honeyynymphh - Tumblr blog

honeyynymphh · 3 months ago

Text

| Nocturnal Me |

Papa IV (Dracopia) x FemReader rating: E word count: 6k warnings: blood drinking, semi-public sex, dom/sub undertones, google translated italiano

The Haze is open from sunset until sunrise every day of the week. Some people, like you, order a margarita with a silly little cocktail umbrella shoved in it and a slice of lemon.

Others order the AB negative and should drink it quickly before it congeals.

can also be read on A03

🦇🍷🌹🦇🍷🌹

It’s nearly two in the morning and perhaps it would be wiser to just go straight home but after tonight’s shift, you need a drink. Besides, where you’re headed isn’t far from home and you know when you walk down the little non-descript alley and up the narrow stairs into the club that there won’t be many people there. After all, it is a Tuesday—or should you say Wednesday—which isn’t exactly peak hour. But the club is open. The Haze is open from sunset until sunrise every day of the week without fail.

When you give a tired nod to the security guard standing by the heavy door at the top of the stairs, he opens it for you without a word. It’s dark inside and you let your eyes adjust to the dim red lighting before you wind your way through the scattered arrangement of ornate chairs and lounges as the speakers pulse with some heavy synth beat. It’s a strange place full of strange people, it’s not somewhere you go to unless you know someone…or something. There is always some young idiot who somehow manages to find Haze and will proudly flash his ID and smugly tell the security guard the password to get in. They never last long—usually leaving less than an hour later—whether it be the front or the back door.

You reach the long bar and slump down at a plush velvet stool as you smile tiredly at the bartender. Their blue hair glitters amongst the low lights and they blow a kiss as you approach.

“Rough shift, kitten?” they say, long arms leaning across the bar and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

You nod. Quartus is always on bar duty—you swear they never sleep. And well, you guess they don’t really need to. They lean back with a grin and quickly throw some unknown cocktail together. When he passes it to you, you take a tentative sip. it’s tangy and fresh and so you gratefully take another mouthful.

“Thanks, Q,” you say between sips. “How’re tricks?”

They shrug, the jingle of many chains accompanying the movement. “Pretty quiet tonight—though Max was here earlier, she said to send you her regards.”

You chat with Q for a while, telling him all about the absolute douchebag of a new doctor you were stuck with assisting tonight. It’s always great being able to blow off steam here. The nature of the club means most of the patrons tend to avoid sunlight where possible and like to order the rarest steak you can get. While not everyone that walks through the doors at Haze is a vamp, most are. Not many humans tend to enjoy what the club has to offer but you love it here. Hell, maybe you should have taken Max’s offer to turn you but what were you going to do with eternal life? Watch re-runs of The Nanny with your cat forever? Not bloody likely.

You turn around in your seat and take in the room. Lined with velvet booths and filled with an assortment of brocade furniture, it does look like something from some typically cheesy vamp film but it suits the place. Past the bar you sit at is a short hallway that leads to a smaller antechamber with another bar and a dance floor. There is a set of velvet curtains loosely tied back further down past the second bar. It’s never spoken about but when you come to Haze you don’t go past the velvet curtains unless you’re after something not explicitly stated on the club’s menu.

When you worked here during those early university days, it had certainly been an eye-opening experience. You’d hear about vamps and the other nighttime creatures but it had all seemed so mythical. They kept to themselves—it was better that way. But here, they didn’t need to hide or keep playing at being human. You would have quit after the first week if it hadn’t been for Q and Max.

Tonight there are a few familiar faces that you recognise and as you look around the room you give them a smile when they meet your gaze. It’s when your eyes land on the last booth right before the hallway that you frown.

You turn into your seat to look at Q. “New guy?” They look up and glance in the direction you tilt your head in.

“Uh, yeah,” says Q. “Weird. Been sitting there all night. Ordered one drink—AB neg—and then just sat there the whole time. Swear he’s had one sip.” He frowns mockingly at you. “You get me bad shit, kitten?”

“What? No!” you whisper fiercely. You'd only helped Max get blood one time. And that had been enough—you'd been terrified of doing it again and getting caught. But it had given Max an in. “You got a problem, talk to Max.”

You sneak a glance at the man alone in the booth again. The lighting in Haze is pretty shit—deliberately. Most of the patrons can see well enough but your human eyes struggle in the dim light. He’s not wearing anything that would be considered out of place for Haze—in all honesty, the jeans and worn band shirt you'd thrown at while still at the hospital are the most out of place amongst the leather, chains and vinyl most of the patrons and staff are wearing. But this man is wearing what looks like a finely tailored suit, it looks black but it could be any colour in the darkness of the booth. You can only barely distinguish his right profile but the man had to be in his fifties at least, his dark sandy hair looking grey at the temples. It wasn’t common to have older vamps at Haze but most of the undead tended to look young. And the older ones usually preferred to go to the club up on the high street. It just wasn’t usual to see an older one here, especially one so quiet. They usually didn’t shut up.

It was possible he was human but he didn’t seem to radiate the usual nervousness that humans did.

He looked bored.

At least you thought he did, it was hard to tell. His face was painted—again, not that outrageous for Haze—but unlike Q with their smudged coal eyes and messily rouged lips—the man has his face painted like a skull. His face is a stark white while around his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks and his lips are painted black with meticulous care. You wondered if he used a ruler to do it. He looked so neat in a macabre sort of way with his hair combed back and the leather gloves on his hands, both of which are holding onto the stem of his glass. Q is right, you think, noticing the glass is practically full.

“How long has he been there?” you ask, dragging your eyes away.

“Since eleven.” Q shrugs. “He’s not disturbing anyone so it’s cool.”

You forget about the skull-painted man and continue chatting with Q until it’s nearly three o’clock. Knowing you had a full week ahead of night shifts, you quickly drink the rest of the cocktail before wishing Q goodnight.

---

Work is tiring and you don’t get back to Haze until Saturday. Unlike the previous night, it’s absolutely packed. You can always tell who the newbies are—well, the human ones. Their eyes dart around and they always look so panicked no matter how they try to hide it. They usually leave, but if they’re brave enough (or stupid enough) they stay. They might just hang around the main bar having drinks and talking amongst themselves. A regular might even take pity and talk to them—though you swear they do it mostly for the laugh.

Slinking through to the side of the bar, you wave at Q and duck through the small door there. It’s staff only but they don’t mind you using it. Quickly you head into the small staffroom to change into a sleeveless halterneck dress in an inky black. It’s nothing outrageous, but it’s a favourite that hugs your body and features a slit on the side that borders on indecent. You let your hair tumble freely and quickly apply some makeup to look less like a walking zombie before you leave your bag there and head back to the bar.

“You know I love that dress,” says Q when you return. They pass you a passionfruit concoction and you hop on the stool across from him. “The toilets aren’t working, by the way, so you have to use the ones at the other bar for patrons.” He scoffs. “Kit overindulged on some pretty thing last night and literally vomited his guts up in the staff toilet. It’s fucking clogged up.” He pointed an olive on a toothpick at you. “Do you know how hard it is to find a vamp plumber?”

You just shrug and occupy yourself by sipping on your drink before Q mutters to themselves and returns their attention to a group at the other end of the bar. The clink of glasses is lost to the beat of the music around you and lean back against the bar as your eyes wander around the room. It is the best place to sit, tucked away at the corner of the bar where you can see everyone else and close enough to the hallway so you can watch the people who head down past the other bar and through the curtains.

People are chatting and laughing, you can see others hitting the dance floor in the other room—the lights reflecting off undulating bodies that are pressed close as they move to the hypnotic beat. In here it’s a bit more relaxed, many are sprawled out on the french chaise lounges with limbs entangled as they talk amongst themselves but your attention is drawn to the booth across from you.

That man from the other night is sitting there again but this time he isn’t alone. There are several women with him—at least you assume they are. There are four of them—two sitting on either side of him—and they’re all dressed the same. All wear black dresses and their heads are donned with black veils accented with electric blue and shimmering gold. They look like nuns. Though not the sort of nuns you’d ever seen before. The booths in here are like pockets of darkness, for anyone sitting in them can see the rest of the room with relative ease but it makes it hard for anyone outside of them to see in if the occupants are leaning back. There is one nun on the edge closest to you and you can make out the slit in the side of her dress (definitely not typical nun attire) and the ornate inverted cross that dangles from her neck. It’s not that strange but the cross isn’t just the usual inverted cross - it looks like a styled G.

Not a symbol you recognise. And after spending so much time here you certainly have seen many different symbols in your time.

You can’t hear anything the nuns are saying with the loud music but they’re all giggling and talking animatedly while he just sits there and listens.

You turn to Q. “I see that mister AB neg has made some friends.”

Q shakes their head. “Yeah, he’s been here every night. Same drink but barely touches it.” They shrug. “Some of them rocked up just when you left the other night. All dressed like they’re from some weird church. One of them I swear was a priest.” He shakes his head again. “For a moment I thought they were part of that protest group—human rights and all that bullshit.”

“A priest?” you let out a small laugh. “It’s just the look, right? Like everyone else here.”

“I dunno, kitten,” Q says with a lazy smile. “Looked legit. Expensive looking fabric. Wasn’t shopping at Costumes ‘R’ Us.” The smile fades. “They ended up going down back though—they’ve got the last room rented for the entire week under ‘The Clergy’—never heard of them before.”

That piques your interest and you turn to look at the group again. Your breath catches though as you find a pair of eyes staring right at you. You hadn’t been able to see the painted man’s face that clearly before as he had mostly been in profile but his eyes are on you now. The right eye is perfectly normal amidst the black paint but his left eye is an eerie but brilliant white. It’s unsettling but entirely captivating—it was like being faced down by some sleek predator.

You quickly break eye contact, trying to ignore the feel of those eyes on the back of your neck as you turn around.

“Shouldn’t stare I guess,” you mumble into your drink, draining the last of it quickly.

Q laughs and takes the empty glass to make another. “Better watch out since your his type.”

“You said he barely touched it.” You scowl at Q as they shake the cocktail and pour it with a flourish before sticking a jaunty little pink umbrella in it.

“Yeah,” Q agrees. “Maybe he likes it fresh.”

You fling the umbrella at their head but they just catch it with lightning speed and stick it behind their ear. With an exasperated sigh, you jump off the stool. You do your best to ignore the booth filled with the man and his strange entourage and head to the restrooms in the next room. When you come out of the stall to wash your hands, two of the nuns waltz in. Their arms are linked as they giggle until one pulls away to head to a stall. The other comes next to you at the basin and stares at her reflection before she tries to fix the veil on her head.

“You don’t have a spare bobby pin, do you?” she asks you with a smile.

You shake your head. “Uh, no, sorry.”

“No worries,” she says and continues to try and fix the veil on her own.

You try to ignore her but your curiosity it too great. It’s now or never if you want to know who they are. You sure as hell aren’t going up to them out there. Stealing your nerves, you take a deep breath as you dry your hands with one of the small towels provided.

“So, are you in a church?” you say, trying to keep your voice casual. You gesture with the towel at the cross around her neck before you throw it in the hamper. “I don’t recognise the symbol.”

The woman pauses with trying to straighten her veil and her gaze finds yours in the reflection of the mirror.

“Yeah, church.” She’s smiling again but it’s an unsettling sort of smile. It makes your stomach flip. “But not the usual kind.”

“I didn’t think so,” you say. You try to joke. “Who is the guy? Your next convert?”

The woman lets out a laugh. “Oh, no! That’s Papa. He is here on business visiting our congregation.” The other woman comes out of the stall and washes her hands as the other continues to speak. “It’s an honour to be with him.”

A group of women come bursting into the bathroom interrupting the conversation. The two nuns leave and you follow a few steps behind as you head back to the bar. Q gives you a questioning look when they see you following behind them before they both slip back into the darkness of the booth. You see one woman lean in towards him and whisper something in his ear which returns his attention back to you but you hurriedly avert your gaze and take your seat back at the bar.

“They are nuns,” you say to Q. “And he is… I am not sure. Somebody important? They said he was called Papa.”

“You know," says Q, “I always think it best that I know nothing about patrons. Makes it easier.”

A few moments later Max comes bursting through the door. Her red hair and elaborate getup—seems she had opted for Barbie Goes to a Rodeo look—glaringly bright in the dimness of the club. You get suckered into a conversation with her until she taps you on the nose with a stupidly long nail and saunters off toward the dance floor in the next room

“What a woman,” laughs Q.

You join in with him, barely noticing someone has taken Max’s seat until you hear a voice next to you.

“The AB negative, per favore.”

You twist on the stool to see that the man from the booth is now seated next to you, he isn’t large but he seems to take up all the available space. His leg is so close to your thigh that you can almost feel it. From the few words he’s spoken you gather he must be Italian. The voice is pleasant, though not expected—what you did expect you aren’t really sure. But soft-spoken Italian hadn’t been it.

Q just nods and opens the small fridge under the bar, the coldness blasting from it as they pull a frosted wine glass and then a bag with AB negative scrawled over it in Max’s loopy handwriting. They pour it and then carefully slide it across the bar towards the man.

“Grazie.” He doesn’t even take a sip. He just holds the base of the glass in those gloved fingers of his. The bartender is hailed by someone else and with a glance at you, they move down the other end of the bar.

You half expect the man to say something. Maybe some cheesy “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this” or a “Cum here often? Would you like to?”—always a degenerate fave. But he doesn’t say a thing. This… Papa just sits there for what feels like forever before one of the nuns saunters over.

“Papa, won’t you come with us?” she says with a tap on his arm. “We have a present for you.”

It’s the same woman you spoke to in the bathroom. She’s all smiles and directs her attention to the rest of the group. There is now a fifth nun with them. However, while this one is smiling she looks nervous—like she half wants to run away. She wears a white veil and lacks the strange inverted cross the others wear.

He smiles at the girl, which changes his face dramatically. You aren’t even sure if you could really call it a smile—it looks more like a knowing smirk. That expression and those weird eyes make him look almost demonic and you don’t blame this other white veiled nun for the way she twists her hands together. You just sit there, feeling like an interloper in something you should not be involved with. Maybe you should have looked away but they had boxed you in and made you their unwilling audience.

Papa finally stands and you feel his hand graze against your thigh as he passes. You tell yourself it was unintentional but it burns through the fabric of your dress and you take a deep breath, catching the heady scent of him as he passes by. When they finally leave, you let out a shaky breath. It was the strangest non-interaction you’ve ever had.

“He didn’t even drink it, fucking hell!” comes the voice of Q.

The bartender throws a packet of nuts on the table and glares at the full glass sitting on the bar.

“Oh, they took him away for a ‘present’,” you explain. You shrug. “Probably forgot.”

“It’s just going to congeal and be gross.” They pull a face as they grab a bowl and empty the nuts into it. “AB neg is hard to get—” He pauses and looks at you hopefully. “Ya feel like donating, kitten?”

You grab a serviette off the bartop and crumple it up before throwing it at his head.

“How about I take it, okay?” you hear yourself say as he flicks a nut at you. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

What a stupid thing to say. This was stupid. A stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was one fucking glass anyway.

Heading down the back, the drink clutched between two fingers so you don’t warm the glass, you try to keep calm. Yes, you tend to avoid coming down here. While you are certain most regulars know you are off limits, some others may not. And coming past the curtains unaccompanied was an idiot move and sent a certain message.

You pass through the curtains and onto the lush rug that stretches down the hallway. It’s even darker in here. The only light comes from candles in high sconces so that the light flickers against the heavy scarlet curtains that hang in front of the small alcoves. You ignore the sounds coming from the drawn curtains and head towards the end room as Q said.

The velvet drapes are only partially closed when you reach them. This is the largest room available though it is still pretty small. The little alcoves that are tucked away down here usually have a small table and a few plush seats and a few tall pillar candles. When you peek in through the drapes you regret it immediately. You pull back with a gasp and turn to leave but the curtain is sharply pulled all the way back by one of the nuns.

Reluctantly you return your gaze back inside to see that Papa, who’d moments before had his mouth latched onto the neck of the white veiled woman, was gently wiping the corner of his mouth with an ivory handkerchief. The splotches of deep red are clearly visible on the white linen and he carefully folds it before throwing it onto the low coffee table in front of him. The woman he’d only seconds ago been feasting on is curled in his lap like an overgrown cat, her hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as she blearily turns her heavy-lidded eyes towards you.

You swallow through the nerves that threaten to shake your voice and hold up the glass in your hands as an explanation. “You left this. Quartus—the bartender—thought you might not want to waste it.”

“This is very kind of you,” says Papa. The words are spoken so softly but they roll off his tongue and wrap around you. He taps the girl in his arms and the other nuns quickly move toward him and remove her from his lap. You can hear soft moans of protest as she tries to cling to him.

“Papa, please, no,” you hear her say. “I need you, please, you said fore—”

But her words are cut short as she is half carried, half dragged out of the alcove and back down the hall leaving you alone. You shift on your feet in the silence.

“You will sit with me?” he asks, as if nothing had happened.

The nerves are starting to get the better of you, making any response you may have had become stuck in your throat. This is not where you should be but your stomach flips with those eyes on you. There is something there, an unmistakable pull to this strange creature. While he is attractive, you don’t know him—don’t trust that you can be alone with him. But your feet aren’t listening to your head and you step fully into the alcove and take a seat on a squishy armchair across from the french chaise he lounges in.

You place the drink on the table and try to look anywhere but at him, though it’s pointless.

“I do not need it,” he says. “But grazie…?” You tell him your name but he cocks his head to the side with a small smile. “Ah. But the bartender is calling you…kitten. Si?”

That sends a delicious thrill down your spine and instinctively you sit up straighter. When Q says it, it’s simply a fun little joke. Just his usual flirty nature. But this man says it and it makes you need to squeeze your thighs together. When vamps had first broken free from the coffin and ventured into the public eye, a lot of theories had flown around. Scientists had tried to determine fact from fiction. It turned out most of the myths had been wrong and were merely nothing more than stories. There was no turning into bats or fog. No mind control or excessive charm. They were just people that happened to never die and had the unquenchable need to drink blood.

Sitting here though felt like maybe that wasn’t quite true and that the scientists had been wrong.

You try to laugh it off. “It’s just a joke.”

“Ah.” He nods. “Then I shall not be calling you it then, cara mia” He gestures with one gloved hand to his chest as he leans back into the plushness of the seat. “I am Papa.”

He’s merely a few feet away and the urge to slink over there and let him call you whatever in hell he wants hits you in the gut. You’d never been so tempted to break your own rules of not participating in the nocturnal activities of the club. Maybe he was something else—a demon? You’d only ever met one before and that had been terrifying enough. Mingling with the patrons at the club was tricky, especially if you valued your life. However, you’d never felt more tempted before than sitting in front of this man.

When he gives you a devilish smile, that white eye glinting unnaturally in the dark, you suddenly feel like you’re sitting with the devil. A ridiculous notion but the delicately embroidered symbols you can now make out on the lapels of his jacket are ones that you do recognise—symbols of Lucifer. And there is such a quiet menace that envelops him, a restrained power that simmers under the surface of that perfectly tailored suit. Combined with the way the paint around his mouth has smeared and that he hasn’t quite wiped all the blood from his lips, it’s absolutely monstrous.

Running back to the safety of Q and the front bar definitely seems like a damn great idea but your head still won’t listen to reason. Instead, you're trying to surreptitiously squeeze your thighs together, the ache between your legs insistent now. You can’t ignore how he is affecting you, the arousal and downright morbid curiosity of what he will say or do next holding you in place.

When he leans forward, you swear that his nostrils flare—as if he can scent you from across the room. That mad white eye looks ferocious now, and the way he holds himself looks like he is just barely restraining himself from launching at you like an animal.

Fucking madness.

You shift in the chair and try to concentrate, maybe you can get away with a few minutes of idle chat before you think of an excuse to leave or those nuns return.

No.

Not with that look on his face. You also have a feeling that those nuns of his are not coming back anytime soon—if at all. That thought seems to get you to move and you stand quickly before all reason is lost.

“I should go.”

Papa stands with you and suddenly he’s before you. In one smooth motion, he’s pulled the heavy curtains behind you completely closed and has taken your hand, his lips hovering above your skin.

“You could stay.”

Such a quiet request but he has your full attention, all thoughts of escape have disappeared with his touch. His mouth makes contact with your skin, it’s somehow both hot and cold, burning against you and making the ache in your cunt throb. It's such a brief moment of contact, but when his lips leave your skin he still holds your hand.

It’s impossible to move and even more so to think. He’s far too close. With a gentle tug he brings you even closer, your free hand instinctively reaching out to balance on his shoulder. There is a breathless silence before his mouth is on yours. A sharp nip at your lips has you gasping in surprise but he doesn’t stop. His tongue has found yours and it’s utterly intoxicating. You can taste the blood, which should repulse you but the metallic twang is strangely addictive.

You're not sure how long you stood there while he devoured you, he had freed your hand and so now were both gripping tightly at the lapels of his suit jacket. One of his arms has managed to snake around your waist, pulling you even closer as the other burrowed into your hair.

The sound of moans reaches your ears and you realise that these noises are coming from you. His mouth leaves yours to kiss a path across your jaw and down your neck. A slight threat of sharp pressure grazes against your neck, the teasing tip of sharp canines sending a sweet tingle of both fear and arousal through you. Your stomach tenses—it’s slightly frightening how easily you are ready to succumb to this creature—but he simply continues down until he reaches the juncture between shoulder and neck.

“Hai un odore divino,” you hear him growl against your skin. It’s not a sound any human could make, it sounds feral.

You barely register that he has managed to steer you back towards the french chaise lounge until the back of your thighs meet the gilded edge. He pushes you back until your sprawled along it, one leg dangling off onto the ground. When he joins you, his body hovering over yours as he situates himself between your legs, he immediately pulls your shoes off and there is a flash of movement and a loud rip as the dress you are wearing splits down the middle. It’s not the kind of dress you can get away with wearing a bra so it leaves you in nothing but your knickers.

The shock of air hitting your bare skin pales in comparison to the sight of his hands though. The leather of the gloves has split at the end of each finger and you can see what appear to be sharp claws protruding out. They seem to glitter in the flickering light, the tips of them looking excruciatingly sharp. Your chest heaves with each breath and you watch as those claws retract back, the only evidence they had been there are the destroyed gloves and the remnant of your poor dress.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, the feel of leather gliding up your thighs until you feel him sliding your knickers down your legs and throwing them somewhere into the darkness. There is no time to be embarrassed or to try and hide from him, he just grabs your thighs and spreads them apart before his head is between them.

A sharp nip at the inside of your thigh has you reeling as his hands grip tightly. His mouth is kissing and sucking the sensitive skin—so close to where you want him to go. It’s agonising.

“Please,” you hear yourself say. You’re certain you can feel the curve of that demonic grin against your skin.

“You have to give me something first, cara mia.” Those sharp teeth scrape against your inner thigh. He’s barely touched you but you know that you must be dripping wet by now. You’ll give him anything, he just has to touch you.

“Anything.” It’s more a breathless plea than anything else.

“Anything?” He repeats, his hot breath ghosting over your flesh. His mouth is back on the inside of your inner thigh and you feel the scrape of one sharp fang. One of his hands has finally inched closer to your aching cunt and you nearly scream when a gloved finger slides through your folds, the touch far too light and making your back arch into his touch. “You are sure, cara mia?”

“Yes.” You are barely able to speak. His finger is still teasing, the feel of the leather sliding through your arousal creating delicious friction. “Please!”

“Brava ragazza.”

There is no pause, no gentle easing, just the hot prick of pain as his fangs pierce the skin and sink into your thigh. It burns like nothing else you’ve felt before but the burn is addictive, it spirals up your spine and into your head and then burns through your veins and makes you cry out in unparalleled pleasure. The sensations double when he finally slips that teasing finger inside you and then another, the pleasure building as your eyes screw shut.

There is nothing but the sinful sound of him feeding between your panting breaths. You feel lightheaded. The pleasure he is pulling from you is building, his thumb flicking tight circles over your clit until his thrusting fingers twist and touch that delicious spot inside you before your orgasm comes crashing over you.

When you blink open your eyes, your limbs feeling heavy, Papa is above you looking hellish. The man grins at you, his lips glistening crimson with your blood before he stands. You watch, your mind a pleasant fog, as he removes his suit jacket and carefully folds it before placing it on an armchair. The gloves are tugged off next and he watches you the entire time as if he wants you to try and run.

You won’t. If you tried, you are sure you could stand and make it down back to the bar, but it would be an effort. The blood loss has made you feel weak and that orgasm is still washing over you. But more importantly, you don’t want to run. You want more.

You want him.

His dress shirt is tugged from his trousers before they are also removed. It’s captivating seeing him completely bare, there is strength in those muscles as you watch them shift as he stalks back toward you. But all you are looking at is his cock, the way it juts out making you realise how empty you feel and how desperately you need it to fill you.

The way he moves with predatory slowness until in a blur he’s above you would have caused you to cry out in surprise but he doesn’t give you time for it. Papa has gripped both your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head on the lounge.

That wicked mouth is at your neck now, his teeth nipping and kissing until he meets your lips. As you taste the blood on his tongue, you feel his cock settle between your legs and you instinctively try and press your hips forward.

“Please,” you pant between his languorous kisses. “I need it.”

You think you should be embarrassed with how needy you sound but you don’t care. You feel desperate—feverish.

“Please what, dolcezza?”

“Please, Papa.”

A growl leaves his throat as he releases your wrists and leans back above you before he buries his cock in you in one smooth motion. His hands grip your thighs and the angle makes him sink even further, the pleasure of him stretching you making you breathe out nonsensical prayers.

The sight of him above you is captivating as he thrusts into you, those wild eyes boring into you. It feels like looking into the burning fires of hell— the white eye looks eerily red but you dismiss it as a trick of the candlelight. And the entire thought is pushed from your mind when you feel his thumb has reached between you and is now pressing against your swollen clit. The shock of pleasure is electric and you crave more, your hips moving erratically as you try to chase the sweet edge of oblivion.

You want to burn. And he seems to know it because you hear a low chuckle as he leans over you, his chest pressing against yours.

“Would you let me touch you forever, cara mia?” That voice in against your ear is wicked. “You want to burn with me eternally?”

Your pussy tightens around him and he gives one long drawn-out thrust, making you cry out. But then he is still, your legs are shaking and you feel as if you are right on the edge.

“Yes.” The word is out before reason can stop it. Anything to keep this feeling forever. “Forever.”

Finally, he moves again, his pace picking up as your hands reach out to claw desperately at his back—trying to keep him as close as possible. He angles his mouth over yours and you dimly register that he must have bitten his own lip as thick blood gushes onto your tongue as he kisses you.

You swallow it, it’s strangely cold and sits like ice in your stomach. But then it spreads, hot and desperate, your body tensing and pulsating as he continues to fuck you.

“Cum for me,” Papa growls. “Cum for your Papa, little ghuleh.”

The blood in your veins is singing and when Papa’s movements start to become more erratic you feel the beginning of your orgasm hit. Your pussy tightens around him and you feel his cock kick inside you which sends you reeling off the edge. He’s hissing unintelligible Italian against the rapid pulse at your neck as he empties himself inside you, his fangs then sinking down into the flesh.

The pleasure was intense. The pain was blinding.

“Una benedizione empia. Loda Satana. Nema.” You hear Papa say against your skin, the feel of your own blood dripping down your neck.

Your eyes are closed and you cannot make yourself open them. You feel so tired and dimly register him slowly removing himself from you before he sits up and pulls you easily into his arms.

“Sleep little ghuleh,” he whispers against your ear as he holds you close. “Papa will keep you safe.” You feel more than hear the rumble of his low laugh. “Forever.” ---- The character Q/Quartus belongs to ryuzatodraws :)

Hai un odore divino - You taste divine Una benedizione empia. Loda Satana - An unholy blessing. Praise Satan

#ahhhh my first copia fic <3

333 notes · View notes

honeyynymphh · 3 months ago

Text

| The Wager |

Cardinal Copia x FemReader rating: E words: 4k tags: dom copia, oral sex (m receiving), confessional sex, choking, rough sex, copia is a sneaky shit AO3

Summary: A new Sister of Sin, you feel you are not living up to the expectations of your new church and seek out confession to unburden yourself. Little do you know, that the Cardinal has something he needs to confess to you.

I started writing this ages ago and its been so close to finished for ages. Seeing the new movie made me feel motivated to complete it.

Not my best work but hey, I did some writing :)

It's a bit silly but c'est la vie!

Your hands grip the edge of the pew as you take a steadying breath. You’d been sitting here for nearly an hour, watching sibling after sibling as they entered and left the confessional box. It seemed so large and imposing in the low light of the abbey’s candelabras. You knew you needed to speak, to confess. Yet you were anxious. A new Sister of Sin, and not just any new Sister—but one that had converted from the local church.

A few months have passed since you left your old life behind you to join the strange, yet welcoming, abbey upon the hill. Everyone had accepted you without question—you were not the first to leave behind an old god and you would not be the last—yet old habits and the lingering guilt were hard to forget. Your hands tighten their grip on the pew and you watch as another sibling leaves the confessional. They give you a brief smile before they pass and you realise you are the only one left, the only sound is their fading footsteps before the chapel is silent.

It was now that you had to go before the confessional closed for the evening, it was so late already. You could wait until next week, yet you felt you couldn’t keep this bubbling away inside. You needed to speak to someone—and you had spoken with Papa Terzo before. He had been charming and kind, and very flirty, something that made you flush quite a bit. But he never made you feel silly or stupid for not knowing the customs of your new home. You were sure this would be no different, yet the anxiety still lingered.

You made yourself stand, sliding out of the pew and walking over to the confessional. Your hand hesitates before you gently knock on the side of the detailed wood.

“Enter.”

The low word is muffled but you hear it and step inside. The door shuts quietly behind you and you take your seat, glancing at the shadowy outline of Papa on the other side. It smells like chapel incense and some other scent that has you taking a deep breath as the scent comforts you in the warmth of the confessional.

With your hands clasped in your lap, you speak, “Forgive me, Papa, for I have sinned.”

“This must be your first time, Sister.”

You pause. The voice is not Papa Terzo as you had expected but Cardinal Copia. You grip the fabric of your habit in embarrassment. While you were too busy worrying, you had not noticed that Cardinal Copia was the one taking confession and not Papa.

“Forgive me, Cardinal,” you say.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he says. “And we do things a little differently here. Sinning is very much encouraged.”

“Sorry, Your Eminence, I am still stuck in my old ways,” you reply hesitantly, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

“Does this bother you, Sister?”

You nod and then realise he can’t see you. “I’m finding it hard to adjust, it is so similar yet so different to my old life.”

“That is to be expected, change affects us all,” he says. “It will improve over time, you haven’t been with us long.”

You know that’s true. You also realise this is the first conversation you’ve ever had with the Cardinal. He always seemed to keep to himself or haunt the library. You’d only ever exchanged greetings with him before. He made you nervous, Papa Terzo was so much more approachable than Cardinal Copia. Anyone was…well, perhaps not Papa Secondo. But Cardinal Copia was so silent and quiet, he only ever really seemed to come alive during sermons or when he taught classes. His intensity was intimidating and the way he would sometimes cut down a fellow sibling during a lesson could be nerve wracking. But how his impassioned words held your attention, it was impossible not to be drawn to the Cardinal. You wanted to be noticed by him yet never have his gaze upon you. So you’re surprised at how kind his words are, though you know it is his job. It’s much easier to talk to him when you aren’t forced to look at his imposing expression.

“I know, Cardinal,” you say. “I just worry I’m not…meeting expectations.”

“How so?”

You shift in your seat. This had been much easier when you’d been imagining it in your head. And while the Cardinal words were polite, there was still an edge to his voice that made you shift on the wooden seat.

“In my worship,” you say, feeling your face flush. “I know many siblings prefer to do so, er, together.”

“Ah.”

“All forms of sin are encouraged, mia cara, not just the ones of the flesh.” His voice is low and you scoot a little closer towards it, unable to help but smile at the endearment. “You do not need to be writhing upon an altar while someone feasts upon your divine sex to please the Olde One.”

Maybe not but it’s suddenly all you can think about. It was one thing to leave your old life behind because you did not wish to live a life without pleasure, yet to have it fully thrust upon was hard to contend with. The abbey lived life to the fullest and held no shame, but you were not ready to participate in certain rituals. Though, you had certainly thought of them with the Cardinal in mind. But you knew he never attended such things.

How you wished that he did.

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” you reply, sensing it was time to leave. “Siamo con il nostro Dio Scuro,” he says and you can dimly see his gloved hand move in the darkness to make the sign of the grucfix. “Nema.”

You stand and make to leave but he speaks, making you pause.

“Sister.”

The sharp word hangs in the small space and you glance at his shadowy figure on the other side of the confessional.

“Yes, Cardinal?”

He clears his throat and his words are short, awkward. This has your brow furrowing in confusion.

“Do you have time to stay a moment? I know it is late.”

“Yes, I can.” You sit back down, apprehension knotting in your stomach.

“I feel I must confess something to you.”

Confess? To you? Cardinal Copia? The apprehension knots even further. What could he possibly confess?

“Oh?” is all that manages to escape your mouth. Your head twists so that you are facing the latticed partition. Your hands grip the edge and you lean closer without even realising your face is nearly touching it.

“I heard that Papa Terzo and Papa Secondo have a wager, in regards to you,” says the Cardinal.

“A wager?” you ask, confused.

“Si,” he says, his words still sounding oddly stilted. “There is no polite way to say it, Sister, but they’re betting on who can fuck you first.” He sighs. “They do it after every initiation of a new group of siblings.”

“What?” it comes out as a squeak.

“They pick someone and whoever fucks them first wins.”

You’re shocked but also strangely thrilled at the thought. You haven't really spoken to either Papa. Secondo was so…Secondo, you don’t think you can recall ever having spoken to him. And Terzo was always surrounded by admirers that you had only really spoken to when you first joined or after Dark Mass, since he was the reigning Papa. While he has always been so friendly to you, you did not think he even knew your name.

“Why me?” you can’t help but ask.

“You come from the village church,” says Copia with a sneer. “They think it would be quite the challenge—” he pauses and then quickly asks, “are you a virgin? Is this why you are reluctant to worship in such a fashion?”

“No!” you say quickly. You hadn’t had much as much experience as your new siblings but you had some. It had been one of the reasons for leaving your old faith behind. You feel your face colour in embarrassment.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of if you are. We are not heathens… not completely. You are not forced to do anything you do not wish to. You are not required to join the rituals if you do not wish to.”

“You don’t participate,” you say hesitantly. It’s not a question but you desperately want to know why he doesn’t join them.

“How could I compete with Papas?” he gives a short derisive laugh. “Pretty Sisters do not want a cardinal when they can have a Papa, eh?”

You say nothing but can’t help but smile. He called you pretty! How could someone not want him? Perhaps he was a little quiet and somewhat intimidating. But you can’t deny the way you have had to press your thighs together when he would sometimes speak. Your thoughts return to his earlier words of worship upon an altar. You shiver at the thoughts, feeling the warmth of arousal begin to burn low.

“Sister?”

“Sorry, Cardinal.” You take a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me this. You are wrong though, many would want you.”

“That is kind of you, mia cara. But I am well aware of my reputation.” You hear a low chuckle, you’d never really heard him laugh before. “Which you best not ruin just because I have chosen to share this with you. I’ve merely had enough. And you didn’t seem like you would be one for their stupid games.”

You sat there. You were surprised that the Papas would even have such a wager, it didn’t seem like something these people would do. But Terzo did seem to always be surrounded by fawning siblings and had such a charming air about him. And Secondo…he always seemed to have someone—or several someone’s—with him. And his gravelly voice was quite enthralling. A silly brotherly game, you supposed.

But, why you? It was true you’d come from the local church, having had your doubts for quite a while until you’d spied the strange abbey upon the hill and felt drawn to it.

The partition suddenly slid across revealing the Cardinal in his splendid red robes. He looked like the Devil himself standing there while you remain seated. He quirks an eyebrow at you in question.

“Sister?”

You stand quickly and the small booth means you are so very close to him. The spicy yet woody scent you had smelt earlier was not the chapel's incense but him. The warmth of his body seems to amplify it, along with the fresh scent of clean linen and the tang of sweat that clings to his cassock. It feels far too warm here in the confessional. Why did he open the partition?

“Are you alright, Sister?” His low voice is overwhelming when you are so close, a hand gently grabs hold of your shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I hope I have not misspoken nor upset you by telling you this.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. His hand is gloved—as always—yet the heat radiates from it. It feels so large on your shoulder and you can’t help the thought of that hand touching you elsewhere. You hastily look down as you feel the blush spread across your cheeks.

“No, Your Eminence,” you say. You steal yourself when the thought hits you. quickly leaning forward to kiss his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it. “Thank you, again.”

You risk a glance at his face and his expression hasn’t changed. But he doesn’t look disgusted so before you lose your courage, you move again and press your lips briefly against his, feeling his moustache tickle your skin before you’ve already pulled back.

He speaks, voice a low growl that makes your stomach flip. “Don’t do that, Sister.”

Oh. Instantly any hope you had is crushed. It was a stupid thing to do! You look down again and mumble an apology under your breath. You move to leave but his hand is still on your shoulder and it holds you in place, the other hand coming to your chin so his fingers can tilt your face up to meet his gaze.

“You can’t tease an old man like that,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Go kiss a Papa, mia dolce.”

“I don’t want to kiss a Papa,” you say. “I want to kiss you, Cardinal.”

Suddenly he seems different, more how he appears during sermons with that raw intensity you find so alluring. His touch is firm and sure as he pulls you into his side of the booth. Effortlessly he sits, pulling you into his lap so that you’re straddling him. His hands glide up your legs to then grip your hips so he can pull you flush against him.

“Give me a kiss then, dolce.”

Heart racing, you eagerly lean forward and press your mouth against his again. This time he responds, lips moving under yours. You can taste the bitterness of the paint on his top lip but it’s barely noticeable when his tongue is trying to slide into your mouth. You’re swept up in the taste of him and the insistent way he devours you, teeth occasionally biting and pulling at your bottom lip. It makes a thrill run down your spine and you press yourself closer to him.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless. His eyes are nearly the same, both so blown wide by lust that you can barely determine the colour of them in the dimness of the booth.

“Grazie, Sorella,” he says.

You feel like you are on fire. Your entire body is singing from one kiss. Lucifer, you want more. Without even thinking you move your hips forward, so you are sliding even closer to him, nearly falling off him in your desire to get closer. His thigh is right under your aching sex and you can’t help but grind down on it.

His moustache twitches as a small smile appears on his face. “You want more than a kiss, si?”

“Yes, Cardinal,” you say breathlessly as he pushes his thigh back against you making you pant out a moan.

“I thought you did not wish to worship this way?” he asks though he doesn’t sound concerned like he did before, his voice is edging on teasing. As if he already knows why.

“I—” your words fumble as you feel another flush suffuse your face. You are already in his lap and he just had his tongue half way down your throat—now was not the time to be the ignorant village girl. You swallow your nerves and say, “I want to worship with you, Cardinal.”

A sly grin unfurls on his face and that makes your heart race.

He brings up over his laps properly so your hips are slotted against his. The position makes you moan as you can feel the hardness of his cock through the layers of his cassock

“I worship a little differently to what you may be used to, dolce,” he purrs against your ear while a hand wraps around your neck. He squeezes, not too tightly but enough to get the point across. “You can leave now if you wish.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to leave, Cardinal.”

“Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his praise, which he clearly notices. He thrusts his hips up against yours and your hands grip at the fabric of his pelegrina. The friction feels far too good but you want more and press down against him clumsily, making him let out a low laugh.

He brings his face close to yours, his nose pressing against your temple and his breath ghosts against your ear.

“Will you get on your knees for me, dolce?”

It’s so warm in the confessional that any sane thoughts have left you. It’s like he managed to bewitch you—you’d do anything he asked. And so you nod and slowly slide off of him to the floor. There isn’t much space in the confessional and it’s all stuffy but you feel even hotter as you watch him lift the fabric of his cassock. Underneath are his usual tight pants and you can see the large bulge straining against the fabric. Dazed and body singing with lust, you can’t help but lick your lips when he unzips them, letting his cock free.

You stare at it and you feel his hand reach for your wimple and yank it off so your hair can spill free. The leather of his gloved hands is soft as a finger traces your face before a hand winds tightly in your hair to bring your head closer towards his flushed cock. Your hands grip his thighs as you lick the head, the groan that leaves Copia’s throat emboldening you so that you lick it again before gripping the base to take it into your mouth.

The hand in your hair tightens further and you lick the underside of his cock as you suck, teasing him as best you can. Every sigh and moan that comes from him feels like a prayer and you increase your movements even though your own sex demands attention. You can feel the wetness seeping through your knickers and you desperately squeeze your thighs together, the hand not pumping his cock digging into his thighs as you moan around him.

“Do you need help, dolce?” he growls from above you.

You feel him shift, forcing your mouth to leave him, as the toe of one his boots finds its way between your knees to press up against your cunt. Immediately you grind down against him, desperately trying to ride against the leather while your hand still fists his cock.

It’s not enough though and you feel he can sense your desperation in the way he laughs.

“You need more from your Cardinal, si?”

“Yes, please, Your Eminence” you breathe, grinding down against him again.

His hands move to pull you up on your feet and when he commands that you remove your panties, you do. Stepping out of them hurriedly and leaving them on the floor before he is tugging you back into lap and pushing the skirt of your habit up to bunch around your waist. He makes no effort to be gentle, gripping your hips tightly and positioning you over his slick cock before he is bringing you down. You are more than ready for him but it has been so long since the last time you had fucked anyone.

“Cazzo,” he hisses, one of his hands coming between you to circle your clit.

The jolt of pleasure has you sinking onto him further, opening you up to him so that he is fully seated within you. You moan as he continues to rub at your bundle of nerves, your hips grinding down on him as you try to take your pleasure. Your blood is boiling with a neediness you have never felt so acutely before and when you begin to ride him in earnest, he is matching your thrusts with his own.

“Good girl,” he says, the low voice making your cunt throb in response.

A gloved hand is back at your throat, holding you tightly and making your head spin. You feel lightheaded and your own movements become disjointed in the delirium surging through your veins. But it doesn’t matter, as Copia’s grip on your hips and throat have you held in place with ease as he fucks up into you.

You know you are going to come soon, you can feel the delicious tension low in your stomach and your spine tingles with anticipation. The easy slide of his cock in your cunt is addictive, and you can feel him swelling further, bringing you even closer to the edge.

When his hand leaves your throat to hold both sides of your hip and bring down against him so he can fuck you hard and fast, you come fast. Your hands grips at him, hands fistings in the fabric of his pelegrina as you lean forward to bury yourself against his neck. He keeps fucking you as your ride the wave of your release until you feel him spilling within you. You cling to him as he takes his own pleasure, muttering unintelligible Italian. Sweat is damp on your neck as his movements start to slow and the only sound left is both of your heavy breathing.

“Grazie, mia dolce,” he whispers, his moustache tickling your cheek.

You lean back to see the smirk on his face before awkwardly standing, suddenly embarrassed at what had come over you. You just fucked Cardinal Copia in the confessional!

“I—” your words falter and you look down on the floor, grabbing your wimple and trying to find your knickers. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

You pin the wimple back on your head while the Copia is waiting, not a hair out of place, as he smooths down the front of his cassock. You notice something in his hand—your underwear. You go take it but he tuts at you and pockets them with a smirk.

“Penance, Sister,” is all he says before opening the door for you.

It is much cooler in the empty church, a welcome relief on your heated skin and you can’t wait to return to your bed, unable to look at the Cardinal while his seed drips down your thighs.

You nearly jump when you hear a voice echoing in the silence. “Buonasera, I was locking up.” It is Papa Secondo, a set of large keys in one hand as he stands at the other end of the church by the large doors. You walk with Copia towards him, holding your hands in front of you.

“I was just holding confession with our new Sister, Papa,” says Copia smoothly. “But we are finished now.”

You don’t trust yourself to look at either of them and so you hurriedly offer a goodnight to both men before scurrying down the hallway and towards your room.

The next day feels like any other, though you are sore and bruised, you can’t help the anticipation of seeing the Cardinal again in your next lesson.

“Sorella!”

The voice startles you and you turn to see Papa Terzo heading your way, a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he comes down the hallway. He stops in front of you, gives an overdramatic bow that you cannot help but smile at. He proffers the flowers with a flourish.

“For you, bella!” he says. “I saw them out in the garden and had to pick them for you.” They’re dozens of red roses all neatly wrapped. “Did you wrap and add the card yourself too, Papa?”

“Si, si,” he says seriously but then he winks, earning a small laugh from you. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl!”

You spy Secondo heading your way as well and try not to let any embarrassment mar your features. There is no way he could possibly know what happened last night. He's scowling but he always looks like that so it’s hard to tell if he is actually upset or not. He gives you a polite nod.

“Sorella,” he greets with a small nod at you before glaring at his brother. “Idiota.”

“Secondo,” replies Papa Terzo, “as you can see I am busy talking to the lovely Sorella, andare via.” The older Papa sighs. “Non si disturbi.”

“Eh?” “Il ratto ti ha battuto.”

Terzo’s face immediately goes from charming to enraged. “Il ratto?”

It feels like both men have suddenly forgotten you are standing there. You do not wish to simply leave and so you stand there awkwardly, wondering if you should tell them you know of their ridiculous bet.

“Si,” says Secondo as Terzo starts to go red around the ears, “quel bastardo l'ha fottuta nel confessionale ieri sera.”

“Pah! Sta mentendo. Non può farmi questo... di nuovo!”

Secondo ignores his brother’s outburst and looks at you. His voice is much softer than how he addressed Terzo when he asks, “Sorella, I trust your confession last night with the Cardinal was rewarding?”

Your face colours immediately and you stammer out a reply. “Yes, Papa, it was.”

“Vedi,” he says to Terzo with a half hearted shrug. “La ragazza sembrava completamente fottuta e lui ne era completamente compiaciuto, il bastardo. Inoltre, entrambi puzzavano di sesso, Terzo. Non userò il confessionale finché non sarà pulito.”

Terzo glares at the ground. “Cazzo.”

“Mmm. È sempre molto più bravo con quelli silenziosi di te, quella piccola merda.”

They both look at you and you stand there awkwardly. Maybe you should say something and tell them you are flattered but they should not be betting on such things. But before you can even muster the words, Terzo gives you a tight smile.

“Forgive me, bella, but it seems there is a rat problem I must deal with.”

You watch them walk away, bickering in fast Italian to each other, as you stand there utterly confused.

andare via - go away Non si disturbi - Do not bother Il ratto ti ha battuto - The rat beat you Si, quel bastardo l'ha fottuta nel confessionale ieri sera. - Yes, that bastard fucked her in the confessional last night. Sta mentendo. Non può farmi questo... di nuovo! - He’s lying. He can’t do this to me…again! Vedi - You see? La ragazza sembrava completamente fottuta e lui ne era completamente compiaciuto, il bastardo. Inoltre, entrambi puzzavano di sesso, Terzo. Non userò il confessionale finché non sarà pulito. - The girl looked thoroughly fucked and he was utterly smug about it, the bastard. Also, they both reeked of sex, Terzo. I am not using the confessional until it’s cleaned. È sempre molto più bravo con quelli silenziosi di te, quella piccola merda - He’s always much better with the quiet ones than you are, that little shit.

#doing a little rb as this got some notes!

443 notes · View notes