it. You dare flick your tongue through his parting lips and he faintly whimpers in your mouth, but that’s the most intense it gets.

You part reluctantly, lips separating in an audible, softened pop. You smooth his hair back one last time, licking your lips and lying beside him. Naturally, you rest a hand over the curve of his belly.

“You are too good to me.” Copia mumbles tiredly in his throat. “Too good.”

“I love you.” You don’t know whenever or not Copia had heard you, his snores becoming louder as the minutes go by. You finally let your tired limbs relax, comforted and lulled to sleep by the knowledge you were both safe and sound— well, mostly that Copia was.

You know he’s going to feel really bad in the morning, distraught that you had to do the work of getting him into bed, and you’ll never hear the end of it.

It’s going to take many times to convince him that you didn’t mind it at all.

#ghost #the band ghost #copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #ghost fanfiction

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noplaceforsanity · 25 days ago

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Honey and Venom | Papa IV x f!Reader

Or: The four times you fell for your best friend without noticing and the one time you did.

Summary: You’ve been Copia’s best friend for years, unaware of just how deep your feelings go. It's only when he shows you his new stage outfit, that you realise friendship is not all that you feel for him. A difficult conversation leads to confessions… and exploring how easily (or not) the outfit can be removed.

Content: ~9.5k words (i know, i'm sorry), lots of fluff and pining, kinda slow-burn, best friends to lovers, part v contains smut (18+ only, MDNI, mostly sweet, some marking, oral sex f receiving, vaginal sex, nothing too specific) tldr: two oblivious idiots in love

Ao3 link – Masterlist

The first time you fall for your best friend without noticing it… well, you have technically already fallen – and he isn’t your best friend yet. You’re lying on the floor, covered in dust and the fifteen library books you had been carrying in a terrifyingly high stack. Not innocent but feeling very much betrayed, you glance at the perpetrator and find…

A tricycle?

„Oh, no, no, no,“ is all you hear before you see a whoosh of red fabric crouching down beside you. „I just parked it for one second! Are you alright, sorella?“

In hindsight, you’re laughing about it and so does Copia. All of it happened three years ago, when he used to be an awkward Cardinal who was riding his tricycle around the abbey, bumping into all kinds of corners – and you. The resounding noise of the falling books echoed through the halls of the abbey like it continues to echo in your mind whenever you think about that day. Just like you still see his mismatched eyes staring into yours in absolute horror when he leaned over you in the following quiet. You only fell for him an hour later when you saw those eyes shining, lashes meeting in the corners as he gave you his first genuine smile. Not that you’re aware of it just yet.

„What are you thinking about?“

You look up. „Hm?“

Your Papa, in full make-up and his robed, mitred glory, does not look like the shy Cardinal you met at all. No, he stands before you like he commands every room. And he will command the congregation in ten minutes when Mass begins, once you helped him put on his robes. Not that he needs you to do it, but it has become some sort of ritual.

„Your mind seems to be somewhere far away,“ he explains.

You hand him his gloves. „I just thought about how we met. And how far you’ve come.“

He smiles. „One of the best days of my life, no doubt. I would not be here if you had not stumbled over my little vehicle, amore.“

You shake your head. „You would be, Papa. I have no doubts about that. All I do is listen to your thoughts and hype you up. I am practically a cheerleader.“

With practised movements he yanks the gloves onto his hands, sprawling his fingers like a surgeon as he pulls them down. You watch him round the table, now in his full outfit, an unusually stern expression on his face.

He stops before you, one of the gloved fingers tilting your chin up. „I won’t hear any of this, amore. You do so much more. You are so much more.“

“Copia–“

„You understand your Papa?“

You nod. „Yes.“

The solemn expression turns into a laugh and he clasps his hands together. „Then let’s fucking go. I have some ministering to do and I better see you in first row with some pompoms, doing a sexy little dance, eh?“

You roll your eyes at him but follow his cackling out of the door anyway. He may be the most powerful man in the church now, but deep down he’s still your silly best friend.

II.

The next time you fall for your best friend without noticing it starts with a touch. A kiss, to be precise.

The smell of food in your nostrils is unbearable, stomach growling as you wait for what feels like an eternity in front of the heavy wooden door. You’re about to fish your phone out of your hoodie’s pocket when he opens. „Amore?“

Copia calls you amore whenever you’re alone, rarely ever using sister or sorella anymore unless someone is with you. You are not… a couple. But he insists it’s the only name that feels right for you. Not your name, not a random nickname. Always amore.

„Papa,“ you say. „I brought food. How does dinner together sound to you?“

He smiles gratefully. „How did you know I was not in the mood for company?“

„I am company.“

„Yes, but… good company.“ He steps aside to let you in. „The best.“

Copia’s quarters, now that he’s Papa, are much nicer than before. You had to convince him to get some new things because you were tired of eating on the floor whenever you came over for lack of proper seating. The first thing he acquired was a comfortable couch that you helped him choose and that you settle on now, unpacking the Chinese food you brought on a similarly new coffee table.

„How was your day?“ you ask when he sits down next to you. „Stressful?“

One glance at him is answer enough. Even though the Papal paint hides the shadows under his eyes you can see how tired he is. He’s stripped off most of his robes apart from a black frilly shirt and his regular black pants. His hair stands up at odd angles and there are ink stains on his ungloved hands. When you glance over, you notice a huge stack of papers on his desk.

„Actually, I should still be working,“ he says, grabbing one of the paper boxes with food.

„No, actually, you should eat something,“ you correct him. „And let me take care of you for a bit before you collapse. You’re no help for the clergy if you work yourself to death.“

Copia sighs, a timid smile working its way on his face. „What would I do without you, amore?“

In a lapse of self-control you lift your hand and comb one of the stray pieces of his hair down. The touch makes him freeze which in turn makes you freeze and you only realise your hand is still on his face when he leans into your palm, his soft cheek warm against your skin. He looks so weary, so utterly exhausted.

Your throat is suddenly dry and you swallow. „I don’t like seeing you so overworked, Papa. It worries me.“

„I’m fine, amore, I promise,“ he says. „It was a long week.“

„What can I do to help?“

He huffs out a laugh. „You are already doing more than you should.“

His hand finds yours where it rests on his cheek and he brings it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. Your heart clenches, overwhelmed by the tender gesture, by the warmth of his bigger hand covering yours. His soft lips leave a wet imprint on your skin and when he lets go of you in favour of eating, you remain dazed, puzzled. You struggle to grab your own food box, scared of losing the ghost of his kiss on your palm.

Copia, seemingly unaware, munches on his spring rolls. „What do you say? We watch a movie and relax together? I think that would make me feel better and it would ease your worries.“

You nod with a smile, trying to shake the tingling sensation in your fingertips. In that moment, you feel another tickle but this time on your leg. Looking down, you see one of Copia’s furry friends trying to get your attention. „Oh, what are you doing here, Fagiolo?“

„Ah yes, I forgot I had him out of his cage,“ Copia says. „He was keeping me company. Well, chewing on my papers more like.“

You pick up the rat, letting it settle into your lap. „You want our leftovers, huh? Have to wait a bit longer, my love.“

Fagiolo doesn’t mind. He’s Copia’s most patient rat, the most well-behaved, too, and he loves sleeping in pockets so much that you’re sure he’s gonna bridge the time with a nice little nap. Just like expected, he climbs into the pocket of your hoodie and gets comfortable.

„Look how cute he is, Copia! Look at his lil face peeking out!“

„He is,“ Copia agrees, but he’s not looking at the rat. Instead he’s smiling at you with so much warmth in his eyes that you’re melting. „He is, amore. Just like you.“

III.

You sit in the refectory for a late lunch, eating a sandwich and scribbling down notes for an upcoming lecture you’re doing for the new initiates You hoped most of the clergy was finished with lunch by now, but it’s still noisy and distracting. There is a group of Siblings at the table next to yours, in particular, who are chatting and laughing and gossiping with no shame. One of the Sisters in particular seems to be the object of interest. As soon as she sits down with them, everyone’s eyes focus on her.

„So who were you with last night? You never came back to your room,“ one of them says.

The Sister giggles. „I can’t tell you. No. I just can’t.“

„Come on. That Brother who’s been flirting with you for the past month?“

„No, you’ll never guess. Don’t even try!“

It’s clear she wants them to try anyway. The others indulge her, loudly complaining, urging her to disclose her secret until she relents. The table goes quiet, preparing to catch her speaking under her breath. „I was with… with Papa.“

The supposed whisper is so loud that half of the room can hear it and they all glance at you, knowing you and Copia are friends. So you pretend you haven’t heard it. Pretend you’re focused on the notepad right next to your plate, scribbling random letters down to appear busy.

„How was it?“ someone asks.

„It was great,“ she says. „I got to try out that thing I’ve always wanted to try out. I think he was really impressed. I won’t be surprised if it happens again!“

Your pen gives off a pained cracking sound and you realise you’ve used so much force that it nearly snapped. When you glance down at the notepad, there are only four bold letters where you were tracing the lines over and over until the paper is stretched so thin it threatens to rip.

FUCK.

Your day is ruined and you’re not even sure why. You’ve wanted him to find relief for some of his stress for a while now and what better way than a night of passion? The sister was beautiful, she seemed to be a real sweetheart. Maybe he has genuine interest in her, maybe this could mean he’s on his way to finding happiness. You’re happy for him. So happy.

But why do you feel like someone kicked you in the guts, multiple times, with combat boots?

You’re lucky you’re on library duty this evening because you’re not sure you could be a polite member of the clergy right now. Something is wrong with you and it unsettles you. What is it about the situation that bothers you so much?

You nearly jump out of your skin when you suddenly hear steps coming up to the desk you’re nearly falling asleep at. It’s Papa, wearing a dark cassock, Grucifix jangling in front of him as he approaches. But he’s not in the exuberant mood you expect him to be in. Instead of a warm glow he exudes a depressed energy. He seems tired, unsmiling, almost hungover, really. Pale and jittery, he looks like he needs to throw up.

„Co– eh, Papa,“ you greet him.

You still struggle not calling him Copia. He doesn’t mind you not addressing him by his title but you don’t want any privileges. Being friends with him already makes it harder to connect to the other Siblings. They would be even less accepting if you lost all propriety.

„Hello, amore,“ he says, a tired edge to his voice. „I have some books to return to you.“

You give him a kind smile. „You know you don’t have to do that yourself, right?“

„I wanted to. I knew you’d be here and I felt like seeing you.“

„What’s wrong?“

He raises his brows. „What do you mean?“

„You look like you’re getting sick,“ you say. „Are you unwell?“

Copia shakes his head, waving you off like he often does when you show concern. „No, no. I am fine. Not in the best of moods today, maybe.“

„I would expect you to be elated today,“ you say. „Floating, really.“

„Why?“ He hands you the two books he’s been carrying under his arm, still staring at them as you reach out to scan them. „Did I miss something?“

„Well, how was it?“

„How was what, amore?“

„Your… company last night. I heard some Siblings talking earlier.“

He looks up, clearly surprised and overwhelmed by the question. „It was… ugh… okay. It was fine.“

Your eyes meet. „Fine?“

A shrug. „You know.“

„I know?“

He’s flustered, uncomfortable, but you cannot go back now. So you tilt your head to the side in question.

„Sometimes you need to… to scratch an itch,“ he explains. „And it feels good in the moment, but when you’re done… you realise it was not the right way to go about it and then the sting hurts more than before. It actually becomes really fucking painful.“

Brow furrowed, you take in his tense stance, the way his ears are red, how he avoids your gaze. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you suppose. He knows you’re not… getting a lot of intimacy. Of course he wouldn’t brag about having an amazing night, he is quiet about these things, discreet.

„So, she wasn’t…“ You try to find the right words. „Not… what you thought?“

„Oh, she was great. No, she was really… beautiful. And all of that.“

That answer is enough to make you regret ever asking. What did you think he would say? You don’t want to hear any of the juicy details. In fact, you would rather rip your ears off than hear any more about it. So you backtrack, using the opportunity to finish with his books. „Sorry, I mean… it’s none of my business really.“

Copia waves off. „No, you’re my best friend, of course you are interested. You would tell me, too, right?“

„Yes, of course. I would… I would totally tell you if there was someone.“

Copia looks at you expectantly when you don’t continue. „So?“

„So?“

„So, is there someone?“

„No. No one.“

You stare at each other for a moment, then. It’s hard to hide how this is affecting you. The thought of him with literally anyone seems wrong and you have to admit that you can’t imagine being with anyone right now either. This friendship with him is all you really care about. Maybe that’s enough for you. It doesn’t seem to be for him. If he starts seeing someone for real, what will become of it? Will he forget about you?

„Mi dispiace,“ he says. „I know I am overly worried again and you don’t like that, but, amore… you seem…“

„I’m completely normal,“ you interrupt before he can pinpoint what’s wrong with you. „I don’t know what you mean.“

„So there is nothing weighing on your heart?“

You shake your head, forcing out a smile. „No, I’m okay. I’m great, actually.“

„Good, then give me a hug,“ he says, opening his arms widely in a theatrical gesture. It’s one of his strategies, a last resort, asking for hugs whenever he feels like something is off with you because it’s the only way you’ll soften up to him. The only way you don’t shut down.

This is something that started way back when he was still Cardinal. You’d been relatively new as well and struggled with loneliness. Opening up to anyone, making friends, it’s always been hard. After your fateful encounter, meeting the bumper of his tricycle by accident, he almost begged you to make it up to you by carrying the books he made you drop. That day you felt awfully lonely and so you let him trail after you, glad to have some sort of company. You talked to him all afternoon, realising how much you had missed easy conversation, and at some point you just randomly started crying because it felt so nice to have someone listen in earnest. He’d tried to coax the reason out of you, but you just assured him you were okay. Of course he didn’t buy it, but he also didn’t pressure you for details. Instead he asked if a simple hug would help.

He’s been hugging you when you’re trying to shut him out ever since.

And it makes your walls crumble every single time.

You step out from behind the desk and let him embrace you. Initially, you struggle not to imagine him holding the other Sister in his arms like that. But then his hand moves into your hair and he starts scratching your scalp just how he knows you enjoy and, in an instant, all of that is forgotten. You exhale slowly, then breathe him in. He smells heavily of incense and smoke. You get lightheaded from the heady scent, melting into him. Or maybe it’s just his proximity, the way he’s surrounding you so completely.

„Come over tonight?“ he whispers. „We can watch that movie you wanted to see before you fell asleep on me last time.“

Your stomach drops like you’re on a rollercoaster, heat rushing to your cheeks. You whimper into his neck, the sound muffed by his collar.

„Is that a yes?“

„Yes.“

IV.

The last time you fall for your best friend without noticing it he stands you up for dinner.

It is not like you have a fixed appointment or that you always have dinner together. But most evenings you simply end up at the same table in the refectory, eating together like an old married couple, talking about your respective days. The domesticity of it is your favorite thing. It just feels so natural. And now, sitting by yourself because no one really dares to be your friend, you just feel pathetic.

So after dinner, you end up looking for Copia anyway, convinced that he’s still working somewhere and just forgot to check the clock every once in a while. You forgo getting him food, deciding to just fetch him something later in case he hasn’t eaten yet. The man really needs to take better care of himself, but he’s so bad at accepting it.

You find him on a blood-red chaise longue near one of many fireplaces that keep the library warm and the books dry. At this hour, he has swapped the papal robes for his lighter black cassock that reminds you of his Cardinal days. He reclines comfortably with an old book on his lap and a notepad beside him. Of course he’s still working.

„Amore,“ he says, looking up when you approach.

„Oh, I didn’t think you’d be busy,“ you say. „I can come by later.“

„No. Please join me,“ he says. „I am preparing a sermon for Sunday Mass.“

„Only if I won’t bother you.“

„You could not even if you tried. I relish in your company too much to ever tire of you.“

You’re elated by his words, a warm, comfortable feeling settling in your chest, tickling the insides of your ribcage. There is enough space for you next to him, so you pull your legs up and turn sideways to face him.

„I can use your opinion.“ He turns to you, a sheepish smile on his lips. „You are always so good with words. See, the topic of the sermon is… love. It is about how the most blissful feelings always carry the potential for pain with them. How do you like this quote?“ He takes his notepad, reading from his own messy handwriting. „Amore et melle et felle es fecundissimus.“

„Love is rich with honey…“

„…and venom.“

You smile, letting the words linger in your ears. „Love is both sweet and bitter.“

Copia stares at you with a penetrating gaze, nodding slowly. „Yes, it is.“

„I like it, very fitting,“ you say, taking the book from his lap as it threatens to fall. The language of love. A near ancient copy, the pages covered in dust and yellowed by decades of sunlight.

„It is very true, don’t you think?“ Copia asks, averting his gaze almost urgently like he can’t bear to look at you.

„It is,“ you agree, frowning. „How did you come up with the topic for the sermon?“

He scribbles in his notebook. „Ah, you know. Uhm… I think someone suggested it. Because it is Valentine’s Day soon.“

„That’s only in three weeks.“

„Yes, but… what better topic than love, eh?“ He chuckles and you wonder if you’re imagining the nervous tint to it. „Anyway, what brings you to me?“

„Oh, I just thought we hadn’t seen much of each other today,“ you explain. „And I missed you during dinner.“

„I missed you, too. I am sorry, I was dining out.“

„Oh.“ You ignore the pang in your chest. „So, that’s… that’s how you thought of the topic.“

He squints. „What?“

„Well, if you were on a date…“

„Oh, not a date!“ He chuckles. „No, no. It was with Sister Imperator.“

„Oh.“ Your cheeks heat up and you avert your gaze. „I just thought… a few weeks ago, you and that Sister…“

„Ah, amore, it was a one time thing. There is no romantic interest.“

„Great! I mean, good to… good to know.“ You hastily start flipping through the pages of the book to hide your embarrassment. „So do you need more quotes?“

„Yes, it is good to have a selection. You are okay, yes?“

„I’m alright,“ you say, acting very busy with the book. „I’ll help you.“

You start reading the old latin words in earnest now, scanning them for some more fitting aphorisms. Most of them are overused, some are far too cheesy. It is surprising how humanity has always felt similar about love, about heartache, about desire.

„What about this one?“ you say. „Adeo ne hominem immutare ex amor, ut non cognoscas eundem esse.“

Copia’s eyes are wide when you look at him, the meaning of the words leaving his tongue in a whisper. „Is it possible that a man can be so changed by love, that you could not recognize him to be the same?“

Humming contently, you meander through a crowd of bubbly initiates towards the wing that houses the higher-ranking clergy members, a stack of papers pressed tightly to your chest. The abbey is so much more crowded now than it used to be, but here, everything is eerily quiet. Despite your status as Sister you’ve been here so many times, you could find your way blindfolded.

Opening the heavy wooden door to Copia’s chambers, you’re met with the sight of a ghoul carrying a bunch of clothes bags. As he steps away, the Papa sees you and his eyes light up. „Oh, amore, you’re right on time!“

„What are you doing?“ you ask, placing the papers you need signed on his coffee table.

„Outfit check!“ he exclaims happily. „Trying on my new stage outfit or… at least one of many.“

„Oh.“

The ghoul leaves, closing the door without the sound fully registering in your mind. You stand there, staring at your Papa like he’s the Unholy Master himself.

He’s wearing black, rat-eaten jeans that are so skinny they basically leave nothing to the imagination. The intricate rips and details on his thighs draw your eyes up his legs and you notice the jeans are not fastened with a simple zipper but with lacings. You’re vaguely aware that your eyes linger on his crotch longer than is appropriate but you can’t help it. Even so, there is just so much to take in. His boots are soft Italian leather, matching his gloves. With a black frilly shirt and an elaborately embellished leather jerkin on top, he doesn’t just look like your Papa but an infernal apparition, ready to conquer the world and spread Lucifer’s gospel.

„What do you say, eh? It is good?“ He looks at you with big puppy eyes that stand in stark contrast to the skull-like Papal paint, awaiting your judgement. Only that you haven’t found your voice back yet. „… Amore? Are you okay?“

You snap out of your trance and nod. „Yes. Yes, very good. You look…“ Breathtaking? Like sin itself? „Uhm, the outfit, it looks… looks great. Really. Unholy in the best kind of way. Like you’re a Dark Gothic Lord.“

He preens, eyeing himself in the mirror in front of him with a smirk. „Yes, I think so too.“

What are you supposed to do now? Are you losing your mind?

„I like the big shirt sleeves underneath. And the… the copper ornaments on the jerkin. Very regal. The perfect outfit for a Papa,“ you ramble on. „They will lose their minds over it when you’re on stage, you’re so very handsome.“

„Oh, you’re just flattering me! Saying what I want to hear!“ He waves you off as he laughs, a high, unrestrained chuckle. „Now, what do you really say? You, not the others.“

You have no idea if he’s seeing through your confusion, you don’t even know what’s happening yourself. Something feels off, your whole body is acting up.

„I think you look incredible,“ you say truthfully. „It’s the best outfit yet. I don’t think I’ve ever found you so… magnetic.“

His smirk widens. „Magnetic, eh?“

This shift in expression does something very unusual to you. It almost feels… flirty.

You swallow the lump in your throat and smack his shoulder. „Don’t let it go to your head, Papa.“

„Oh, I absolutely will. You never say things like that, it is special. I will have to write it in my diary tonight.“

Your cheeks suddenly feel suspiciously hot. „What’s my opinion worth anyway? I’m just a Sister.“

„You’re not just a Sister,“ he says, frowning. „You are my confidante, you know me like no one else, and you have good taste, too.“

„I don’t think it matters in the great scheme,“ you argue, looking away in embarrassment. „What matters is that you’re going to win so many people for our cause wearing this.“

Papa scoffs. „It matters to me. You’re my friend.“

You ease up, realising there is no need to be defensive about your admission. So what if he knows that you think he looks extremely attractive in his new attire? It’s not a secret. Everyone will tell him the same.

„Well, I think you made a superb choice,“ you eventually say. „I like it. No, I love it.“

His smiles becomes sweet, a little flustered. „Thank you, thank you. Now give me a hug so I know you mean it.“

His arms open widely in the same theatrical gesture as always. And it’s charming, really, it would be charming now if you didn’t suddenly have the hots for him. Nevertheless, you hug him back because any hesitation would make him sad.

When his arms close around you, you notice a nervous feeling in your belly. A feeling that is suspiciously close to the feeling you last had when you were freshly in love. And not just that but the insides of your thighs come to life as your core starts throbbing for attention, your skin tingling underneath the fabric of your clothes.

Fuck, do you have a crush on him?

No, that is impossible. He’s your best friend. He’s been your best friend for so long now.

Sure, from time to time you do think about him before you sleep and when he touches you, there are undeniable sparks. And yes, maybe you felt a tinge of jealousy after his hookup with the other Sister. And yeah, you do miss him when he’s touring and you can only see him on screens. You did cry when he became Papa, the pride and love you feel for him overwhelming you at the sight of him in his chasuble, mitre and the full make-up. But it has always been a friendly sort of love, hasn’t it?

Now, in his arms, you feel like it hasn’t been.

Your heart beats so fast you’re scared he can feel it knocking on his chest, asking for entrance. Thinking back, it has always beaten faster when you touched him, when he hugged you, when he called you amore in this sticky sweet tone that always lingers in your ears.

„You know, I think your hugs are always my favourites,“ he mumbles, his voice low in your ear. „I could do this for hours.“

You fight a nervous chuckle as he pulls you even closer. He can’t know, can he?

„Me too, you… you feel really good,“ you say instead, trying to ignore what the scent of his cologne does to your insides. Or how his hands moving over your back make you weak in the knees. It’s a lot of body contact, these hugs, the closest you ever really get. Only that all of a sudden it’s not enough anymore.

You realise you were oblivious to your own attraction. The familiarity of your friendship seems to have overshadowed the underlying feelings and now they are trying to break free. Suddenly you feel like you want to rip the damn outfit off. Only he’s not letting go, keeping you closer than ever, and you surely won’t be the first to break away.

„Co– eh, I mean Papa,“ you try. Your nerves are blank.

„You can call me Copia when we’re alone, I told you before,“ he says. „It slips out all the time anyway.“

„I know, but I want to keep minimum respectability.“

He scoffs, one hand moving further up and into your hair. „I know you don’t have any of that, it’s okay. You’re the only one who is completely honest with me.“

Are you? You’re beginning to think you haven’t even been honest with yourself. You remember the burning need you felt a few nights ago, how you were taking care of yourself under the shower and suddenly, without warning, it wasn’t your hand between your legs but his. In the heat of the moment, you didn’t correct your thoughts and imagined him standing behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his hands all over your body. You came in record time, his name clumsily tumbling from your lips that are yet unused to moaning it.

You swallow hard. „What if… what if I’m not?“

Copia lets you go and you regret ever saying anything. His eyes are narrowed and he looks positively terrifying with his make-up. „You hate the outfit?“ he asks. „It’s okay, just say it.“

„No!“ You lift your hands in a gesture of innocence. „No, that’s not what I mean.“

Copia sighs in relief. „Alright, what then? You know you can tell me whatever it is, yes?“

„Not this.“ You shake your head vehemently. „No, it would… make things bad. I’m sorry. Actually, I should probably go.“

You try to walk past him but he grabs your wrist and the touch alone sends sparks through your whole body. You whimper and when you turn back to him he looks genuinely concerned.

His hand moves into yours, so familiar and yet all new. „Amore, why do you not trust me? Have we not been the best of friends forever now?“

You stare at your joined hands, admiring how soft the leather of his gloves feels as his thumb moves over your skin. You concede, the effort of running pointless when you see him later for a meeting anyway. There is no escaping this now. The feelings are there, they won’t go away.

„You are my best friend,“ you say. „Which is exactly why I cannot tell you, Copia.“

„Okay, then I will guess,“ he says, letting go of your hand to raise three fingers. „I know you so well, I get it right in three tries.“

He does know you well, he is not as awkward around you as he is with others, pays closer attention to you. But he cannot possible think of that when not even you yourself knew it until five minutes ago.

Only three tries.

You find yourself nodding.

„Yes?“

„Yes. But if you don’t get it right then I won’t have to say it. Ever.“

He shrugs, feigning confidence. „Chiaro.“

„Then shoot.“

For a long moment he stares at you, eyes narrow, like he could read your mind if he only tried hard enough. It sure enough feels like he does, his white eye especially piercing. „You have a secret. I say it is… oh. No, you are not… you don’t have a secret illness, do you?“

„No,“ you say. „No, I would tell you if I had.“

„Phew.“ He licks his lips, then starts stroking his chin. „What can it be? You are not sick, you don’t hate my outfit… You… you plan a surprise for someone! You can’t tell me because you know I would give it away. I admit it hurts me, but you are right, I am bad at secrets.“

Again, you shake your head. „No, no surprises.“

That seems to confuse him but he’s still eager to guess. Meanwhile your palms are so sweaty you have to wipe them clean on your habit. The room feels stuffy all of a sudden, hot and suffocating.

„Hmmm. What could it be?“ Copia singsongs, completely unaware, tapping a finger against his temple as he paces. For a moment, you assume he can’t come up with anything else, that you’re finally off the hook, but then his whole face lights up and he swivels around. „You are in love!“

Any attempt to remain indifferent flies out the window. The shock sits so deep you cannot control your distorted expression.

„Oh, it is that!“ he says, reading your reaction perfectly, but he’s not as happy as he should be. Instead he huffs out a breath. „So, you… you are in love?“

„I… um… I guess…“

„You said you would tell me if there was someone!“

„I know… ugh, it’s… it’s kind of unexpected… I…“

„But who? Chi potrebbe essere?“ he interrupts before you can embarrass yourself. „There has not been anyone new here lately. It cannot be Terzo, you always complain about him. One of my ghouls? No, no, I have not seen you look at them in that way. Could it be a new Sibling?“

„Copia…“ You take his hand, stopping him. „Don’t make me say it.“

„Why not? I can help y–“ He suddenly stops when he sees your pained expression. „I… Is it… No, it cannot be…“ His gaze is penetrating, his hand squeezing around yours, and you cannot tell if it is pity in his eyes or something else. „Amore…“

„Forget about it,“ you say, embarrassment flooding through you. „Doesn’t matter. I knew it would be a long shot. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Just… just promise not to stop being friends with me.“

„Amore, why would I stop being friends with you?“

You’re very close to crying. „I don’t know, because it’ll be weird for you.“

„Why would it be weird? Sure, the ghouls will tease me relentlessly. But there is no rule against it. If anything, it is encouraged to follow your desires. No one will say anything and if they do, I don’t care. I am Papa, I can do what I want.“

You furrow your brow, a tear rolling down your cheek. „I don’t…“

„Why are you crying?“ he asks, rushing to grab your face and wipe the tears away. „It is good, yes? Now it is out. We don’t have to pretend anymore.“

„Pretend?“

„You know how hard it was to hide that I’ve been in love with you for so long?“ He furrows his brow as your jaw drops. „Actually, maybe I should have started with that.“

You smack him again. „Yes, you should have!“

„I’m sorry, I just… I thought I was so obvious. Everyone knew,“ he says. „I thought you just do not feel like that.“

„What do you mean, everyone knew?“

„I…“ He stops. „Well, I have… I told you I am bad at secrets. The ghouls ask me almost every day if we’re finally together. And I was not subtle about it, I wrote a whole sermon about how much it hurts to be in love with you.“

Your eyes widen in realisation. „Love is… love is sweet and bitter.“

„Yes,“ he deadpans. „Did you think I just made that up?“

„How did I not know?“ You grab the front of his jerkin. „How could I be so blind?“

He seems startled by the sudden proximity, gulping visibly. „Cara…“ he trails off, eyes shooting to your mouth. „I don’t… I don’t know.“

It is clear as day that he wants you. That he wanted you all this time. And this is not the first time he looked at you like that. You feel like an idiot.

But at least you can make up for it now.

„We have an hour before the meeting with Sister Imperator,“ you say, moving your hands up to his neck to play with his collar. „I love the outfit, but I really want to see how fast we can take it off.“

Copia’s mouth opens and closes again, no words coming out. You cradle his cheek and he leans into the touch, whimpering softly.

„I need you to tell me what you want,“ you whisper. „If you don’t want this–“

He snaps out of his trance. „I do. Lucifer, I want you so bad. I just… I wasn’t prepared for… I don’t really…“

„Shhh.“ You tilt his chin up so he’s forced to look into your eyes. „It’s okay, we only do what we’re feeling like. But I really really want to touch you.“

Copia nods eagerly and you slowly open the knot on his neck. When your thumb moves to his windpipe, you feel him swallow. He’s visibly nervous, anticipating your every move. It’s tempting to take your time, but you’re on a tight schedule.

„You can touch me, too, you know?“

He chuckles nervously. „Oh, amore… where do I even start?“

Smiling you take his hand and bring it to your cheek. His other hand naturally finds your waist, pulling you closer. His eyes are still on your mouth and he licks his lips like they’re dry.

„Can I kiss you?“ he finally asks.

Your voice comes out in a sultry whisper. „Yes, please.“

Copia leans in and you close your eyes. His lips hover over yours for a second, your noses touching but nothing else. You already feel your insides fluttering in anticipation but it’s nothing compared to the feeling when his lips finally touch yours. He’s tentative, gentle, but slowly gains confidence. You quickly find a rhythm that makes you melt into him, body resting against his. Copia’s hand moves into your hair, pulling your head back lightly to change the angle. He’s more in charge now, moving his lips over yours like he’s never done anything else in his life. You’re a puddle, letting out a moan that comes from somewhere deep within.

Copia falters at the sound, starts grinning into the kiss before he breaks away. „Ah, shit. I need… need a moment.“ He takes a deep breath that he lets out in a laugh, more of a high-pitched giggle really. „It is so hard to believe this is real and not one of my dreams. Tell me I am not dreaming, amore.“

The corners of your mouth move to mirror his expression. „No, it’s very much real.“

He huffs out another deep breath, like he’s preparing to do a sprint, then grabs your cheeks and starts pressing kisses all over your face. He’s nuzzling your nose, fingers pressing into your cheeks to make you pout, then he continues to kiss every piece of skin he can reach. „It’s real,“ he says in between. „You’re real. You like me back. Shit shit shit.“

You laugh and he continues, making you squirm and writhe in his arms whenever he reaches an especially tender spot, coaxing all kinds of squeals and giggles out of you.

„Oh those sounds. Those fucking sounds.“ He kisses you on your lips once more, lingers before pulling away. „I love you, amore. You make me so happy.“

„I love you, too,“ you say, completely out of breath, your kiss-swollen lips burning. „So much.“

Copia grins again and you think your heart must have doubled in size. When he kisses you again, it’s booming in your chest like it’s attached to a bass speaker. His hands move down to your hips very slowly, tracing every curve before he pulls them flush against his. Feeling his semi-hard cock pressing against you, you decide it’s time for more. The next time he pulls away you trap his plump bottom lip between your teeth, then suck it into your mouth.

He moans into you, using the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He’s very careful, his tongue licking at your bottom lip before he carefully rubs it against yours. You realise he tastes vaguely sweet and you tickle his tongue back, smiling into the kiss.

You only break away when you feel your lungs burning, a thin thread of spit connecting your mouths. Copia is just as breathless but his hands dig into your butt with surprising force, keeping your hips pressed to his so you don’t pull away any further. Maybe he feels a similar throbbing, the need for friction so deep it’s just not enough.

„I really do love the outfit,“ you say, running your hand over the leather jerkin as you slowly recover. „So… mesmerising. Does it make you feel confident?“

„Yes. Yes. But…“ He takes a shuddering breath, whimpers. „Amore, the pants are really tight.“

You smirk, bite down a chuckle. „Hm, poor baby, think we need to give you some more room, huh?“

Again, he whimpers in reply. His cock is straining against the unforgiving denim, trapped behind the lacings. It’s endearing how worked up he is from making out, but you hate to see him suffer. So you let your fingers dance down his torso all the way to the bulge in his pants. When you touch it, he groans like a wounded animal.

„Ahhh.“ The sound turns into a high-pitched whimper. „Amore, please. It hurts.“

You want to help him, really, but the lacings are a menace. You fiddle with them until they finally loosen. Copia lets out a sigh of relief that quickly turns into a growl when you pull his cock out of his pants

„Better?“ you ask, giving him a gentle stroke.

His hands dig into your behind. „Mhm.“

„What do you want to do?“ you ask. „Do you want me to help you?“

„No, I think I want…“ He takes a deep breath. „I need to see you, amore. Please, can we take this off?“

You nod and he fiddles with your habit. It’s optional, apart from certain occasions. Most of the time, you’re not wearing the head piece and only pull the black robe over your head quickly before heading out. So it’s easy enough to just rip it off, though you have to do it because he’s clearly too distracted by your hand on his dick to make you let go.

Once it’s off, he’s distracted by something else though.

„You’re so beautiful, amore,“ he whispers, hands busy exploring the curves of your body. „I thought you would be but… merda.“

„Hey, this was supposed to be about undressing you,“ you say.

„Right,“ he says. „Sorry, got carried away.“

He still is because he’s no help at all when you try to open the jerkin. You eventually manage on your own, carefully lifting it off his shoulders while Copia is still occupied with admiring your lacy bra. You know you need to be careful with his outfit and it’s testing your restraint.

„Please, I need cooperation,“ you mumble.

„Yes, yes.“ He helps you, finally, placing the jerkin and his shirt over a nearby chair, the jeans following suit.

„The gloves…“

„I need to to take them off this time, amore. It’s not the same if I don’t feel you.“

You relent and it doesn’t really matter because you’re much more focused on his now almost naked body, the tip of his erection peeking out of his black briefs. It’s a sight to behold, your Papa with his slender figure, the little pouch on his belly, soft lovehandles and strong thighs from performing.

„Is it okay?“ he asks, like he’s not the most beautiful man you have ever laid eyes on.

„You’re…“ You struggle to find the right word. „Copia, you’re all I could ever want.“

He smiles with more confidence now, hands reaching out to you until they finally close around your waist again. You’re still in your underwear so when his now bare fingers touch your skin it sends shivers all over your body. He was right, it’s better without the gloves – at least this time.

„What do you want to do now?“ You run your hands over his chest, unsure where to touch first. He’s soft and warm, dark grey hairs running down his chest, stopping at his navel, then continuing on in the most beautiful happy trail you’ve ever seen.

„I want you on my bed, right now,“ he says. „And then we’ll see what we feel like. But before that I think this needs to go, amore. I want to see all of you.“

He tries to open your bra but it won’t work immediately. You attempt to help him but he swats your hands away with a frown, tutting softly.

„I can do it,“ he insists and he does, after two more failed attempts. You indulge him, it’s fiddly and he’s still trembling in anticipation when he carefully slides the straps off your shoulders. The bra tumbles to the floor and you feel a gush of cool air against your already hard nipples.

„Can I…“

„Copia you can touch me wherever you want,“ you assure him, taking his hands to place them on your breasts. He palms them gently and you fight a chuckle. „However hard you want, too.“

He smiles. „It still feels forbidden for me. I used to chide myself for even thinking about doing this.“

It’s hard not to fall in love with him even more. He must have been imagining this even more times than you did and the thought makes your heart jump. He loses some of his shyness and starts properly groping you, leaning back in to reach your lips. You move your hand back down to stroke him, feeling him so hard and ready for you. He moans into the kiss, breaking away immediately.

„Hm, no,“ he says, taking your hand away. „No, you can’t do that.“

„Why?“

„It’s too good. I won’t last.“

„So what?“

Copia chuckles. „So what? Come on, move your pretty ass to the bed. I have plans.“

You do as he says, even though it feels almost wrong to mess up the tidy black bedding – bedding that you picked when he got a new bed that also you picked. It makes you smile now, thinking about how he practically made you choose his furniture to make sure you’d feel comfortable here.

When you settle into his sheets, Copia stops and takes you in. „You know, I often imagined you like this. And it’s so much better than in my head.“

You smile and he slowly crawls over you, carefully letting his body weight rest on top of you. If you thought your usual hugs were good, this is even better. He’s a little sticky with drying sweat, his skin clinging to yours, and it feels amazing. His mouth captures yours in a short kiss but he’s quickly diverting his attention to your jaw, sucking and nibbling on your skin before he moves down to your neck.

„Let me mark you, amore, please,“ he whispers.

You bury your hand in his hair and give him an encouraging hum. His lips close around the skin just below your ear and he sucks violently. For a second you think you could come just from this, the shocks of pleasure so heavy they make your hips buck. Copia remains undisturbed, licking over the abused skin after a while. He lifts his head and gives a satisfied grunt.

„More,“ you say and his lust-filled eyes meet yours. „All over me.“

Eventually he nods and goes to work. You’ve lost track of time but you imagine there’s still room for this and even if there isn’t, you’re way beyond caring now.

Copia repeats his process a few times all over your body, starting with your clavicle, then the top of your cleavage, taking even more time to suck your nipples into his mouth and leave bruises all over your breasts. You fight the urge to squirm but it’s impossible, especially once he reaches your abdomen and his lips tickle the sensitive skin just above the hem of your panties.

„Off with those,“ he mumbles and this time he doesn’t struggle, removes them in one swift motion and pushes your legs apart despite your protests. „What, now you’re getting shy?“

You are. It’s one thing having him see your breasts but it’s a whole different thing to have him there. Your brain is still processing how this is happening when he continues kissing your skin, focusing on the soft insides of your thighs now.

He chuckles at some point but before you can ask what’s funny he sucks so violently that your hips jerk upward. That only makes him chuckle harder before he blows onto the bruise, pressing one last gentle kiss to it.

„You get impatient, I like that,“ he says. „You’re always so composed, so calm. Who knew all I had to do was put on some nice clothes and you’d be weak for me?“

„I wish I had known, too, I would have come prepared.“

„How so?“ He kisses your other thigh, getting comfortable between your legs.

„Would’ve worn nicer panties.“

Copia laughs. „No, you would have ruined them. Did you not see how wet they were?“

You didn’t but you felt it. Him saying it makes your cheeks heat up nonetheless and you cover your face with your arm. „Stop.“

„Why?“

„You’re not supposed to be so perfect,“ you whine. „You’re supposed to be awkward and shy.“

Copia chuckles. „I was but then you turned into a puddle just because I sucked on your neck. Gives me great confidence. And besides… it’s you.“

„Me?“

„No one makes me so comfortable,“ he says, resting his cheek against your thigh. „You make it easy to love you.“

Before you can comment on it, his hand closes around your thigh and throws it over his shoulder. His breath tickles your clit as he presses a kiss just above it. „Let me taste you, amore.“

„You won’t let me pleasure you but now I should let you?“

„Yes, I just… I don’t want to rush it. I’ve been dreaming about this so, so many times. I want…“ He pauses. „I want to make sure it’s good for you. I don’t care about me.“

„But I do.“

„I know, cara mia. But after this, I want you to come back here, every night, and I need to make sure you do.“

Like he thinks you won’t love him anymore if he comes too early? You try to make sense of it but he’s kissing your mound again which makes thinking very hard.

„Please,“ he says softly, kissing again and again. „I need to.“

It’s not much of a choice. Of course you let him. „But don’t ruin your make-up.“

„Amore, your face has black mouth prints all over it. I’m not the only one who needs to clean up later.“

You open your mouth and he grins up at you, all while your heart swells in your chest. Then his mouth moves downward to finally kiss the spot you really need him at. You can’t help the small jerk of your hips. He ignores it, instead he parts your labia with his tongue and gives you a broad lick. It has your eyes rolling back, fingers digging into the sheets.

„So good,“ he mumbles, accompanied by a low hum. „Perfetto.“

You can’t stay sane like this, it’s too much. He does it a few more times but all you can do is bury your hand in his hair and hold on for dear life. His tongue dips into your entrance but he quickly replaces it with his thumb so he can go back to your clit. You’re getting close very fast but you really don’t want it to happen like this. You want him closer, you don’t want to come alone and you certainly don’t want him to come from humping the mattress.

„Copia, love, please,“ you whine.

He looks up. „Hm?“

„I need you inside of me.“

You can see the reluctance in his eyes but the will to please you is bigger and so he stops and crawls back up to you. He’s a total mess and you definitely have to fix his make-up before leaving, but you don’t have it in you to worry now.

„Please,“ you say again. „I want you to come with me.“

There’s liquid desire in his eyes, swirling when he takes in your words. „Can I just…“

„Yea,“ you say. „Don’t worry about it. Unless you and that sister…“

„No,“ he interrupts. „Sathanas, no.“

„Okay.“

„Are you sure?“

„Yes.“

He shuffles off his briefs and runs his tip through your folds to get it nice and slick. And it is so slick that he easily starts sliding into you. Copia stops immediately, eyes meeting yours as he slowly pushes in deeper, making sure you’re okay. The stretch is incredible, slow and steady.

And then he bottoms out.

„Oh, amore,“ he whispers just as you whisper his name. The groan that follows gives you goosebumps. He has you clinging to his biceps, nails digging into his pale skin, and he hasn’t even moved yet. You’re flooded with emotions. Love, desire, pleasure. It’s enough to take your breath away.

„Are you well?“ he asks, his hand finding your cheek.

You can only nod, rolling your hips into him to indicate that you’re ready. Copia starts moving ever so slowly, gentle thrusts that hit you just right. He finds a rhythm that suits you both, your combined moans and whimpers filling your ears, increasing ever so slowly.

You don’t know where to hold onto once he gets really fast, hand searching for his. „Love.“

He sees you, moving the hand from your cheek to grab yours, pushing it into the mattress right next to your head.

„I won’t last,“ he grunts, followed by a string of Italian curses. „T-tell me if you’re close, amore.“

„Just a little more.“

That’s enough for him to grab your hips and change the angle. It’s awkward with one hand but he doesn’t have to hold you for long. Hitting you just right every time, your walls clench impossible tight around him and you come with your back arching all on its own, a barely suppressed scream leaving your lips. Copia sets you back down and rides it out, messy, unrhythmic thrusts, before he completely falters and comes with a growl. The pleasure in your veins numbs everything else but you feel his cock throbbing inside of you, nonetheless, even as he collapses. Your legs are still shaking as they wrap around him, keeping him close.

„Oh, fuck,“ you whisper, clinging to the last bits of consciousness. You feel all tingly inside, almost like fainting.

Copia hums in agreement, shifting onto his side without slipping out. You wrap your arms around him, pressing a suffocating kiss to his lips. He keeps you pressed to his body, chest to chest, even as he softens inside of you.

„I don’t know why you were worried I wouldn’t come into this bed again,“ you joke.

A laugh rumbles in his chest and he presses a tired kiss to your forehead. You give yourself ten more minutes before you make sure you both get clean and to the meeting. Right now, you settle into the blissful feeling in your body, into the comfort of his arms.

„I should get new outfits more often if they lead to this,“ he says. „And you’ve only seen the first one.“

You can imagine the devilish grin on his face, even with your eyes closed. „Perhaps you’d like to model the other ones for me later?“

He kisses your shoulder, lips lingering on your skin. „I would like that very much.“

If you read this far I applaud you, I know it's really long. Thanks for sticking around and feel free to chat with me at any time. I would love to know which parts of the fic spoke to you in particular ♥️

#where to find such a friend :’)#ghost #the band ghost #copia #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader

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