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lulusdiary · 3 months ago

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Just a reminder that I called this shit this time last year, I'll take my dodgeball now pls thx

Working Late [Copia x unnamed Sister of Sin]

Summary: After working a late night, Copia comes across a Sister of Sin doing the same and helps her unwind. [3426 words]

Tags: NSFW 18+ under the cut, MDNI, shameless smut, desk sex

[I left the Sister's descriptions intentionally vague, this is as close to xreader as I get to writing, it's just difficult for me to do xreader. Hope you enjoy it regardless!]

Copia jingled the keys to his office as he stepped out for the night, pulling the door to behind him and listening for the click of the latch catching before he strolled away, spinning his key ring around his finger. He whistled a tune as he walked down the aisle between the desks that served the Ministry’s administrative staff; young Siblings of Sin typically filled the desks, working away on the behind-the-scenes work of the Ministry Copia, as Papa, barely understood or acknowledged. He had his own concerns, his own work to do between appearances, recording studio sessions, and tours. There was plenty of work to be done as the face of the Ministry, its man on the outside and its head, and that had kept him working late, as usual.

He passed by a still-occupied desk, momentarily freezing as he stopped whistling and spinning his keys long enough to fish his pocket watch out of a jacket pocket and check the time. It was entirely too late for anyone to still be working, even him; still, a Sister sat at her desk, typing away on a keyboard tucked onto a little pull-out drawer under her desk top. She had taken off her wimple and kicked off her heels under her desk, breaking uniform during the after-hours, and her hair was bound in a low, hastily-tied ponytail with an office supply rubber band, more for function than style. The desk top itself was neat and tidy; nothing like his own desk, which was covered in maps and infographics and various other accoutrements required for planning Rituals, which Copia insisted on presiding over himself.

Three large stacks of paper sat to the Sister’s lefthand side; the first was the tallest, and each bundle of carefully binder-clipped papers had a yellow sticky note indicating some sort of problem with the paperwork in the bundle. The next pile was considerably smaller; the papers in this stack were covered in neat, tidy lines of notes. Spreadsheets dotted with correction fluid and handwritten numerals poked out of the pile at odd angles, and Copia watched the Sister pass a paper from in front of her into the pile without looking up. She took another packet out of the third pile closest to her and Copia wrapped his head around her organization system at last. Closest to her was the “in” pile of work to be checked, reconciled, and processed; next to it must be the “out” pile of work that had already been entered into whatever software she was using. The largest pile was the “problem” pile of work that needed extensive checking and correction, more work than she had time for at the moment.

Copia continued to watch her as the Sister used a ruler to help track across tiny lines of numbers, keying each in with her right hand as her left slid the ruler down the page. She checked values against cover sheets, added her notes, then slipped the packet into the out pile. She took another bunch from the in pile and got to work on it, her eyes only leaving the pages to check the screen of her computer or track her fingers momentarily across the keyboard. She rarely made a mistake she had to backspace and correct in the computer; more often, she found fault with the paper she was entering from. She’d pick up the bottle of correction fluid and dot out a mistake, muttering curses to herself, then fix the math on the page and carry on.

It was entirely too tedious a process for Copia, and he was glad that the Ministry outsourced this sort of work to the underlings. It didn’t make him any less curious about what she was doing, however, and he leaned down on top of her problem pile, folding his arms across the papers and smiling a genial, black-lipped smile.

“What are you doing here so late, Sorella?” Copia cooed, and the Sister jumped nearly an inch off her seat, her left hand flying off the packet of paper and her right leaping from her numeric pad.

“P-Papa,” she stuttered out, one hand clasped to her chest as she swiveled in her chair to look at him, “you startled me, your Eminence.” Her heart pounded in her chest beneath her palm, and her breathing was quick and staccato as she calmed herself. She fished quickly for her wimple, discarded to her right side, and pulled it over her hair, her face flushing scarlet at being caught both after hours and out of uniform. Had she been completely oblivious to him this entire time? Surely no one was quite so devoted to their work as to not notice someone else—particularly him—passing by.

“What are these?” Copia poked the out pile with one black leather-clad finger, and the frightened Sister settled a bit more, slouching back into her chair and tucking a few strands of hair underneath her wimple.

“Financial reports from the last tour,” she explained, making an attempt to tidy the stack. “Sister Imperator will have my head if I don’t have them all entered and on her desk by tomorrow morning.” She swiveled her chair back to face the computer screen, re-aligning her ruler under a line of data. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I really must finish these tonight.”

The glow of her computer monitor illuminated her face in the typically dim lighting of the Ministry’s offices, and she was certainly a pretty thing, even with her brow furrowed in concentration, pretty lips pursed as her eyes flicked from paper to screen. She didn’t wait for his leave to return to her work; she merely resumed clicking away on her keyboard, bowing her head to her task with a drive Copia recognized as one they shared. He tutted, remembering many long nights of overworking himself as Cardinal, desperate for Sister Imperator’s approval himself. His gloved hand easily covered her smaller left hand on the paper in front of her, and she looked over at him questioningly, but made no move to extricate her hand.

“Go home, dolcezza,” Copia urged, “the work will still be here waiting for you tomorrow. Time will not wait. The Sister, she will understand.” Copia wondered vaguely where she lived; most of the Siblings lived in co-ed dormitories on the Ministry’s campus; more senior members, himself included, had suites of rooms or even living quarters offsite. He wondered if she had a car, if she needed an escort to it, or to her dormitory. Then he suddenly wondered why he cared so much. Maybe it was the amount of himself he saw in the pretty nun; they shared the same work ethic that kept them both at the office past normal working hours, when only the Ghouls prowled the grounds. She should be in her room, watching television or reading, something, anything to unwind and rest. “What do you do for fun?” Copia lifted himself off of the problem pile of papers and reached for the back of her chair, swiveling it so that she faced him. The pretty Sister blinked at him, clearly confused.

“Fun, Papa?”

“Si, Sorella, fun. What do you do to relax, in your off hours? You should be out doing that, not here working so late.” The Sister finally removed her hand from underneath his, and she began to fiddle with the golden Grucifix hanging around her neck, which brought his attention to both her neck and her hands. Her neck was lovely, and her hands were elegant, tipped in black nail polish carefully applied, without a single chip or crack. She was a fastidious Sister, then, and he had seen her with her guard well and truly down, hunched over her work and wimple-less. His eyes darted over her, and he noticed her fastidiousness carried through to her habit. Not a single seam out of place or a wrinkle in her pencil skirt, which was tightly stretched over her thighs in the most appealing way, and her impeccably clean and lint-less blouse was equally impressive. It felt that much more…intimate, then, to have seen her without her wimple, which even now was still slightly askew. A strand of hair stuck out from underneath the covering, and Copia reached for it and brushed it out of her face, carefully tucking it in and arranging her hair to be a little neater. He glanced down again to see she had not been able to regain her shoes, and bright red toenail polish peeked out at him from her sheer Cuban-heeled hose.

The movement of arranging her hair had brought him closer to her, and her breathing was affected by his nearness and his gentle touch; she took an uneven breath as she endeavored to answer his earlier question.

“I suppose I like to read, Papa,” she replied, a little breathlessly.

“Reading is good, cuore mio,” Copia replied, looking deep into her eyes and caring little about holding a conversation with her anymore. She was captivatingly lovely, and there was heat in her eyes, in her face. Her body was angled toward him, her posture leaning her closer. His hands left her hair, and one cupped her cheek. She leaned in to the warm, supple leather that covered his palm, and Copia briefly wished to remove it, to feel the smoothness of her unblemished skin. His thumb traced her lower lip, and she caught the tip of the glove in her teeth in a way that sent a shockwave straight through Copia and into his groin. “Naughty topolina,” he muttered, and when he drew his hand away from her face, she held on to the thumb tip of his glove with her teeth. Copia let her draw the black leather away with her mouth, and his hand came back bare. She smiled around the leather glove and parted her lips, letting it fall into her lap.

Copia shot forward and caught her jaw, his thumb holding her mouth open, and her tongue flicked out to trace his bared thumb. Copia shuddered. “What are you doing to me, dolcezza sorella?” He whispered as he loosened his grip on her jaw, allowing her to close her lips around his thumb and suck. Copia groaned, and the pretty Sister looked at him through her lashes, eyes gone hooded and dark with lust. “What are you doing to your Papa?” The Sister hummed, and he caught the movement of her pressing her thighs together and squirming in her chair, desperate for some kind of friction between her legs. He chuckled, leaving his thumb in her mouth as his other hand came up to his own mouth. He pulled off his other glove with his own teeth, letting it drop to her lap with the first, and he reached up and tugged the wimple back off her head.

The Sister gasped, briefly releasing Copia’s thumb, and Copia pressed closer to her, pulling her to her feet from the chair and kicking it backwards, sending the offending office furnishing spinning out of the way. Copia pulled her to him, pressing her all along his front and letting her feel the effect she had on him, heavy and hot against her stomach. She was a bit shorter than he was, and he tipped her head up with his hand, fingers holding her chin, and captured her lips in a kiss as he leaned back against her desk, pulling her along with him.

She kissed him back with a fervor that near undid him. Her mouth opened for him at the barest urging, and she hummed a small moan as he swept inside her mouth with his tongue, exploring and tasting. Dolcezza fit her nicely, he decided; she tasted of lemon candy and honey, sweet and intoxicating. Her hands fisted in the front of his black jacket, and she clung to him as though he were life itself, kissing him with wild abandon. Copia righted himself and spun them around, pressing her back until her bottom hit the edge of her desk. He broke the kiss only briefly to wrap his hands around either side of her ass and lift her onto the desk, setting her down atop a stack of her carefully organized papers and sending them scattering; pristine black and white pages fluttering to the floor like so many fallen doves. Neither particularly cared, and her fist closed around his cravat, bringing him back into her orbit and her kiss.

Copia felt like he was drowning in her as he swallowed her sweet taste, and his hands cupped her face. One slid from her cheek to the back of her neck and up into her hair; the rubber band had been tied loosely to prevent it from getting knotted in her hair, and he worked it loose with his fingers, letting her hair fall free. He tangled his fingers in the silken strands, working his way to the back of her skull. Once his fingers found her scalp, he gripped her hair tightly and pulled her head back, breaking the kiss and baring her throat to him. Copia littered her throat and what he could reach of her collarbone with kisses, whispering endearments and praise of her beauty in a broken mix of Italian and English. He bit down on her collarbone and she let out a cry of pleasure, her hands coming to grip his head, fingers tangling in his salt-and-pepper hair.

Copia slid his hands over her body, roving over her generous curves. He palmed her breasts through her blouse and she moaned again; a beautiful, sweet sound he couldn’t get enough of. He buried his face in her neck as his fingers found her nipples through the fabric of her blouse and bra, and Copia wished there was time, there was space to fully undress her, to lave those precious peaks with his tongue and close his mouth around them.

Her skirt had rucked up around her thighs, baring her garters and the tops of her thigh-high hose to him, and he plucked lightly at a garter strap as he pressed closer between her legs.

“So lovely, dolcezza,” he praised, sliding a hand up her thigh under the garter strap. Her delicate skin pebbled under his touch, and he pressed the adventurous hand further up and was met with a lovely surprise. “No underwear, cara mia?” She bit her lip and shook her head, smiling coyly, and Copia groaned. His fingers found their goal, and they moaned together as he palmed her slick warmth, pressing his fingers against the center of her. Holy hell, but she was wet; more than that, she was trembling, fluttering in his hand like a small bird or a butterfly airing its beautiful wings. Copia groaned more praise as he slid a finger inside her, his thumb circling her clit gently, slowly. She rocked on the desk top, desperate for more of that beautiful sensation, that sweet pleasure he was giving her, sending more of her papers to the floor.

“More, Papa, please,” she whimpered, and Copia chuckled.

“Soon enough, dolcezza,” he promised, rocking a second finger inside her, thumb pressing just a little harder against her clit. He stroked inside her, marveling in her heat and the sounds she made until he could bear it no more. He withdrew from her and sucked her sweetness away from his fingers, eyes briefly rolling back in his head at her taste. “On your knees,” he commanded in his most authoritative voice, and she unhurriedly obeyed, rising from the desk and sinking down to her knees before him until her nose was mere inches from his erection. She read his mind, apparently, and before he could give the command, her hands moved to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle. She unbuttoned his trousers and surprised him by leaning forward and pulling down his zipper with her teeth, the wicked little thing. She drew him out of his trousers, eyes round with want, pretty lips forming a perfect little O as she admired him.

Copia cupped the back of her head as she lowered that perfect mouth onto his cock; his fingers tangled in her hair as she closed around the entirety of him, tongue laving as she began to suck. The heat and pressure of her mouth were a delightful torment, something entirely unholy in and of themselves, and Copia was torn between closing his eyes in bliss and watching her intently. In the end, he couldn’t remove his eyes from her face, especially when she looked up at him through her thick lashes, smiling slightly around his cock. She lowered her eyes and redoubled her efforts, and Copia groaned loudly, grip tightening in her hair. He was absolutely certain he would finish in her mouth, and he pulled her away before he could. He didn’t want to finish in her mouth, not when there were such better places to come.

Copia pulled her to her feet roughly by her hair and spun her around, pressing her forward until she was bent over her desk, perky ass up in the air and legs spread as wide as her skirt would allow. Copia seized the fabric and pushed it further up her hips until it was bunched around her waist, wrinkled at last, and he pressed forward, rubbing his cock against her slick folds.

“Tell me what you want me to do, dolcezza,” he urged as he bent over her, kissing the nape of her neck through the curtain of her hair. She braced herself against the desk, palms pressing down to hold herself up as she rocked back against him and swore.

“Fuck me, Papa,” she pleaded, and Copia was only too happy to oblige. He rocked back far enough to slip a hand between them and align himself, sinking into her wet heat with a groaning sigh that was met with a fluttering moan from her. He held still for a moment, allowing her to adjust to his invasion, since his preparation of her had been fairly minimal. It was a herculean task not to move on her immediately, and she experimentally rolled her hips, creating a friction that had them both groaning. “Please, Papa,” she begged, and a litany of please fell from her lips like a liturgy itself until he began to move. Copia kept a hand on the back of her neck, pressing her face down onto the desk as he fucked into her, delighting in her cries, in how responsive she was. The world around them narrowed to just the feeling of her fluttering around his cock, and he slipped his free hand from where it held her hip around to her front, pressing against her clit and moving in tight, focused circles.

“Come for me, tesoro,” Copia half pleaded, half commanded, and the Sister cried out and trembled as her orgasm caught her, rocking insistently between his hand and his cock as he pounded into her with sheer determination. His fingers never stopped their torment of her over-sensitized clit, and her cries grew louder and more insistent as a second orgasm washed over her, more powerful than the first. Her core fluttered around him, and with a grunt and a final thrust, he joined her in oblivion. His body bowed with his final thrust, and he remained seated in her for several long minutes as they both panted and regained their breath.

Eventually, Copia withdrew his softening cock from her and found a handkerchief in his pocket. Ever the tender lover, he gently wiped her clean, then himself, and replaced himself in his trousers. He caringly rearranged her skirt and helped her right herself; she turned in his arms, and he gave her a gentle kiss, an apology for treating her roughly as he fucked her. She kissed him back, melting into his arms as they wrapped around her.

“I suppose we should clean these up,” Copia said after breaking the kiss, toeing one of her papers with his shoe. The Sister looked down and laughed, and Copia helped her gather up her papers and place them back on her desk. He did walk her back to her dormitory, ever the gallant, and swept into a bow as he took her hand outside the dormitory. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “Have a good night, Sorella,” he bid her, and he turned away, smiling, to retire to his own rooms.

Sometimes, it paid to work late.

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