#Copia x you

[deakyjoe]

Misfire

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (afab)

Category: smut, fluff

Summary: After a long day, Copia gets a little too excited at finally seeing you.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation, kissing, groping, cum eating, shower sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, f receiving oral, cream pie, established relationship, stressed Copia, needy Copia, hurt/comfort, praise kink, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Every horny thought I had previously about Copia that had been pushed to the back of my mind with the insistence of “I don’t need to write that” came back in full swing after RHRN and manifested into this. Title comes from the song of the same name by Queen.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The day had been long and stressful. Like most days were. And there was nothing Copia wanted more than to be back in his room, in bed, with you underneath him or his face buried between your legs. It was the only suitable way to unwind after a difficult day in his opinion. Fucking you.

As soon as his last meeting was done, and he'd managed to convince Sister Imperator that the latest pile of paperwork she'd dumped on his desk could wait for tomorrow, he was out the door and practically running to go and find you. Thankfully, you were exactly where you always were at the end of the day. You were waiting for him back in his rooms, ready to do whatever he needed to feel better.

The door swung open with an unceremonious thwack against the wall, door handle banging into the paint and contributing to the dent that already existed there. It slammed back into its frame behind Copia, all cares about possibly disturbing his neighbours gone. He just needed you.

At the clattering sounds of him appearing, you looked up from the book you were reading and immediately stood to greet him. "Hello, my love. How was your day?"

Copia dismissed your question with a wave of his hand, instead marching towards you with purpose. "No time. Need you."

You didn't have much time to react but the page of the book you were on was forgotten as the item fell to the seat of the chair you were previously situated on, and you prepared yourself to be met with his hands that were already outstretched towards you.

His pace was fast. So fast in fact that when he collided against you, mouth slanting over yours with the slightest clash of teeth, you stumbled back a couple of paces. Luckily, his arms were tightly wound around you in time to steady you and prevent you from falling.

The kiss was messy and desperate, the low whine he let out at the relief of finally touching you telling you everything you needed to know about the state of his day. It obviously hadn't been a good one. But you knew how to solve that.

For Copia, no amount of contact was enough. He was glad that he'd forgone his Cardinal vestments for the day, one less layer between the two of you. One of his hands pushed into the small of your back to draw your body as close as possible to his. The other was on the back of your head to keep your lips firmly pressed against his. On top of that he was leaning forward, almost bending you backwards and making your spine arch in a slightly uncomfortable position, to make sure you didn't leave his embrace for even a second.

His tongue licked hotly and urgently into your mouth and it wasn't long before you could feel him growing hard between you. It didn't take much on days like this. So without breaking away from him, because you knew that would make his day even worse, you slowly started to guide him back towards his bed.

Copia hadn't realised that the two of you were moving, too distracted by the feeling of you, until the backs of his legs hit the wooden frame. He hummed against your mouth in appreciation, you always knew what he needed. Not like it was difficult to tell when he was being like this.

He whimpered when you had to break apart in order to get on the bed, hands not leaving you for a second as you crawled on and collapsed against the pillows and he climbed on top of you. Not a second was wasted as he went back to kissing you, pushing your thighs apart so he could slot himself between them and rest almost the entirety of his body weight on you.

One of his hands roamed you, sliding up underneath the hem of your shirt to gain access to your skin. Even if he couldn't feel it because of his gloves, knowing that the leather was on your bare flesh was enough for him. Your own hands were tangled in his hair, letting the strands run a little looser after being pristine for the day, and pulling him as impossibly closer as you could. You knew he liked it when you showed how you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

It didn't take long before his lustful impulses took over and the friction of your bodies against each other had him pushing his pelvis into yours with a snap of his hips.

"Fuck." He hissed against your mouth, hips rutting forward again. "I'm sorry. I can't- I can't stop, it feels so good."

You slid your hands down to cup his face in your palms, thumbs swiping across his cheeks to calm him down. "Copia, my love, if it feels good then don't stop."

His mouth fell open, a protest dying on his lips when he saw how genuine you were being about the idea, brows scrunching together in pleasure as he let himself rut against you again. After that, all control was lost.

His mouth crashed back over yours, desperate to feel as much of you as possible. He chased the feeling that was steadily building, convinced that he could do this for just a little while longer before he took your clothes off and actually fucked you.

But you knew better.

You could tell he was getting close by the whines he was letting out into your mouth getting higher in both pitch and frequency. His hips were also rutting against you at a much faster rate, almost frantic. Then suddenly he stilled, limbs going rigid and jaw falling open around a long groan of elated satisfaction.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the side of your neck and heavy pants tickling your skin. You let your hands slide around to his back, tracing patterns with your finger tips along his clothes.

Copia sighed suddenly, mumbling against your ear. "I'm so sorry. I, eh, I don't know what happened."

"It's okay." You replied, a content smile gracing your lips. He didn't need to apologise, there was nothing you loved more than his happiness. And if that was caused by him coming in his pants just through some dry humping? Then you were all too pleased for him. You let him rest for a couple more minutes, allowing his breathing rate to slow down, before suggesting something that always made him feel better. "Let's go get you cleaned up, hm? Shower?"

The smile in his voice was evident. "Okey dokey."

He slowly pushed himself up, hands running down the lengths of your legs to keep in contact with you as you yourself also sat up. You took his hands in yours as you started to lead him towards his en suite bathroom, letting him wind his arms around your waist and push his face into the side of your neck to keep you close.

When you got to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror, you found that the black paint he applied to his top lip every day was now smeared around your mouth. This was a common occurrence.

You pointed it out to him anyway. "Look, we're matching."

And Copia smiled like he always did. "It suits you."

You rolled your eyes at the same line he always gave you, biting down on your bottom lip to smother the grin it always brought to your face. After switching the shower on, you gave it a minute to warm up as you started to help Copia remove his clothes. He let you do it, a fond smile on his face as he noticed your eyebrows pinch in concentration.

His thighs were sticky from your previous activities and your eyes lit up at the sight. Copia's own eyes practically popped out of his head as he watched you swipe a finger through the mess and then suck it off into your mouth with a pleased hum.

That was all it took for him to start ripping your clothes off and then push you into the shower whilst you giggled at his new found energy.

"Slow down, my love. We have time and you could probably use a minute." You glanced down to where he was hanging soft and pulled him under the hot stream of water with you to start cleaning him off.

Copia's head rested on your shoulder, his hair dripping into his eyes and making his black eye makeup start running, as you lathered him up with soap and got to work gently washing the day's stress away. Once he was spotless you pressed a kiss against his neck to tell him you were done and he stood up straight to look at you.

An adoring smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he cupped your face in a bare palm and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. He kissed you quickly, softly, and then sank down onto his knees. He gazed up at you, mismatched eyes wide and almost vulnerable, black paint cascading from his eyes. You used your thumbs to wipe the mess away before giving him the go ahead with a small nod.

Copia dived in between your thighs, enthusiastically licking at every inch he could reach. His eyes closed in pleasure, moans rumbling through his chest and out of his mouth against you. The fingers of one of your hands threaded through his hair, encouraging him, the other steadying you against the wall to hold yourself up. He was always so keen to please, so desperate to know he was doing well, so that's exactly what you gave him.

"Mhm, just like that." You sighed, meeting his opened eyes. "Good boy."

He whined against you, somehow pushing his face further into you and bumping his nose against your clit. One of his large hands splayed across the plains of your thigh, tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh and pushing your leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder. That only gave him better access and a new angle. As much as you wanted to stay composed for him, to keep praising him, the new sensation had a choked cry leaving your mouth and your head dropping backwards in pleasure.

Copia licked and sucked with determination, working towards the goal of getting you to orgasm against his face. He kept a close watch on every reaction you gave, making sure to keep his eyes open now so he didn’t miss a single response you gave to anything he did. Water rained down onto his head, beating against his face and making it harder to see, but he didn’t care. He only cared about making you feel good. Because you always made him feel good. He loved to return the favour.

Your toes curled, thighs clenching around him and drawing him closer against you. Copia knew then that the end goal was arriving soon and this only motivated him further, his rapid motions only picking up further like a man starved. The fingers carded in his hair tightened, tugging on the roots harshly, and Copia groaned loudly, sending vibrations rippling through you. That tipped you over the edge.

A smile spread across his face as you rocked your hips against it, chasing the high that he’d given you. Once it had eased out to a warm glow Copia stood again, wincing as his knees cracked.

“You need to be more careful, my love. Your joints can’t handle positions like those anymore.” You hummed, cupping his face in your hands.

“For you I will bear the pain and get on my knees any day.” He retorted as he leaned in to kiss you.

The proximity alerted you to the fact that he was hard again and you pulled away from him with a startled squeak and looked down to where he was pressing against your stomach.

“Bad days make you like a horny teenager.” You chuckled, not complaining in the slightest.

“No, you make me like a horny teenager.” He countered and kissed you again, tongue lapping into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him.

Steam from the hot shower had clouded the room but neither of you cared as Copia pushed you against the wall and slid into you. You both gasped lowly into each other’s mouths in gratification at the feeling, him lifting one of your legs to give him better access.

He fucked you slowly and lovingly, a strong contrast to the way he’d been rutting against you earlier. But that had been for relief. This was for comfort. He took his time with it, letting the sensation build slowly as to not rush it this time. And you were all too happy to let him have you anyway he wanted you.

Water cascaded between you, causing his body to slip against yours with ease and making it difficult to breathe between kisses. But neither of you cared, not being able to bear being too far away from each other for even a fraction of a second.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your second orgasm, despite the slow pace. And the feeling of you clenching around him meant Copia wasn’t far behind. He stilled as he came inside you, pumping a few more times to make sure he filled you.

After a few more kisses, he slid out of you with a hiss and it was his turn to wash you. He babbled about how much he loved you, a mix of English and Italian and what you thought to be some Latin leaving his mouth in hushed tones. You could only smile back, knowing he knew how much you loved him too.

Once the shower was done, and the steam started to clear, you dried each other off and giggled about meaningless things. You pointed out how much you adored the greys in his hair as you ruffled his head with a towel. He pointed out the bite mark he’d left on your thigh that you hadn’t even noticed he’d given you in the shower as he wiped water droplets off of your skin.

When you returned to the bedroom and started searching for some pyjamas for you to wear, one of his fingers tracing up and down the line of your spine, he informed you that he wanted to sleep naked. To feel you as close to him as possible. You agreed with a simple nod of your head. And when you crawled into bed, you told Copia how much he meant to you. He only blushed and returned the sentiment.

With the lights off, mumbles of affectionate praises, promises of eternal love, and soft kisses were exchanged until the two of you fell into a peaceful sleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: this started out as something meant to be strictly horny and then turned all sweet at the end?? Anyway, hope you enjoyed my first dive into Copia fanfic!

[ghuleh-witch]

Title: Fangs Fandom: Ghost Rating: Explict Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, blood drinking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, fingering Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Female!Reader Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia, Female!Reader Additional Tags: Dracopia, Vampire!Copia, no use of y/n, no beta, pwp Word Count: 3,238 Summary: Your best friend wanted you to come to a club with her. You agreed to go even though the club scene wasn't your thing. While your friend went off to dance, you somehow found your way into the office of the club's owner. Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the couch scene in RHRN.

Ao3 || Masterlist

You didn’t know what you were doing there. Clubs weren’t your scene, especially not goth-vampire-themed ones, but yet there you were, at the bar ordering a club soda while your best friend danced with some other girl on the dance floor. You watched the two women for a moment before you moved away from the bar to an empty spot along the wall. The red lighting and fog gave the space an eerie look as “Fangs” by Dionnysuss started to play. 

“Take me through the dark. Hide me from the light. I miss your every touch—”

The music was too loud and you couldn’t hear yourself think. You sipped your club soda and looked around the club again. Your eyes wandered upward to a balcony with privacy shades pulled down over the opening. You briefly wondered what was up there before someone bumped into you and caused you to spill your drink on your dress.

“Hey watch it,” you said. A wet spot began to bloom on the black strapless dress you wore.

“Sorry,” the man dressed in a black Victorian-inspired outfit said before he disappeared into the crowd. 

You sighed and moved along the way hoping to find the bathrooms. You slipped through a curtained partition with restroom signs above the entrance. After you dried your dress with paper towels from the bathroom, you reentered the hall to find the light dimmer and the walk to get back into the main part of the club much longer.

“The fuck is going on?” You muttered to yourself as you came up to a door. You looked behind you and the restrooms were out of sight. You knew you were still in the club. You could hear the music thumping right behind the other wall, so where exactly were you and how did you get so lost so fast? You opened the door and hoped it would lead you back onto the dance floor, but instead, it opened up into an office. That’s when you realized somehow you were in the room above the dance floor.

“Can I help you, piccolina?” 

You jumped at the voice and looked to your left. A man with mismatched eyes sat on an ornate red velvet and wood-trimmed couch. His face was painted into some sort of skull design with white and black paint. His mousy hair flecked with gray at the temples told you he was some years older than you. He lounged back on the sofa in a black frilly-trimmed shirt and jeans textured with unique stitching and sewn-on bits of fabric. He held a wine glass with very dark red liquid in his black leather gloved hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got lost,” you explained, already trying to back out of the room. There was something about the man that just didn’t seem right to you. It was as though you honed in on ancient instincts that warned you of a predator. At the same time, curiosity got the better of you and you wanted to stay and find out who the exquisite man sat before you was. 

“Hmmm,” he responded as he sipped his drink. “You looked bored out there.” He nodded towards the screen that was pulled down over the balcony. You could see out onto the dance floor, but you knew from the floor no one could see inside.

“You were watching me?” You asked as you took a step further into the room.

“I see everything in my club,” he said. He said up and swung his legs off the couch to plant his feed on the ground. “Copia Emeritus. You may call me Copia or Papa, and you are cara?”

“Papa?” You asked curiously.

“Just a title,” Copia said. “Now, what is your name?” 

You swallowed and said your name as heat flooded your body. Now that you could see him better in the dimly lit room, you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was. There was something about his eyes that bore into you and hypnotized you into approaching. You were so enthralled that you didn’t even hear the door shut behind you.

“And why did you come here tonight, piccolina?” Copia asked. He took another sip of liquid from the wine glass he held. “You’re obviously not having a good time. Why are you still here?”

“My friend wanted to come,” you told him. “She’s been going on and on about this place, so I told her I’d come with her because she didn’t want to come alone.” 

“And as soon as she saw a pretty face she forgot all about you?” Copia presumed as he leaned back on the couch with a confidence that you’ve never seen before in someone. “Come sit? No reason to continue standing there.” 

You nodded and your feet led you forward on their own accord toward the couch. You sat on the opposite end and looked towards the balcony. “You said this was your club?”

“Si,” Copia answered. “If you want to get technical it belongs to the organization I’m affiliated with, but I do run the place myself.” His eyes roamed your body. It didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, but you did feel like a deer in the headlights for a moment. “Can I get you something to drink? I noticed some idiot bumped into you and spilled your drink.”

“No, no I’m okay,” you said. “I should…” You knew you should return your friend. She would look for you once she noticed you were missing, but it was like a magnet kept you rooted in place. Your body refused to move. “I should…”

“Should what, cara?” Copia asked as he leaned closer to you. You could smell his cologne—something earthy and woody that filled your nostrils and caused you to relax. It was then you noticed what was off about him. You got a glimpse of fangs when he opened his mouth to speak. You blinked as though you’d suddenly be able to understand what you saw. 

“You seem confused,” he then said. 

“I…” You trailed off. “Sorry, I think the lighting is just messing with me.”

Copia smirked. “Sure, let’s say it’s the lighting, eh?” 

You didn’t know when he moved from his spot at the end of the couch to the spot right next to you. You had blinked and he was just there like that’s where he sat the whole time. One of his gloved hands came up to your face and gently moved a stray lock behind your ear. “You smell divine,” he rumbled. It sent tingles down your spine as his fingertips traced down your neck. He leaned in close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Divine and downright sinful.”

You knew you were clear-headed. You didn’t have a single drop of alcohol that evening, but nothing made sense. You didn’t understand what was happening. Yet, you still turned your head and pressed your lips to his. It satisfied the sudden urge and lust that had taken you over. 

He seemed surprised. He stilled momentarily before one hand wrapped around your waist and dragged you closer and the other cupped your cheek. “You sure you want this,” he murmured against your lips when the kiss broke for a second. “Because I’m going to do more than just kiss you if you say yes.”

“Yes,” you answered. And you did want whatever was to come. You needed to know what it would be like with him and why he was a predator and you the prey.

“Good,” he said. “Because it was going to be a shame if I couldn’t have a taste.” His lips moved down over your cheek and jawline and pressed kisses to your skin as he went. He came to your neck and brushed your hair aside. “You know what I am, si?”

“I—” You began and then things started to click together—the cup of the dark red liquid, the hint of fangs, his whole aesthetic, the theme of the damned club. “You’re a vampire,” you breathed. 

“Very good,” Copia purred in your ear. “You’re smart, piccolina .” He pressed a few kisses to your pulse point which made your breath hitch. “I’m going to have a taste now, okay?”

“Okay,” you answered. You trembled in anticipation as you felt the graze of pointed fangs on your skin. A sharp pinch and hot pain caused you to gasp, but the sensation didn’t last. You felt good; a feeling of pure bliss filled you as he drank your blood. You could feel hot rivelets of blood flow down your shoulder, back, and chest. The blood was never going to wash out of your dress, but you didn’t care. It was black and no one would notice. All you cared about was the feeling of his fangs in your neck.

Your hand rested on his chest, fingers gripped into the soft fabric of his shirt. “Fuck,” you breathed. “W-why does that feel so good?”

He chuckled against your skin before you felt his mouth pull away. He stared at you, blood on his lips and chin. “Yeah? Does it feel good, piccolina ?” He asked. A finger traced the blood that trickled down your chest and to your breasts. He smeared it against your skin. “I’m glad it does. You make it hard to control myself.” His finger began to pull down the fabric of your dress. “May I?” 

You nodded and watched as he pulled down the top of your dress enough so your breasts spilled out. His tongue was on you then, and he licked the smear of blood clean from your skin before his mouth wrapped around one of your nipples.

 “Oh fuck,” you moaned as a hand came up to card through his hair. 

“So vocal, cara, I like it,” he said. His tongue flicked over your hardened nipple as his hand palmed your other breast. “Be as loud as you want, cara , no one can hear us up here.” His hand moved from your breast and down your body. He pushed up the hem of your dress to reveal the lacey blue panties you wore underneath. His fingers brushed over your clothed center and you involuntary bucked your hips.

“Please,” you breathed. Your heart hammered against your ribs as unfeathered desire and need coursed through your veins. You felt as though you’d die if he didn’t touch you right then and there.

“Please what?” He asked. A sparkle appeared in his eyes as his lips formed a smirk. “Use your words, piccolina .” 

“Touch me, fuck me, I don’t care I just need you,” you whined. You knew how desperate and pathetic you sounded but you didn’t care. You needed to satisfy the craving for him that clawed at your insides like a rabid animal.

“How about I do both?” He proposed. He slipped down off the couch to his knees between your legs. His fingers found the elastic waistband of your panties and pulled them down your legs and around your heels. He bunched them up and stuffed them into his pocket without explanation. His hands pushed your thighs open wider. “Bellissima,” he breathed before leaning forward to capture your lips. 

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue swept through your parted lips. You could taste the faintest hints of coppery blood on his lips. Your hands rested on his chest but soon they gripped his shirt as you felt two of his fingers slip through your folds and to your clit. 

“Jesus Christ,” you swore against his lips as your hips bucked against his touch.

He hissed. “Maybe refrain from saying that name, cara. It’s blasphemous.” 

You didn’t have time to respond as he slipped a finger inside of you. You let out a moan, the leather of his gloves cool on your hot cunt. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you panted as he pumped his finger in and out of you. It curled upward just right so it hit that one spot that drove you wild. “Don’t stop,” you begged.

“I don’t plan on stopping,” Copia chuckled. He slipped a second finger into you and stretched you open with each thrust of his hand. His thumb rubbed tight circles against your clit. “You look so sweet falling apart for me,” he said as he leaned forward and licked at the bite mark on your neck. 

You choked out a whimper as the coil in your middle tightened. “Close,” you managed to say, your knuckles white against his black shirt.

“Come for me,” he said in a low rumble. “Come for me, piccolina .” 

A few more pumps of his fingers and you came hard. Your walls clenched around his digits before you went limp against the back of the sofa. You looked down at him and watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. You bit your lip at the lewd act and met his eyes. 

“You taste as decadent as your blood,” Copia purred as he repositioned you to lay back on the sofa. He got up, one knee on the couch between your legs. His erection strained against the laces of his pants, and you couldn’t help but sit up and unlace them. Your mouth found a sliver of skin between his shirt and pants. He let out a pleased hum as his hand came up to stroke your hair.

You chanced a glance up to his face to see him staring down at you. His pupils were blown wide with lust and hunger. The look made you bite back a groan as you opened the laces of his pants and pushed them down his thighs. He didn’t have on underwear under the pants, so once his pants were passed his hips, his cock sprung free. He was thick; thicker than anyone you’ve had before and you knew the stretch would be delicious. Your mouth watered at the thought as you wrapped your hand around his length and began to stroke him slowly. Your other hand fumbled to undo the buttons of his shirt.

He gently batted your hand away and began to undo the buttons himself. His head lulled back as a groan escaped his lips. “Cazzo, così buono per me (Fuck, so good for me),” he muttered as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders. It fell forgotten to the floor.

You admired his figure—from his chest hair that tapered down his torso to his pelvis to the three sixes tattooed on his peck in a swirled pattern and to the little bit of belly he had. You pressed kisses around the soft skin of his belly button as your hand still pumped his cock slowly. 

“Keep that up, cara, and I won’t last,” he groaned before he gently pulled your hand off him. “And I want to last.” He positioned you the way he wanted on the couch so that he was between your spread legs and ready to enter you. “Do you still want this?”

“Yes,” you said as you nodded your head. “Please, I need it.” 

“And you’ll have it,” Copia said. He leaned down and kissed your lips as the tip of his cock nudged your entrance. “Breathe for me,” he said before slowly pushing into you.

You let out a hiss at the intrusion. The breath was sucked out of you. His cock stretched your walls and it caused a sting that became a pleasant burn. He took his time so you could adjust to his size, and before you knew it, he bottomed out in you with a moan.

“So fucking tight,” he gritted as he held himself above you. “Cazzo, you feel so good. Let me know when I can move.” 

“Move,” you panted desperately. “Now.”

“So demanding,” he tutted. He slowly pulled out and thrust back into you. 

He kept the pace steady—not too slow or too fast. The sound of both your breaths and moans filled the room as he leaned down to your neck.

“Need another taste,” he grunted before he bit into your neck once more. 

You cried out; the pain and the pleasure were nothing like you’d experienced. “Shit,” you moaned. “Feels so good.” 

His reply was muffled against your neck as he drank. Between him fucking into you and sucking your blood, you started to feel dizzy which only added to your pleasure. “F-fuck,” you whined as you slipped a hand between your bodies and began to touch yourself. You needed more. You needed every nerve ending in your body to be lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Sì, brava ragazza, toccati per me (Yes, good girl, touch yourself for me),” Copia groaned as his eyes went to the space between the two of you. He watched as his cock disappeared into your cunt before he buried his face in your neck and his fangs pierced your skin again.

Your head swam, but you didn’t know if it was from blood loss or bliss. As you rubbed your clit with your fingertips in time with Copia’s thrusts, you felt your core grow taut. You felt Copia release your neck and raise his head to look down at you. 

“You’re getting close,” Copia grunted as his speed picked up. He licked the blood from his lips and moaned. “I can feel it. Are you close, cara ?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He tutted. “I want to hear you say it. Are you close for me, cara?”

“Yes,” you panted. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

“Good girl,” he responded as he thrust hard and deep into you. “So am I. Come for me again, cara.”

His hips snapped against you and the coil snapped. Your vision whited out for a split second as your back arched off the sofa. You cried out in ecstasy. “Papa! Copia!” You whimpered as your legs shook.

“Sto per venire (I’m gonna come),” Copia grunted as his thrusts became erratic. Four hard and deep pumps later and he came inside of you. His seed flooded you and filled you. His arms shook as he lowered himself to the sofa, careful to not crush you in the process. “Cazzo, you are—you are—” He seemed to struggle to find the words.

You smiled and laughed lightly. “So are you,” you agreed.

He chuckled, fangs visible between his parted lips as he moved a lock of hair from your forehead. “Not what you expected tonight, was it?”

“No, no it wasn’t. I didn’t know what—oh shit, my friend,” you said as she sat up. “I need to go before she notices I’m missing.”

Copia backed off of you and gave you space to fix your dress and make yourself look appropriate. “I suppose I’m not getting my panties back?” She asked him.

“Hmmm not a chance,” Copia smirked. “At least not today. Maybe next time?”

“Next time? That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” you responded as your own smirk played on your lips.

“Go find your friend, cara. And when you want to see me again, all you have to do is step into this club. I’ll make sure you get to where you need to be.” 

You heard the door creak open and looked behind you. You never remembered closing it. When you looked back at Copia he was gone and the window behind a large desk was opened to the cool night air.

[korn-y-copia]

Heir Apparent

Hi yes, I am currently experiencing baby fever (it’s bad), and I am unashamedly in love with Copia (it’s bad) and from that fatal concoction, this monstrosity (my first ever published work!) has been born.

I am new to all of this and could not think of a proper title, but basically, please enjoy this little piece entailing the first few hours following the birth of your son with Papa Emeritus IV (it is intended to be very fluffy, I really hope it reads that way!)

Word count: 1,333 (roughly)

Written in second person P.O.V. 

Warnings: AFAB reader (gendered language, “mamma,” and “cara” should be the only instances), slight cursing, allusion to Terzo being a whore (affectionate), mentions of “parental instincts,” brief mentions of childbirth and breastfeeding which some readers may find uncomfortable!! If I missed anything please let me know! Constructive feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

“Ah, shit,” grunted Copia, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. The first 40 times, it was because your water broke. The next twenty instances slipped between haphazardly lifting you from your seat in the car, to wheeling you into the hospital. The latter 39 counts were muttered and groaned as you gripped his hand amid labor, in such an ungodly grip that it took an hour for the feeling in it to return. In that time, rather reluctantly, he sped back to the ministry (Nuclear Assault blasting the entire way, and yet he hadn’t “heard” it), his mind in such a euphoric haze that he also failed to register when Primo concernedly inquired about you and the baby, or to notice when he nearly trampled Terzo and his chosen sister of the evening, or when he bumped into Secondo—an action that would normally result in Copia nearly dying of fright—while on his way to your shared quarters, to retrieve the forgotten hospital bag for you (luckily, his brothers, for as unforgiving as they could be, gave him a break just this once, since they understood the importance of the evening—the Emeritus bloodline was now secured once more, with the birth of Copia’s son). Now, after grabbing the bag, quickly changing into his favorite pair of sweats (he of course, nearly tripped changing into them) and bumping into several nurses in his hurried return to you, he found himself uttering his favorite foreign curse for the hundredth time, as his cacophonous movements, upon reaching your room, caused a stir from the bundle of blankets lying in the bassinet before him. Copia winced when the gentle coos of his awakening son quickly turned to cries. Panicking, the potent concoction of his paternal instincts—which he had nurtured, and refined through the help of several parenting books, and attending doctor’s appointments with you throughout your pregnancy—chronic anxiety, and adrenaline, sent him into action.

“Aw, what’s the matter, little man?” He fussed, caressing his son’s cheek before settling his gloved hand on his belly, patting him softly. “Why do you cry? Why—you should be happy, yes. You have the best mamma in the world!” The baby, not yet named, only looked up at him with a pair of curious eyes, matching his own. The tears had stopped at the familiar sound of his father’s voice (Copia had made it a point to talk to your belly as often as his papal duties allowed him to, for this exact reason). Copia smiled, his eyes threatening to fill up with tears once more (when the baby was first born only a few hours ago, he had been in near hysterics). “Yeah, you do!” He continued, “and your papa,” he gestured to himself. “he might not always be around, but he’ll…” his mind momentarily wandered back to his childhood. He still carried with him the heavy weight of growing up without the love of a mother or father. There was still a lonely child residing within him, one that sat outside in the bitter rain, on the steps of the abbey, wrapping his arms around himself as he cried into his lap, relying only on himself to bring him comfort, since no one else would. He’d be damned now (again) if he’d let his son fall victim to this same lonesome fate. “He’ll be there, sì? I promise.” Papal duties or not, Copia would always make his way back to his son, and to you—this was a promise both to his son, and to himself. The baby soon dozed back off to sleep, causing Copia to hum contently. He took the opportunity, in the silence of the room, to carefully lift the baby—exhausted from his entry into this world—into his arms, holding him to his chest as he sat down in the recliner beside you, taking the moment to sigh in relief. He couldn’t help himself—he was just too restless, too exited to finally be a father—and so he sat there, eyes fixated on every little movement the baby made, rubbing his thumb across his cheek. “My little man,” Copia whispered, placing a kiss to his forehead. He sat there, snuggling his son and heir, ignorant of the time that had passed, but relishing in every moment of it, until he began to fuss again.

Copia rocked him in his arms gently, soothing him. “Oh, why so negative, huh? Are you hungry? You want a little somethin’-somethin’?” The baby only continued to whimper. “Come on,” he grunted, standing up from the recliner (which certainly wasn’t doing his back any favors), and approached your bed. “Maybe mamma has a little somethin’-somethin’.” Exhausted from the birth, you’d fallen asleep shortly after, only awoken when nurses came in to check on you—Copia wouldn’t dare wake you, after having witnessed all the tears, and the screams of pain that you suppressed (not wanting your son to enter the world to such a jarring noise), none of which he could ease, all while you birthed another human. Now it seemed, out of necessity he would have to, and so while holding your son firmly with one hand, he brought the other to the side of your face, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. The sensation of leather, just barely ghosting your skin awoke you. With your eyes still blurry from exhaustion, you questioned “is the baby okay?” Copia’s heart melted. “He is here, amore,” he spoke gently. “He is okay. But, uh, I think he needs his mamma now.” That was enough to momentarily bring you out of the haze of exhaustion, as your own instincts filled you in on what precisely Copia meant. Sitting up, you allowed him to hand you your son for the first time. “Oh, he’s perfect!” You cooed, examining his little face. Once more, Copia found himself utterly bewitched by your bright smile—it made him just as weak in the knees as the first time you had met. “He has your nose,” you chuckled, looking at Copia (his old nose, anyway). Copia smiled softly, relishing in the unholy vision before him. He long dreamt of being a papa, and part of that dream was seeing you as a mamma—and here you were, glowing and radiant, and absolutely divine in his eyes, as you cuddled your son close to you, guiding him to feed. You sighed, relaxing as you felt the baby successfully latch onto your breast. You looked up to Copia, who now moved closer, sitting beside you on the bed. He kissed your temple, gently petting your hair as he whispered praises to you. “Oh, you did so good. Molto bene, cara mia,” he softly spoke, rubbing the back of his knuckles against your cheek. You nuzzled against his touch, closing your eyes, content to finally be holding one boy in your arms, and to be held in the arms of the other. Silence lingered as your mind danced between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness. “Copia?” You finally spoke. He looked at you with such softness in his eyes, that you could have sworn you’d melt into a puddle right there. “Amore?” “Thank you.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I should be thanking you! You carried him, you did all of the hard work—” “for those things you said, about me being the ‘best mamma in the world?’” You smiled, heat rushing to your cheeks at the remembrance of words spoken so earnestly. Now it was Copia’s turn to blush, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. “Heh. You heard that, did you?” “Copia,” you spoke slowly. “Hm?” “I think you forgot something.” His face fell, as he momentarily panicked, assessing the room. “What, what is it, amore?” You bit your lip, finding him just as endearing as the first time you had met him, and beckoned him closer, whispering “he has the best papa in the world too.”

Note: “molto bene, cara mia” = “very good, my dear (f.);” “amore” = “love;” “sì” = “yes;” “mamma” = “mama.”

[littlemissemeritus]

im just gonna be so fr he needs to breed me rn.

[lilspacewolfie]

I Will Hold You For The Minute

I have a lot of feelings about this movie, too many to express, so please take this even though I'm sure it is not at all coherent <3

Content: 1.1k words, Copia x gn!reader, soft and angsty, idk i have too many feelings right now, ghovie related, Copia stresses a lot, lots of kisses, sweetness, that new fit oh my fucking satan its so hot, no beta.

It is so late that the Ministry halls are deathly silent, with only the rodents out of their hunts. It’ll probably be morning soon, you haven’t looked at a clock for hours, but the world outside remains cool and black. 

Today has been… a lot. That is the only way you can think of describing it. Overwhelming, emotional—like a tornado has ripped through the halls… and yet everything is the same, untouched. 

The man you love, standing before the mirror in his room and studying his reflection, is still here. He’s still Copia. 

Alive and breathing. 

You watch him from the doorway of his bathroom, having just slipped the last of his paint pots into the cabinets, stored away, wondering if they’ll ever be used again. Probably, most likely not. Melancholy has been a familiar friend for you today, and you cannot even begin to imagine how Copia is feeling. 

Copia, now Frater Imperator. 

It is surreal. 

Copia’s got an appraising face on. You watch his gloved hands touch the black glittering clerical collar, smoothing down the front of his new, stunning jacket. It is beautiful, tailor-made and spun from the finest wool with twisted, peak lapels made of the softest, shiniest satin. Attached to the lapels and edged with black gemstones, two precious rubies are pinned with a chain connecting in the centre from which a black grucifix swings. It sparkles under the lamplight, like stars against a black sky at the bottom of which, a ruby red tear-drop gem dangles. It’s ridiculous, maybe even a little bit impractical, but it's certainly Copia. And he looks damn good.

He fiddles with the collar and adjusts his cuffs for the hundredth time that night, and you watch his shoulders visibly slump when he meets your eyes in the mirror. You can't help but smile. How can you not? You love him, adore him with everything you are. 

“Hey,” you whisper, stepping into the room, “the bath is ready…”

Copia nods, his eyes back on his reflection. You pad up to him, barefoot and wrapped in his robe that hangs off your body, sliding an arm through his elbow. You lean against his shoulder, squeezing his bicep. The material creases under your touch, cool and crisp.

“Are you ready to get all this off?” You say again, softly, stroking up his arm tenderly. 

The stiffness that grips him is telling enough. When you find his gaze again, his unblinking and wide eyes are glassy, a little of his paint starting to smear down his cheek with a single tear. You can’t help when your own eyes start to burn. The emotions of the day are finally coming to a head. You’ve both been as strong as you can, an unspoken rule that matters not behind closed doors.

“You did so well,” you whisper, sliding a hand down to his tense one. When you lace your fingers through his, his grip is vice.

“Amore…” The way his voice falters on the term is too much for you.

“I’m so proud of you,” you sniffle, your own tears falling. You grip him tighter, leaning into him, watching your pictures in the mirror. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Copia. My Copia…”

When his face crumbles, you pull each other in a tight, suffocating embrace. Copia buries his head in your shoulder and finally, finally, a sob breaks from him. His grip on you is tense, gloved fingers grasping at you desperately, like he’s afraid if he loosens his hold for a moment you’ll slip through his fingers like smoke. He wets your neck with tears, trembling as you stroke a hand through his soft hair and nuzzle into him. 

You kiss the soft, secret space of skin just under his ear, forever marked by your mouth as you hush him. You whisper words of affection and love, pouring everything you have into him, filling his cup with your light while you replace yours with his dark in the hopes he can find some relief. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him again, softly, half-choked. “Everyone will be… so proud of you.” 

“I—I hope I did good for them. I hope I—I was good enough,” he whimpers on a shaky breath.

“Oh, you did so well,” you cradle the back of his neck and press your cheek to his before you nudge him back. The paint around his eyes is a messy smear down his cheeks, his top lip mashed and smeared into his bottom.

You cradle his handsome face, stroking bare thumbs over his cheeks, catching tears and smears of black paint. His eyes are bloodshot, the white iris starker in the centre of its red rim. The wrinkles of his face are deeper somehow with the stress, with all the loss and heartache, but it doesn’t detract from his beauty—from your Copia.

Leaning up on your tip-toes, you press your forehead to his and close your eyes. His hands stay around you, keeping you close. He’s still tense, but softening as the emotions are finally allowed out of the floodgates. 

“You did so well, my baby. My beautiful, sweet man,” you reaffirm again, smiling bittersweet, pulling back to kiss his cheek. Copia closes his eyes and sniffles again. 

“You will always be Copia. Nothing will ever change that.” You kiss his opposite cheek, speaking between sweet pecks. Copia starts to sway with you, slow, ample movements as you speak. “No matter your title,” another kiss, “no matter your appearance or your dress.” You kiss his forehead. “Papa Emeritus. Frater Imperator Copia.” You kiss his wet lids and the tip of his nose. “You will always be loved and treasured, forever. By your fans, by me, by everyone, my sweet boy. I know we are all so proud of you even if it all feels shit right now.” Your smile is bittersweet when he cracks his eyes open. They’re less watery than before. And you chuckle, quietly, nuzzling your nose to his. He lets out a heavy sigh.

Finally, after a few more bittersweet tears, you kiss him on the mouth. You melt into each other, gripping his lapels, his hand on the back of your neck, everything so soft, solid and shaky all at once. It’s strange, to finally watch the balloon that's been inflating beneath his ribs finally pop. 

“Ti amo,” Copia crokes roughly. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you, amore.”

You bring your hands up once more, caressing his temples and stroking through his soft, mousy hair and greys. He purrs, mismatched eyes fluttering. He pulls you in for another deep kiss, humming into our mouth when you part your lips.

It will take time to accept the changes, you know, neither of you will ever get used to such a huge shift… You’ve both always been afraid of the future and talked about your fears and anxieties in the late morning hours when neither of you could sleep. But you’ve done it before, and you will do it again, together as one.

You know that with him, the future doesn’t look so foreign.

<3

masterlist ⛧ Ao3

[kabukiaku]

the goobers just smacked lips!!! will they hit it off? or it will be just a casual fling?

[luciferscowgirl]

Making love to a mic stand in red light makes so much sense…

[oh-babylove]

~7k. copia/f!reader. explicit. established relationship, smut, filth and fluff. copia does date night, and you show him your appreciation-- it's only fair. mdni.

thanks to @copia for showing me how to put images in a grid-- top right image by instagram user susitse.art. @enjoy-my-swearing and @photiniainsummer, this one's for you. <3

when the red comes over you - ao3

rhrn spoilers. blowjobs, masturbation, dirty talk, light degradation, a small piece of light cum kink, a touch of hanky-panky in public, some thigh riding, face-fucking, fluff, tw: references to past sexual assault/dubious consent/sexual trauma

You’re holding the same pole on the subway car as Copia, his gloved hand over yours, swaying with him, forced into his space by the crowd. It gives you an excuse to stand close to him, in the circle of his scent like cold smoke. You're not complaining– well, not much. Keeping your balance is a bit of a challenge– you aren't used to doing this in heels, even these modest Cuban heels. Riding the subway truly is riding, the rhythmic thrum of the rails swaying up your body, through the balls of your feet. Riding the train feels like riding a living thing.

“I like this,” you say, as if coming to a decision.

“Hnn?” Copia replies, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at you.

“Riding the train. I like it.” You lean in to murmur in his ear, not that you have far to go. It’s a matter of tilting your head until you can feel the warmth of his skin against your cheek. “But I’d like riding you even more.” It’s just the kind of cheesy nonsense that you’re both into.

Your body keeps brushing against his– a particularly hard bump has your belly pressed against his erection, and his choked-off gasp scores a direct hit to your brain stem, bypassing your ears, cinching something tight around your diaphragm. His hand tightens on your hip, possessive. Holding you up, keeping your balance.

“You little minx,” he hisses, frustrated--with a ragged edge of delight. “You wait till I get you home.”

“You caint blame that on me, now, that was the train,” you say, but you're close to laughing, yourself. You can hear your accent getting thicker, but damned if you can stop it. Besides, Copia loves it, loves ruffling your feathers enough that he can get you to slide back into that slurring hillfolk drawl. Someday he might even make you less self-conscious about it. 

Truth be told, you’ve been practically vibrating since before you left the apartment, restless and swollen between the legs, a low-grade ache that Copia has not been helpful with.

(The apartment. Your apartment. Yours, plural, now, you think. You’d never been a co-religionist of his, and he’d had a toothbrush at your place for a long time. Then a drawer in your dresser. Then he’d brought over his best frying pan, his best chef knife– simply because he couldn’t stand it, gattina, you cook with that? And now there’s as many of his books as yours on the shelves– shelves you put up with your own hands while he did ‘the heavy lookin’ on.’ His name isn’t on the lease, but he paid the rent for the next two months anyway. In full.

When you tried to fight him on it, he’d just shrugged. “Babydoll, I’ve been here more nights than I haven’t for the last four months, this is just… ehh, consider it backdated, yeah?” He’d kissed your forehead. “We can do half each after that. If you haven’t gotten sick of your dirty old man by then.”

It was hard to argue with that.

Copia kept his room at the Ministry, even after his… promotion. His term as Imperator, he’d decided, would be more hands off. You’d talked about it a little. Mostly in bed, sweaty and spent and a little sticky. “Mister Psaltarian is more than capable of running most of it. The administrative things. I’m better with the ghouls, I think, but there’s Kevin, and Ashley, they have it well in hand. I want the new guy to– to be able to be his own man, yeah? I’ll show him the ropes, of course, answer any questions he has, but he doesn’t need me looking over his shoulder all the damn time.”

The new guy. Hell of a way to refer to his long-lost brother. “And you ain’t ready to be around him twenty-four seven just yet.”

“...And that. Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. “You’re too perceptive, gattina. Keep it up and I’ll have to fuck you again, till you don’t think so good.”

“So… you sayin’ you gone fuck my brains out? Say, you ever notice that your man Psaltarian loses his train of thought whenever Kevin comes into the room?”

“That’s it, back in the handcuffs with you. And remember, you brought this on yourself.”)

As ever, he’d insisted on doing your makeup. (It should have been your first clue that you were in for it.) It only makes sense-- he’s better at it than you’ve ever been, and he loves doing it. You love it, too, if you’re honest. He had to take his gloves off for it, to hold your chin firmly and keep you in place. It was terribly intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips, the skin of his hand against your cheek. His quiet, gentle command held something still in the center of you, made it sing like a struck tuning fork– a calm vibration that sank into your bones. The cool brush of the eyeliner on the delicate skin of your eyelids. How meticulous he’d been, how precise. That calm focus he brings to everything that he cares about. How his whole being focused on that point, painting cat eyes sharp enough to kill a man.

Your lipstick had been worse, barely holding your mouth open, the brush sliding over the curve of your cupid’s bow, stretching out your lower lip ever so slightly. You hadn’t even known they’d made brushes for lipstick. Copia has taught you so many things.

Copia knows just what shades of red match your skin tone, knows just how to bring out the color of your eyes. He knows, too, the best cut of a dress to accentuate your figure, to flatter your curves. This one was lovely, shaping your breasts, with a little bit of flare to the skirt. He bought you this dress, these heels. This lingerie. He’s taught you how to fasten a silk stocking to a garter belt, that the underwear goes on over the garters, not underneath.

He’d taken the liberty of fastening your stockings tonight. “So the back seam is straight, gattina. I know it’s tricky to get right on your own, yes? Let me help.” His hands, his clever fingers, so high up on your thighs, his face level with your pussy.

“Oh yeah, sweetness, you're helping something, alright,” you choked out, a little strangled. 

He must have seen how wet you were already, if the self-satisfied hum he made behind you was any indication. He bit the crease of your ass, just lightly, making a goofy little rawr noise that made you actually giggle.

Embarrassing, the noises he gets out of you.

“You shaved,” he said, and it was supremely gratifying to hear him a little hoarse, himself. 

“Did you wanna do that, too?”

“Hnn. We’d miss our reservation.” He wasn't moving from his place on his knees behind you. “Miss the show.”

“Sound like you're enjoying this show purt’ well,” you said, but you thought it best to step into your underwear, anyway. 

Pain shared is pain lessened, isn't it?

…He didn't need to know that you only kept them on for a couple of minutes, just until you used the bathroom one last time on the way out the door.

You almost never know in advance where exactly Copia will take you when it's his turn to plan date night- generally your only clue is what clothing he picks out for you, how he does your makeup, if makeup is required. You've ranged over the city hitting up obscure museums before, taken tours in the underbelly of the public transportation system, gone to aviaries and magic shops and tiny greenhouses.

(You like to think you hold your own. Dive bars and twenty four hour diners, sidewalk art festivals and night markets, one memorable instance of a graffiti lesson– that had been an unexpected delight. 

Your man can be blisteringly uncool sometimes– most of the time, even– but there's no snobbery in him. No fear, either, not in the way most people are afraid: of embarrassing themselves, saying the wrong thing, of looking like a jackass. He hadn't been good at it, but he threw himself into the attempt wholeheartedly, listened to the man in the baggy jeans with the paint-stained fingers explain technique and theory and the history of the medium with total attention and enthusiasm. 

Never will you reach the bottom of him. His openness and his generosity and his good, good heart.)

Dinner and a show is almost a little pedestrian, for him, but there's comfort in the classics. A bar paneled in blond wood and washed in warm light, specializing in rare vinyls piped in on a very serious sound system as much as the cocktails. 

He’d been very good, kept his knee between yours, but otherwise, hadn’t even tried to put a hand up your skirt– a rarity, with him.  His eyes told a different story, watching you with obvious, predatory hunger. The second time you caught him ogling your cleavage he leaned into it, dragging his eyes salaciously down your body with enough force that you nearly felt his gloves snagging on your skin.

The cheeky motherfucker actually licked his lips at you.

You barked out your unlovely laugh, and the way he grinned took the sting out of the sharp glances cast your way– the aim was to listen to the obscure bossa nova, not to your fellow patrons. Your face was hot. “Ah, gattina, you cannot blame a man for looking. Not when you are as ravishing as that.” It wasn’t helping the heat in your face.

A glance at the mirror over the bar, old and pitted and a little smoky, the perfect self-aware touch of authenticity. You’d never have recognized the woman looking back, not when you first met Copia, this exquisite creature with perfect makeup. Sharp. Sexy. 

You don’t hate it.

“...Y’outdid yourself,” you said, slow. You didn’t look real to yourself, this absolute pinnacle of femininity. Copia’s gaze softened, warmed, less the slavering predator and more– a naked adoration that was hard to look at.

(Of course, neither expression was comparable to the first time he’d put you in an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit. You’d thought the man was going to pass out from how quickly his blood rushed south– but that’s a story for another day.)

He crowded your space, just this side of indecent, his knee halfway between your thighs. Copia fed you little morsels from his own fork of– whatever this was. A vaguely mediterranean inspired amuse-bouche. He took his time with it, making you duck your head while the cool tines slid against your lower lip. You kept his eyes for it, moving slow, relishing the way his mouth hung open. 

It’s a little much, in public, truly.

You weren’t even sure what you were eating, something perfectly balanced with rich cream, phyllo dough, an acidic tang. Spanakopita when it’s got a Michelin star or two, you thought. Copia’s little shudder at your groan of appreciation didn’t escape your notice, but you managed to keep the smugness out of your expression with truly heroic effort. 

From there, it was a short taxi ride with his gloved hand heavy on your knee, Copia keeping up a stream of polite chatter that you barely heard a word of. He’d gotten box seats in a lovely little jewel box of a theatre, for a revival of a classic two-man existential tragicomedy starring a couple of aging comedic actors known for their roles in a cultural zeitgeist film from around the turn of the last century.

It was a good effort, all told, and the actors weren’t bad– they had a chemistry borne out of twenty years of friendship that’s impossible to replicate. But Copia proved that he’s a true and faithful servant of the Devil somewhere around the start of the second act, when he peeled a glove off with his teeth.

Your chest went tight.

No wonder he wanted box seats, you thought, as he settled his hand back on your knee. Like it belonged there, like he had perfect possession of it, every right to edge just under the hem of your skirt. 

(His hands-- you love his hands. He’s self-conscious about the hair on the back of them, the dusting of freckles. Large and well-made and skilled, seeing them is like sharing a secret. A gift. He’s squeamish about textures, too sensitive, the slightest scrape will make him shudder-- and not in a fun way. Sandpaper would be torture. Anything gelatinous is right out. You get used to the constant grime and the vague awareness of filth you get on your hands, living in a city. It’s not so bad, for you, you invest in hand sanitizer and don’t touch your face. It’s the price you pay for living in a place with something like a subway, where things pulse and hum and never truly sleep, to be a microbe in the gut of this beast of a city, to be a tiny cog in the great machine.

You love it here. You didn’t think you would. Hell, you didn’t think you could. “It’s growing on me,” you told Copia one day, cool as you like, as if you weren’t giving anything away. “A little.”

“You have no talent for bullshit, babydoll,” he said, both dry and terribly fond.)

All of your awareness focused on the soft warmth of him enveloping your knee, the rough scrape of his calluses on the inside of your thigh– a new sensation, he’s taken the acoustic guitar back up recently. Not moving, just–holding. 

You kept your eyes forward, and your breathing even.

His thumb slid over your kneecap, absentmindedly tracing little circles. Your legs fell open a little wider, just so your thighs weren’t touching. You were terribly, achingly aware of the air on your cunt.

A soft stroke back and forth, a gesture that could have been reflexive, thoughtless– if it wasn’t for the beatific expression on his face, his eyes forward and too-innocent. It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been inching his slow way upwards, featherlight touches, tracing up and back down, up and back down. Just a millimeter higher each time. An agonizingly slow drag, a glacial pace.

Your grip tightened on the armrest. 

Copia leaned forward, his breath in your ear. “Why, gattina,” he purred. “I do not think you are even paying attention to the play.”

“You are,” you managed, “a real sunnavbitch, you know it?”

He only chuckled low, and ran his touch to the top of your thigh. The side of his hand brushed up against your wet cunt and you both gasped.

“You little slut,” he hissed, with obvious pride. “So eager for me already.”

He dragged the very tip of one finger up between your lips, so slick it was almost frictionless, pulling away just before he could touch your clit. You took a ragged breath that was nearly a whine, bereft at the loss of his touch. You felt your cunt clench over nothing, an involuntary contraction. 

Copia hummed in mock-sympathy, and took mercy on you, cupping your whole cunt with his broad hand, steady and even pressure that was nowhere near enough, but at least took a little of the edge off. 

His middle finger slid naturally between your labia majora, and settled there, his fingertip crooked so he could just barely feel the inside of you.

The bastard stayed that way for the rest of the performance, sometimes giving you a gentle squeeze, sometimes pulling away to slide his fingertip back up to circle your clit. Just often enough to keep your attention focused where he wanted.

Evil, evil man.

Copia retracted his hand before the lights went up, giving you one final squeeze. He kept your eyes as he brought his hand up to his face, inhaled deeply, and surreptitiously licked his palm before fitting his hand back into his glove for the applause.

“Play weren’t that bad,” you said, weakly. “No call to do- alla that.”

“Oh? Didn’t you tell me you had a crush on the– which was it, the one with the dark hair– as a little girl? You want to wait around, go to the stage door, get an autograph?” All innocence, all the accommodating boyfriend.

“I revise my previous opinion. You are the Lebron James of being a sunnavabitch.” Despite your discomfort in heels, you couldn’t drag him to the train home fast enough.

So now, here you are. You shiver a little, in this hot and humid subway car, remembering. You bite your lip and can taste the wax of your lipstick.

Copia sees it, of course he does, how your eyes go just a little glazed. He smirks a terribly self-satisfied smirk. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, this’d cost you at least a dollar. Maybe five nintey-nine.”

“Inflation is just outrageous these days. Highway robbery. I’m shocked.”

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

“You are talking a big game, babydoll. Be careful, I think, ehh-- your mouth is writing checks your ass can’t cash.” His hand heavy on your hip, almost indecent. His boot between your shoes, the sweet curve of his thigh displacing your skirt. He’s so close, so warm and solid. The train is packed, but he’s all you can see, all you can feel. His breath in your ear, pitched low. “Your pussy can’t cash.”

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from grinding on his thigh in the middle of the train. “Sweetness,” you croak out. “We’re in public.”

He leans back, conciliatory. Terribly smug. The world fades back in. You catch a teenager in a hoodie smirking at the two of you, a direct and uncomfortable gaze that feels more taboo in this city than even the way your hips keep shifting, restless. You feel almost drunk, stepping into the warmth of his body and his hard cock between your hip and your belly, a little vindictive, relishing his frustrated little grunt in your ear. 

“Two more stops, gattina,” he murmurs, as much for his benefit as yours. You see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “We can make it.”

“Mm-hmm,” you manage. 

He drags you roughly by your elbow off the train, in a way that has your fellow passengers actually making a faint murmur of disapproval at the way he growls. He might be leaving a bruise on your arm. Can’t be helped. You’re laughing up the stairs, your heels loud on the concrete and metal, giddy, just this side of hysterical. 

He’s clumsy with the keys when you get to your apartment building, following you up the stairs so he can look up your skirt. “Can’t believe– I watched you put those on.” 

“You just mad you didn’t get to watch me take ‘em off.”

He’s on your neck like a lamprey when you get to your door, and now it’s your turn to be clumsy while you paw through your purse, his hot wet mouth insistent, just under your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. His hands firm on your breasts, pushing the neckline of your dress down so he can fill his hands with them, gripping almost hard enough to hurt. He’s trapping you against the door, grinding into your ass while you fumble with the lock.

“What’re you– you tryna fuck me in the hallway?” you gasp. He’s reaching up your skirt now, his bare palm at the top of your stocking. When did he take his gloves off?

“I will,” he growls, “if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”

You somehow make it in the door without breaking the key off in the lock, and you give him just enough time to slide the bolt home before you’re shoving him onto the couch. You’re in his lap just as quick, your mouth on his, nearly biting him as he laughs into your mouth. Christ, you didn’t even get out of your heels. 

He’s warm under you, solid muscle under a sweet softness around the middle, and you can���t unbutton his shirt fast enough. His tongue in your mouth is making you clumsy, making it hard to keep track of how buttons work, shorting out basic motor functions. When you make it, you groan at his fur under your palms, and then he shoves his thigh between your legs and you whine when you grind your wet cunt against it. You have to break off from his mouth for it, clinging to his shoulders.

Your lipstick is all over Copia’s face. He’s grinning, rapt, delighted, impossibly fond. The man’s face is so pink it looks like he’s been slapped around. “Good, eh?” He pushes his thigh forward again, his hand up your dress and on your ass. “You like that?” He’s pulling you into it, making you drag your cunt over his tight jeans. The seam running down the front of his thigh hits your clit and you gasp. “So fucking desperate you need to hump my leg, filthy little thing.”

You roll against him once or twice more, because he’s right, it feels so good, those long runner’s thighs, the coiled power of him. That hard muscle and rough fabric against you, his body between your knees, so warm and familiar and beloved.

But his smirk is just a little too smug for your taste, so you have to make yourself stop before you fall too deep into a rhythm. Even if you actually hurt with being so turned on for so long. You get his shirt the rest of the way open, have to bend your head to suck a nipple into your mouth– the terrible brand over his heart level with your eyes– and bite. It’s not hard, but it does raise his back off the couch, and distract him from you eeling down between his legs to kneel on the floor.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, looking down at you, knowing (some of) what you have in mind.

Your hand is on his belt buckle, and the sheer Pavlovian reaction you have to the sound of undoing it with one hand forces you to press your cheek to his thigh and focus on your breathing for a moment.

You laugh, shaky. You left an actual wet spot on his jeans.

Copia’s hand is in your hair, fingernails running along your scalp, soothing, grounding you. “Baby?” he asks. “Babydoll, are you alright? We don’t have to–”

“No.” You catch your breath, look back up at him, and his mismatched eyes go from soft and sweet to almost afraid, when he sees your expression. The hunger there– you could eat him alive. “No, I was just– too turned on, for a second.”

“Oh.” He pets at you again, then his smile turns predatory as he sweeps your hair up in one hand and pulls tight. “Then why don’t you get to sucking my cock, puttana?” 

Just for that, you lean up and bite at his belly, the sweet furry softness just below his navel. You laugh with a mouthful of his flesh at his yelp, how it turns into a groan as you unzip his jeans and take him in hand. 

It isn’t as if you aren’t intimately (haha) familiar with his dick, but it’s always nice to see. You’d called it pretty, the first time you’d slept with him, and it really is an accurate description. (It had been emotional for a great many reasons, but that had touched him in ways he still couldn’t articulate.) Silky soft skin over the hard length of him, his head already shiny with precum. It’s the same color as his lips, under the paint.

“You see what you do to me, gattina?” he murmurs above you. “You wreck me. You’ve ruined me– or at least these pants.”

“It’ll come out in the wash,” you say, and take him into your mouth, slow suction, tasting salt. He fills your mouth, fills your hand, blood-warm and firm in your grip. You watch his eyes when you start to suck him down, loving, as you always do, how in that first moment he looks at you, whimpers at you, like you're breaking his heart. 

You hear the dry click of him swallowing as you pull the soft skin of his cock further towards your mouth, your grip twisting, the slow churn of it. How his veins give under your lips, under your hand. It doesn’t take long to get him slick, the thick ridge of the underside of him heavy on your tongue. The musk of him fills your whole senses, thick and animal and a little gross.

His hips shift, and before you have to pull yourself off of him to tell him to talk, he’s doing what you want. “Look at you,” he breathes, reverent. “You’re so good at this, fucking made for this,” a twitch upwards, a movement too small to be called a thrust, “aren’t you? Born for this, your god made you to suck my cock. My perfect– ohh– perfect little cocksucker. Want it so bad, don’t you?”

His hand is heavy on the back of your skull, pushing you down with that even, steady pressure just how he likes. How you both like. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it to you, give you what you want.” He’s not choking you with it, you have plenty of room to work with your hand. Still, as you take him down further, swallowing around the thick length of him, you feel hot tears running down your cheeks, sheer dumb animal reaction. You slip your other hand to cradle his slick balls, rolling them gently, the weight of them a little cooler than the rest of his body. He makes a strangled noise, an “Ohh fuck, baby, babydoll, so good for me, so good to me, fuck, fuck–!” 

His stutter and his loss of control are just too much, finally, you feel the air of the apartment cool at the top of your slick thighs, your swollen cunt, and you have to do something about it. You take your hand from his balls and slide it up your skirt, slowly enough to feel your silk stockings under your fingertips, slow enough that Copia catches it.

Just as you register how fucking wet you are, his eyes go wide and his hips shudder, the smooth hot head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. 

Your grip tightens on the base of his cock, a warning. You freeze, staring blank and unseeing at his soft belly, before looking up at him imploringly. “Okay,” he says, gentling you like a frightened horse. His big hand moving in your hair. “Okay. But baby,” he's nearly whining as you slowly suckle on the head of him, faint living salt in your mouth, “I know you want it, you’re too fucking good at that to not want it, I. Ohhh.” His hand grips tight in your hair as you swallow around him, thick and hot on your tongue. “Oh, fuck.”

You’re finding your pace on his cock again, a little faster, your hands working in time on his cock, on your clit. Freshly shaved like this, you’re fantastically, impossibly slippery. “Ohh, fuck. Oh, sweet Satan. Oh my dear Lord Below.” Copia absolutely doesn’t know what he’s saying, he so rarely gets outright religious on you. It’s an unspoken courtesy you’ve extended to each other, so to hear him break it sends a smug little charge through you. You whimper a little around his cock, give yourself a little more pressure on your clit. He can’t keep still, not all the way, even though you know he’s trying, making little aborted movements of his hips.

Copia swallows. It’s remarkable how you can see him trying to pull himself together. “Knew you loved this,” he says, his voice creaking. “Can’t be that good at something if you don’t love it. Didn’t know you loved it this much, gattina.” A little more pressure on the back of your skull, his nails scraping your scalp. He isn’t exactly holding you down, but he isn’t letting you pull off, either. “Never had my cock sucked this good, never even had a man suck my cock this good, thought I liked that better, before you came along. Had so many people suck this cock–” and that hurts, a hot bolt of pain and arousal that hits your heart and your clit at the same time. Your pace falters, and it must show, because Copia slows as well.

It’s a sore spot. You know that his own inverted form of celibacy in the Ministry included a certain implied… availability that could be, charitably, unpleasant for him at times. Clergy take no wives, no husbands, but give themselves freely to their congregation. You haven’t pushed him on the things that happened to him, he usually insists it was fine, expected, normal– but you generally have to go for a long walk and break something after you talk about it. You know, too, that he had positive experiences there, genuinely caring relationships. It doesn’t exactly help matters that your own knowledge of partnered sex, before Copia, falls radically short of the mean for someone in your age group.

All of that goes through your head in a flash, and he knows it, he can read you so well, even between one stroke of his cock and the next. “Only– didn’t know you’d have a natural talent at this.” Petting at you, soothing, his thumb moving tender on your cheekbone. “Remember, how I had to teach you how to kiss, those hours in the park.” You make a noise on him, not sure if this is helping. “Loved that, babydoll, loved doing that with you, teaching you, drove me wild.” He’s murmuring low to you, his voice a little rough, a little too exposed. “But I– I was ready for you to bite it off, the first time you went down.” 

Awkward thing, laughing with a mouth full of dick. But he keeps going. “I didn’t know, my baby. I didn’t know how it could feel. Didn’t know how good it could be.” He twitches in your mouth, in time with a tiny movement of his hips, so warm and alive in you. “Taught you how to kiss, but babylove, I swear I felt like a virgin when you took me to bed.” His voice is low and wrecked for different reasons than it was before, and oh no, his eyes are wet.

You let go of him, turn your head to wipe your mouth on your shoulder, quick and perfunctory. You can't take your eyes from him. "Sug," you say, unsure how to continue, the twisting in your chest too much for words, beyond anything you could articulate with language. Your knees creak a little as you start to get up, to do what you don't know. Kiss him or touch him or say something, anything, to the way he's looking at you. 

Copia pushes you back down, his hand heavy at the back of your neck. His thumb slots right at the base of your skull, right where he likes to keep it when he kisses you. “No, no, you’re too good at this, I wouldn’t interrupt an artist.” Back in some semblance of control. “You’re too good, you make me feel too good, show me. Will you--? Please, baby, will you show me how it can be good--?"

"Well," you say, pumping slow at his cock. "I can try." You press a tiny kiss to the head of him, too sweet for the situation, relishing the way he shivers. You take him in, how his hair is a disaster, sticking up in the back, his shirt open, your makeup smeared all over his face, his body, the parts of his thighs that you can reach. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes a little glazed, his lips swollen from the way you kissed them and the way he's bitten them. He's wrecked, and he's yours. 

You love him. With all your heart, all your mind, and, you're afraid, all your soul. It hurts to look at him, you think he might sear your eyes right out of your skull. 

You close your eyes against it, at how it stings, and nuzzle into the silky skin of his cock. Copia's belly is soft, warm, furred, delightfully sticky under your touch, as you run your hand up the front of him, up until you're cupping the sweet curve of his pectoral, until you can feel the cruel scar of his branding under the pads of your fingers. You trace over it, mapping the vector of those interlocking sixes. You feel his pulse under your palm, under your lips. You drag your mouth back and forth, just to feel the soft, delicately crenelated skin, the coolness of his flesh here soothing your feverishness. 

Copia makes a tiny wounded noise as his hand presses over yours. As if he could press his heart into your hand. He’s better at language than you’ve ever been, but you can see it falter and fail for him. All you know how to do is– action. It feels inadequate, somehow.

Your dear man. He sees you, and raises your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles in a courtly gesture. It should be absurd, with you on your knees for him, with the delicate skin of his cock against your mouth. Somehow, it isn’t, the alchemy of his tenderness conveying exactly what he means. What you mean, with the most vulnerable part of him between your teeth. “D’you want me to take you to bed, babydoll?”

“No,” you say, pulling off of him long enough to murmur it against his slick head. “Later, maybe. If you’re up to it. Right now, I want–” It’s easier to wrap your lips around him again, to tell him that way. You’re more eloquent with your mouth this way than you ever were with language.

“Alright,” he says, almost a gasp, as he returns your hand to you. “Touch yourself for me?” Almost pleading. As if your pleasure were a favor to bestow on him. “I want– wanna see you get off, my baby, wanna see how much you love doing this. So fucking hot–” His voice breaks off into a whine as you pull him further into your mouth. 

His big hand on your head, stroking your hair back, so sweetly. “Do you want me to be a little mean? I know you like that.” 

You moan around his cock in an unmistakable affirmative, rut a little harder into your hand, plead with your eyes. 

Copia’s smile turns sharp, wicked. “My perfect little cocksucker.” The deep affection in his voice belies the words. “Perfect little cumslut.” Your hand is already back between your legs, and you might– might– be moving your hips a little more theatrically than strictly necessary. 

He holds the back of your neck, the base of your skull, his grip tight. Just this side of painful. “You know how to tap out. How to get me to stop.” He pushes you down on him as he tilts his hips up to you, not quite cutting off your air. “But you’re not gonna do that, are you?” 

Copia licks his lips. He looks feverish, making shallow little thrusts into your mouth. “No, you. Ohh, you like this too much.” He’s so careful, even like this, testing just how hard he can thrust, finding your limit and pushing just past it before backing down. It makes you moan, makes you shiver, makes your hand speed up on your cunt in time with the way he’s pushing into your throat.

“Cruel to me,” he croons, as he uses your mouth. “Keeping that sweet little pussy from me.” He’s panting. “I can hear it, hear how wet you are.” As he says it, you realize you can, too, the wet noise in counterpoint to the sound of you working his cock. “M’gonna make you pay for it. Hope you’re ready, gonna eat you out till m’hard again.” He’s got both hands on your head now, and he’s too far into you for you to use your hand on him.

“You’ll. Hnn. You’ll need me to, to eat you out. Make you cum on my face.” If it weren’t for the sheer adoration in his eyes, this would be brutal, the way he’s pushing into your throat. The speed of your hand on your clit. Moving with him, point and counterpoint. “Fuck, I’m gonna wreck it, gonna split your pretty little cunt open– I’ll last longer, after I cum down your throat.” You whine around his cock, your cunt clenching on nothing, shivering against your hand.

Copia sounds like he’s in pain. It feels like he can’t stop himself, the way his hips are working. “Gattina,” he whines, helplessly. “Can’t– can’t last much longer, you looking at me like that.” You can feel him trembling under your touch. “D’you. You want it?” Movements a little more shallow, holding himself in check. “You want this cum in your mouth?” A rough, jagged thrust. “Little slut–!” he hisses, and he’s not quite too far gone to grin in smug delight at the way you moan in reaction. 

“Gonna cum like this?” he croons, taunting. His white eye bores into you, too bright, and he looks crazed. Deranged. It’s almost frightening, the way you can’t look away from it. Your eyes burn, hot tears on your cheeks, and you couldn’t stop rubbing your cunt if you tried. The way he’s watching you, the way he sees just how turned on you are by him using you like this. Like it’s shameful. “From me fucking your slut mouth like a little cocksleeve.” His voice is creaking, nearly out of control. “You want this cum? You want it? Hmm?”

You’re hanging on by a thread, your nerves strung out like piano wire, helpless before him. Your jaw hurts, his hand so tight in your hair. “Then take it.” He’s beckoning you over the edge, chanting, rapt. “Take it, take my cum, take my fucking cum–” he rasps, knowing exactly what will set you off, will snap the bright line of you.

You see his smile as you break, whining around his cock. How he lights up at it, overjoyed, crooked and tender. You hold his eyes the whole time, giving him as much of it as you can, letting him see all of it, the shining abyssal affection that crashes through your body for him, catching your nerve endings like fire through tinfoil. 

“Ohh–! Precious,” he says, almost crying, “my precious girl, my baby, my–” his voice breaks on your name, the syllables like a song, like a prayer, like something more than holy, like the shahada, like the shema, like it's the last thing that he knows. You never knew your name until he held it in his mouth like this, at the uttermost end of himself. He’s flooding over your tongue, slick and bitter. Like the first jet from the fountain in school, sun-warmed metal, iron from the earth, living water. 

His cock jumps in your mouth, and you’re shaking, trembling through your aftershocks and his as you swallow all of him, pull all of him into you, watching his eyes and his blissed out expression until his voice does– something wrecked. “You–!” he gasps, delighted. “C’mere, come up here, you’re too– too far away–” he’s pulling at you, babbling, delirious, so soft now. 

Copia’s pulling you up, into his arms, his lap, too quick for you to wipe his cum and your spit from your mouth. “Dunno if I like it, you that far away, wanna feel your pretty little body when you cum, you–” And then he’s kissing on you, shivering, laughing, little pecks along your jawline till he reaches your mouth. He makes a deep, appreciative groan when he tastes himself on your lips. He pulls back to look at you, almost scandalized in delight. 

You have to laugh at him. For once you can’t be bothered to be self-conscious about it. “Oh, I do like that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he dives back in, like he has to get all of it. You’re still shaky, a fine shiver all down your spine. He’s almost clumsy, licking into your mouth, a real rarity for him. You try not to feel too smug about it.

You can’t stop smiling, when you finally get your mouth back. “Acceptable, then?”

“So good. Every time, I can’t believe–” he’s nuzzling at you, his nose against yours, totally uninhibited in his affection. “So perfect, so sweet, love you so much, thank you, thank you, baby–” Nonsense babble. Incoherently effusive. He scoops your legs across his lap and runs his hands over all of your skin that he can reach. “Perfetta…sei perfetta. Angioletto,” he murmurs, and you shiver. You haven’t heard that one in a while. “Angioletto mio,” he’s saying, into your hair, your skin, and it’s rare that you blow him all the way back to Italian. “Sei tutto ciò che voglio del Paradiso.” You’re a little too fucked-out to parse that all the way, but it still snags in your heart a little.

(He knows, usually, how you still aren’t used to being loved on this much. You know he restrains himself, tries not to overwhelm you. It breaks your heart, sometimes, when you see him hold himself back, even as his consideration makes you warm.) 

Now, though, it’s good. It’s perfect. His pants are half off, his dick out, ridiculous. You think you might have snapped a garter, and you definitely put ladders in these stockings. You couldn’t give less of a shit. You loop your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, letting out a deep, contented sigh.

Copia’s still petting you– appropriate enough. You feel like a cat in a sunbeam, even supremely disheveled like this.

He squeezes you lightly, again, and makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “The, enh– the talking. It wasn’t too much?” Like he’s shy, all of a sudden.

“Noo!” You have to pull back to look up at him. “No, holy shit, sweetness, it was inspired. Even for you! Hot damn, baby. ‘Cocksleeve,’ where did that come from?” 

“Ehh– a couple of times, there, I’m, ah. Not even sure I remember what I was saying.” Is he blushing? It’s adorable.

“No, it was great. I’d tell you if it weren’t, honeybunch.” You lean your head back against him, boneless and warm all the way through. “Naw, this was awesome. Ten outta ten, go Team Us.” You hold up your hand for a high-five, and your sweet man, he’ll never leave you hanging– the slap rings loud through your living room. 

He tilts his head back onto the couch, looking up at the Devil’s Ivy crawling over your bookshelves. “Although,” he says, slow, considering. “I do seem to recall that I promised you I was gonna make you cum on my face.”

“And split my pussy open,” you remind him. “Or was you writing checks your dick can’t cash?”

“Babydoll, don’t you know by now?” He’s turning back to look at you, his mismatched eyes full of predatory adulation. “The Devil always keeps his promises.”

[writingjourney]

Hello tumblr, today we are thinking about Copia with stretch marks on his thighs, on his belly and love handles, an expanse of soft pale skin decorated with freckles, faded scars and dark hair. When you purposely touch them for the first time he winces, insecure and a little lost. He tries to hide them but the more you encourage him, the more you shower him with affectionate touches and gentle words of praise, the more confident he becomes. A little hesitantly, he allows you to kiss every dark line, every freckle, and when he looks at himself the next day he can't help but smile when he sees that the marks on his body that he always considered to be flaws are now mingling with the marks of your deep love for him. It is then that he finds the beauty in his own reflection that he only ever saw mirrored in your eyes. The next time you touch him he won't try to hide them from you, he allows you to see him exactly as he is.

[osiris-iii-bc]

✨WHAT A WONDERFUL TIME TO POST SOME COPIIIA CONTENT!✨

You Will Never Walk Alone is a beautiful, immersive fanfiction by the always adorable @lilspacewolfie. This illustration is one of two that I’ve been working on for this wonderful story, inspired by the vibes I get when I read it 🌹

Why two versions:

I was fairly quick with this one, completing the full drawing in a day. However, as usual, my process involves stepping back for a few days before revisiting the drawing to see how I feel about it with fresh eyes. And that’s usually where the problems start.

In this particular case, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the finished version. Something felt incomplete, so I began adding elements and details, but nothing seemed to satisfy me… until I tried removing things. Colors, details, shadows… I kept simplifying until I reverted back to the original sketch. And that was it: peace of mind. Just a simple, rough black sketch was what I needed. Funny.

Since the colored version is finished anyway, you’ll get that one too.

[deakyjoe]

Taste Your Lips Of Wine

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Reader (fem, afab)

Category: smut, angst, fluff, friends to lovers

Summary: Copia needs help when being wine drunk creates a problem.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping/grinding, pillow humping, explicit mentions of sex, horny Copia, horny reader, angst, loneliness, crying, Copia’s a bad friend (but makes up for it), Copia is also slightly perverted but knows it, friends to lovers, getting wine drunk, several mentions of erections, swearing/cursing, poorly translated Italian (topina = little mouse), let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 6k (it was going to be longer but I decided to split it into 2 parts)

A/N: We’re back with more dry humping with Copia! This was inspired by the knowledge that apparently he humps things when drunk (source: Tobias Forge somewhere I think). This will have a part 2 at some point but it’s not yet finished so don’t know when that will be. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Being best friends with the leader of the clergy had its downfalls.

"What do you mean you're cancelling again?" You asked with a huff, hands planted firmly on your hips as you stared him down.

Copia shifted from foot to foot, knowing how much he was upsetting you. There was nothing he disliked more than upsetting you. But he didn't have a choice. "I'm sorry, I know. But I promise I'll make it up to you."

You turned away from him with a low groan, he'd made that promise the last three times. All you wanted was one night with him. One night to hang out together, catch each other up on the gossip of your lives over a bottle of wine. One night with your best friend. It wasn't much to ask for. And your empathy for the business of his situation only extended so far. "Fine, yeah."

"Topina..." He mumbled, taking a couple of hurried steps towards you.

Your eyes screwed shut at the use of the pet name, you knew he was only using it to soften you up. Copia had an unintentional manipulative streak to him, unaware of how easy it was for him to shape you and your thoughts. But you figured that was on you, and your unconditional affection for him.

Another downfall of being his best friend. He was easy to forgive.

Looking back over your shoulder at him, you plastered a smile on your face. "It's okay, really. I know you're busy. Just... we'll reschedule."

Again.

He watched you for a moment, mismatched eyes willing you to break and confess how truly saddened you were at the prospect of another lost evening with him. But you stayed strong. If Copia had to list a downfall of being friends with you, he'd say it was your unwillingness to tell him when you were disheartened over something he'd done. He could always sense it in you, he just didn't know why you refused to admit it.

So he nodded and looked on as you turned away from him again, pretending to busy yourself with something on the desk in front of you.

Before his own guilt could walk him out of the room, he forced himself towards you. Stopping just a mere couple of inches behind you, Copia watched as you tensed up at his presence before wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"I'm sorry, topina." He whispered in your ear. He knew the position was intimate, especially for outsiders who viewed the two of you as just friends, but you and Copia had never shied away from the more personal of actions. "I will cancel all future clergy meetings if it will make you happy"

You relaxed back against him, resting your palms over the tops of his gloved hands as you sighed. "All future clergy meetings? So not this one?"

Copia grumbled something under his breath. "Unfortunately not."

You could hear in his voice how unhappy he was with the situation as well, so you decided to push your own feelings aside. As you always did for him.

You turned in his grip and cupped his face in your palms. "Just let me know when you're next free and I'll be there with a bottle of wine and two glasses."

"No, I shall bring the wine. The least I can do for being such a bad friend." He frowned at you, trying to tally up in his head how many times he actually had cancelled on you recently. The numbers weren't looking good.

You shook your head. "You're not a bad friend. You are, however, a good Papa."

He averted his gaze out of embarrassment, tips of his ears burning pink. "I can be both at once."

You thought that over. It was true, and the angry part of you wanted to agree. He was being a bad friend by cancelling so often after promising you just a fraction of his time. But the other part of you, the part that adored him more than anything, and regretfully the part that ruled the majority of you, wouldn't allow such a thing to slip past your lips. "Don't be foolish, Copia."

His eyes flashed back to yours.

"You are a good friend. The best friend I could ask for." You placed a quick kiss on his cheek before waving your hands at him in a dismissive motion. "Now go. You have important Papa things to be getting to, I'm sure."

He watched you again for another moment, silently begging for you to just confess that you were frustrated with him. But you stayed quiet. So he leaned forward, left a lingering kiss on your forehead, and then left the room, and you, as he went to deal with whatever had caused him to cancel in the first place.

You collapsed into the closest chair and held the tears back, no matter how much they stung your eyes or made the back of your throat ache. You wouldn't allow them to fall. You wouldn't cry again over your best friend abandoning you for another evening. You wouldn’t…

Staring at the clock, you debated the best way to spend your suddenly free evening as the first tear cascaded down your cheek.

That was another downfall of being best friends with the leader of the clergy. It left you rather lonely.

Copia couldn't believe his luck when only an hour later he was being informed that the meeting, the one he'd broken his best friend's heart in favour of, had been cancelled. Sister Imperator had come down with some sort of illness. She was sort of integral to the whole thing which meant proceedings couldn't go forward without her.

Attempting not to jump for joy at the news of her being sick, Copia raced down to the cellars where he knew the good wine was kept. He could only hope that you were still in your office where he'd left you earlier, as this was his opportunity to make up to you all those lost nights. And what better way to start than grabbing two bottles of wine rather than the usual singular one.

As he hurried towards where he hoped to find you, he debated what way was best to inform you that he was now free. He didn't want you to think that you were second choice, that he was only there because the clergy meeting had been cancelled. Whilst it was partly true, you were always first in his head, and his heart, but he often didn't have much choice when it came to splitting his time. He had to attend official clergy business. Which meant you were granted only spare moments. Copia knew it was unfair and he wanted to change it. But how?

He felt over the moon when he saw that the light in your office was still on. You hadn't decided to spend your evening elsewhere.

All thoughts escaped him, however, when he burst through your office door with a smile, the two bottles of wine raised high in his hands, and found you crying.

Everything dropped. His smile, his hands to his sides, and his heart.

Your tear filled eyes shot towards him, sleeve of your shirt hurriedly wiping away all evidence of sadness, as you straightened up in your chair and tried to school your features into a more neutral expression. It didn't work, you knew he'd caught you.

The door was closed softly behind him before Copia rushed towards you, bottles of wine abandoned on your coffee table. "Topina, what's wrong?"

You looked away from him as he crouched in front of you, his efforts to get you to meet his gaze ignored. "Nothing, I'm fine."

Despite not thinking it possible, Copia's heart sank even more. He was the reason you were crying. Never before had he despised himself so much. "Please don’t lie to me."

"I'm not." You sniffled, hating how your voice cracked slightly. It wasn't helping your case. "I just- really, I'm fine."

"It's me who's made you cry." He said it as a statement more than a question and, when you said nothing to disagree with him, he knew he was right. "I wish you would tell me when I upset you. I can always tell but you're so reluctant to just say so."

"Because I know that it's stupid of me to be upset." You huffed, tugging on the sleeves of your shirt.

Copia's gloved hands grabbed yours to stop you from fidgeting. "Why is it stupid?"

You hesitated before answering, looking down at him crouched in front of you. It probably wasn't doing his knees any favours. You wondered how long he'd be able to hold the position for. "You're Papa now and you have important things to be doing, like running this place and spreading our message or whatever."

He held back a laugh at the use of 'or whatever' and said nothing to allow you to keep talking.

"But I-" You cut yourself off with a frown. "I want you to..."

A frown settled over Copia's face too as you trailed off. "What? What do you want?"

"I want you to make time for me. Selfishly." Your teeth clicked shut as the confession spilled. No turning back now. "I'm lonely and I miss you."

It was nothing he hadn't already guessed but hearing you say it out loud was a whole different matter. The guilt of it that had been slowly eating away at him since his promotion to Papa, that had dragged him away from you on too many occasions, solidified itself.

"Topina-"

You cut him off. "And I hate feeling like I'm being scheduled in. I want you to spend time with me because you want to. Not because you feel you have to. And not because you have a spare hour or two with nothing else to occupy you."

His heart shattered. "That's what you think this is?"

How had he managed to turn years of friendship, years of undying devotion to one another, into something that you thought was an obligation for him?

You shrugged and looked away from him. "When was the last time we spent any spontaneous time together? Everything is precisely coordinated to fit into your Papal duties."

His nostrils flared with his own effort to restrain tears. "Topina, there is nothing in this world I treasure more than you and our friendship. All that I do now as Papa is because I have to. You have always been a want. I want to make time for you. I want to spend time with you. You understand?"

You nodded slowly but he could see you weren't quite buying it.

"I know things are different now that I'm no longer just a Cardinal but please don't ever think for a second that I value you any less than I used to. Maybe I even value you more now for managing to put up with my ridiculous schedule, hehe." Copia chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, stomach flipping when you let the smallest smile break out. "I'm sorry for how I've been treating you. It makes my chest ache to see you like this and to know I'm the cause of it."

He couldn't quite remember the last time he'd seen you cry. It wasn't a common thing, that was for sure.

"I will do everything in my power to make it up to you. Starting with-" He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. "-two bottles of wine for tonight."

Your eyes widened briefly. You hadn't had time to wonder why he was back in your office after leaving only an hour previously. "Tonight? But I thought you-"

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. "Cancelled. I was so relieved when I found out because it meant I got to come back and spend the evening with you."

"Really?"

"Sì!" He stood up, groaning when his knees made a concerning sound. "Come on, let's begin the night officially. I want to hear everything you've been needing to tell me."

You took his hand with a smile and followed him over to your couch where the two of you sat side by side, your legs thrown over his as you always did. Glasses of wine were poured and all previous upset was forgotten.

You informed him of all the latest Siblings of Sin gossip, Copia let you in on a few clergy secrets. Laughs were exchanged, bottles of wine were drained, a pleasant buzz settled over you both, and the two of you somehow got impossibly closer as the night progressed. It wasn't uncommon for the two of you to be practically cuddling by the end of a long evening so when his arm landed around your shoulders and started tracing patterns up and down the length of your arm you thought nothing of it.

Copia didn't either until you adjusted the positioning of your legs over his and brushed against his crotch with one of your thighs. His breath hitched as all blood rushed straight to his dick. It was a reminder of why he usually limited his wine intake to a single shared bottle with you. It made him horny.

He desperately tried to focus on what you were saying as he hardened in his pants, begging the universe that you wouldn't notice. It didn't help that you were so close to him, when did you get so close, and that his hand was still moving gently over your arm and shoulder.

Firmly trying to remind himself that you were his best friend and that the proximity shouldn't have been making his cock twitch, he reached for a spare cushion and subtly tried to place it over his lap. It worked as you didn't pay any attention and carried on with your story.

Reminder: never bring two bottles of wine to an evening spent with you again.

Convinced he was now in the safe zone, Copia let his head rest against the back of the couch with his face turned towards you so you knew you still had his focus. What he didn't expect was for you to match the position. But instead rest your face against his arm, cheek pressed against his bicep. It also affected the way you were looking at him, eyes angled up to see through your lashes. He felt himself get harder.

Best friend, best friend, best friend.

The thought ran through his head screaming like a headless chicken. Could headless chickens scream? It didn't matter. What did matter was that being wine drunk apparently compelled him to think about what you'd feel like sat on his cock, clenching around his length, the noises you'd make-

His legs jolted up, jostling yours, as he twitched underneath the cushion.

Your head shot up, a look of worry crossing your face. "Are you okay?"

"Me? Oh, hehe, I'm fine." Copia replied through a tight jaw. He was a bad, bad man. "Just tired, I think."

You glanced towards the clock in the corner of the room by your desk. "It is getting late. Maybe we should head to bed."

"Good idea." He nodded enthusiastically, desperate to get away from you and distance his thoughts to something more appropriate. He shouldn't be thinking about fucking you. You were his best friend, his closest confidant. Why was he thinking about fucking you?

Damn wine.

"I've had a good time tonight." You smiled as you stood up from the couch. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I was feeling before."

"Me too, topina. And I swear, from now on, you are always my top priority." He shifted slightly, wondering how he was supposed to stand up without you noticing the raging hard on he was sporting.

Your smile softened. "You gonna sit there all night or...?"

"Right, yes." He hesitated before standing up, hands rushing to cover his crotch as he did so, stumbling a little in the sudden movement.

"Woah." You reached out to steady him, a giggle escaping you. "You should handle your wine better than this. You're Italian."

"I handle my wine just fine." He bit back playfully, ignoring the way your hands were grasping onto him and how it had his head swimming. "It's just been a long day."

"Mhm, okay." You nodded, unconvinced. "Come on, I'll walk you back to your room."

"That's not necessary." He said but followed you anyway. He couldn't understand why he was suddenly so sexually drawn to you. It couldn't just be the wine, right? It made him unbelievably horny, sure, but to this extent? And to his best friend no less?

You didn't reply as you started the route back to his dwellings, arm looped through his in an attempt to keep him upright.

Copia watched you out of the corner of his eye the whole way there, wondering when this primal attraction to you had started. It couldn't possibly have only begun that night, so strongly. He thought back on it. He'd never found you unattractive but, for some reason, your relationship had never taken that course. You'd been fast friends and that's the way it always had been. Why was the only thought on his mind now the idea of fucking your brains out?

Must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

Right?

All he knew for sure was that he couldn't wait to get back to his room so he could jerk the unclean thoughts of you away. His mind strayed to the concept of humping a pillow like a dog in heat. It seemed rather appealing, he'd always been a fan of dry humping. He wondered what it'd be like with you-

Stop.

Your voice knocked Copia out of his thoughts as you reached his door. "Do you need me to tuck you into bed or are you good now?"

He should have said he was good. He should have said goodnight. He should not have entertained the idea of you in his room when he was in this state. He should-

"Well, if you're offering." He grinned down at you, hoping to play it off as a joke.

You rolled your eyes at him as you opened his door, a smile tugging on the corners of your mouth. "Okay. Come on, Papa."

He bit down on his tongue at the use of his title. As often as you acknowledged his Papacy, you never directly referred to him as Papa. He'd always just been Copia to you. He liked it that way. His promotion hadn't changed the way you viewed him. But he couldn't deny the feelings that the use of Papa had stirred deep in his abdomen.

You guided Copia into his bedroom and left him to lean against one of the corners of his four poster bed as you started removing all of the decorative pillows from the surface of it.

"How many of these things does one guy need?" You snorted as you plucked another one with a lace trim and discarded it to the other side of the room.

Copia only watched on silently, the heat in his gaze increasing with every passing second. He wanted so desperately to banish the thoughts he was having. But how was he supposed to when you bent over his bed like that and gave him the perfect view of your ass? And why had you chosen to wear those jeans today?

He knew he couldn't have you, couldn't even bring up the subject with you. But what would one night with you be like? Just to get it out of his system. He was sure it was the wine doing all the decision making in his body so one night would surely cure him of all impure thoughts of you. Right?

He snapped out of it when you turned to look at him again, a wide smile brightening your face. It was a big turnaround from the way you'd been looking at him before with tears in your eyes. How bad of a friend was he to be thinking about you like this when only a few hours earlier he'd been making you cry.

"Need your pyjamas or are you too drunk to get changed?" You asked, eyes looking him up and down.

Copia froze when your eyes lingered on his crotch for a second too long. When had his hands stopped covering himself?

But you said nothing, only awaited an answer to your question.

"Not drunk." He mumbled and pushed himself off the pillar towards you. "But I'm fine. Thank you for walking me back. You can go to your own bed now."

Your breathing quickened as he stood only a foot or two in front of you. A dilemma had hit you. You always hugged goodnight. But how were you supposed to do that with the boner he was rocking. Were you even supposed to address it? But he was looking at you so expectantly. Did he even know what his body was doing? Or was he really that drunk?

So you just decided to bite the bullet and extended your arms out to him. Copia let out a visible sigh of relief, that you weren't repulsed by what his body was doing and running a mile away, as he collapsed into your embrace. His face got buried in your neck as his arms wound around your waist. You didn't fail to notice how he kept his pelvis angled slightly away from you. So he was aware.

You continued not to say anything on the matter as you did your usual hug routine of one arm around his shoulders and the other lifted so you could card your fingers through his hair.

Turns out, that was a big mistake.

Copia couldn't help himself. The sensation of your hand stroking through his greying locks and your nails scratching lightly at his scalp had his body going haywire. And you smelt so good. He had no control as his hips bucked forward into yours and a low whine rumbled from his throat.

The two of you froze instantly, bodies going rigid in each other's arms.

You didn't know what to do, mouth hanging open as all possible words escaped you. What you did know was that a twinge of something you'd never felt for him before had rocketed straight through you.

Copia was panicking, he was convinced he would be able to keep his sudden urges to himself. But all it had taken was a measly hug. So he resorted to what he'd been doing all evening. Apologising.

"Shit, I'm sorry. The wine, it makes me-" He paused as he didn't know what word to use.

But you came to his rescue.

"It's okay." You whispered, sliding your arms down and away from him. "You don't need to explain. Alcohol and bodily reactions and all that. It's good."

He pulled away from you and sat on the edge of his bed, sliding a gloved hand down his face. The leather came away marked black and white from his paints. He was beyond caring. "I'm still sorry, topina. It was inappropriate of me. Accept my apologies and promise me we'll never talk of it again."

"Talk of what?" You asked with a half smile, flattening the top of his hair. "Get some sleep. You could probably use it. Sleep off the wine. Goodnight, Copia."

"Goodnight." He huffed in reply, watching carefully as you exited his room and shut the door tightly behind you. He waited only a couple more seconds before grabbing the nearest pillow.

You, on the other hand, stood confused on the other side of his door for a moment. What had just happened? Copia was hard. In front of you. He'd rutted said hard on against you. Albeit briefly but still...

And you hadn't been entirely opposed to it.

You shook off the thought and started to make your way back to your room. However, you didn't get very far when you were stopped in your tracks by a dull thud and the sound of your best friend shrieking.

Instantly, you turned on your heel and practically ran straight back to his room. You were shocked to find, once you'd opened his door again, him sprawled on the floor and desperately grinding against a pillow.

"Oh." You breathed out, unable to move. It was like someone had glued your feet to the carpet. And fixed your eyes in place so you could only stare at him. "I heard you fall and I- I'm sorry."

That caught his attention as he suddenly stopped moving and tilted his head back to look at you. "Topina!"

"I shouldn't- shouldn't-"

Shouldn't what? You didn't know.

Copia looked at you with panic in his eyes as he stood up again. When had he fallen on the floor? "I'm fine. Sorry you had to see that."

Sorry?

"You don't need to be sorry." The twinge of something you'd felt before had returned. This time a lot stronger. And suddenly all rational thought was leaving you. "Do you want some help?"

It felt like his world suddenly crashed down around him. And all that was left was you.

Help? You couldn't possibly mean...

You saw the disbelief in his eyes so decided to clarify. "I'm suggesting we dry hump like horny teenagers, Copia."

Correction: you were his world.

What friend would suggest such a thing? You, apparently.

"You want to do that?" He asked hoarsely.

"Unless you're finding the pillow satisfactory." You glanced towards the rumpled item in question, still on the floor.

"No. I would much rather prefer a warm body."

"My warm body?" You questioned with a slightly teasing tone. "You seemed to like it a couple of minutes ago."

He felt himself blush at the reminder. "If you're offering."

The statement reflected one he'd said not long ago, when you'd suggested tucking him into bed. He couldn't believe how the night had turned out.

"Sit against your headboard." You instructed, shutting his door behind you and locking it for your own peace of mind. You highly doubted anyone was about to waltz into his bedroom at this hour but you'd rather not risk it. You didn't need anyone catching what you were about to do.

Copia didn't need to be told twice, practically jumping onto his bed and getting into position. He could feel himself burning with desire for you. A desire that was about to be fulfilled.

You took a deep breath as you looked at him, so eagerly waiting, before making your way over to him. "This is a one time thing. We don't speak about it again. Okay?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Okay."

You paused at his bedside for a moment, wondering whether he'd considered this before judging on his reaction to the scenario, then crawled onto the bed and towards him. You kicked off your shoes and settled into a kneeling position next to him.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" You asked, needing to make sure he was certain of the decision.

"Sì, are you?" He eyed you hungrily and impatiently.

The look in his eyes sent a burning sensation straight to the base of your belly. "I'm sure."

You scooted closer to him, accepting an outstretched hand to balance yourself as you swung one of your legs over him and settled yourself down onto his lap. He was rock hard beneath you.

Copia hissed as you settled your weight against him, hands flying to your waist to steady you. "This may not last as long as you think, topina."

"Pity, I expected a man of your age to not be a two pump chump." You smirked and shifted yourself minutely, revelling in the groan he let out. "Are you always like this when you're horny or is it the wine?"

He licked his bottom lip as he stalled his answer. "I can be... desperate and needy. The wine is making it worse, I think. Should stick to one bottle in future."

Your mind whirled at the thought of him being desperate and needy. You wondered if you could get him in that state tonight. "Need you to guide me to what feels good. Not sure how you want me."

Copia wanted you in all kinds of ways. He didn't say that aloud though. "I assure you anything you do will feel good. I am focusing right now on not coming with you just sat on top of me."

"Oh." Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The wine really got you wound up, didn't it?"

"The wine, yes." He replied as his hands slid down to your hips, tugging you to rock against him. The friction of that one simple movement caused his mouth to drop open in pleasure. He really wasn't lasting long tonight.

You watched in amusement as his eyes screwed shut when you did it again of your own accord. Shifting slightly, you tried to find a good angle for you. As fun as it was to watch him enjoy himself, you couldn't help but notice that not a whole lot was happening for you. You were sure if you moved your hips just right you'd find the seam in your jeans and you'd reach ecstasy as you ground yourself against him.

"Topina, slow down. Fuck." Copia's hands gripped your hips tightly to stop you from moving.

You hadn't realised that in all your searching for your own pleasure, you'd been giving him his. "Shit, sorry. Just trying to find a good position."

He frowned. "Is this not good for you?"

You shrugged. "Jeans are making it difficult to feel much. They're pretty thick."

His hands ran up and down your denim clad thighs, squeezing softly at the flesh beneath his finger tips, as he pondered something. "Take them off."

"Copia, I-" You cut yourself off when you noticed the way his eyes were trained on the movements of his hands over your thighs. "Do you want me to take them off?"

He glanced up at you. "I want you to do whatever is going to make you feel good as well."

"I'm doing this to help you." You croaked, not even believing it yourself anymore.

He shook his head. "Not helpful unless you enjoy yourself too."

That was all it took to have you rolling away from him and kicking your jeans off of your legs as quickly as possible and then settling yourself back over him, this time with only your underwear left in the way.

Copia's hands returned to your thighs, squeezing the bare skin now instead. "Try now."

So you did.

"Fuck me." You gasped, hands flying to grip his shoulders. You hadn't anticipated the texture of his pants, the fancy lace up and stylish wear and tear, and what that would feel like. It was like they were built for this.

"Feels better now." He beamed at you, not needing a confirmation of any sort since the way your face had scrunched up was proof enough.

"You can never wear these around me again now." You grumbled, gesturing at his pants. "Will make me horny."

"Is that such a bad thing?" He teased, snaking an arm around your waist to guide your movements. "Only if you promise not to wear those jeans around me."

You looked at him questioningly.

"Make your ass look good." He grunted, rocking your hips against his even harder.

"You were looking at my ass?"

"Guilty." A choked groan escaped his mouth. "It is not a regular thing, I assure you."

The retort you had planned died on your lips and was replaced by a strangled cry as he bucked up underneath you. You buried your face against his shoulder with a whimper of his name. "Copia."

His eyes rolled back at the sound of his name sounding like that coming from your mouth. "I know, topina, I know. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Un-fucking-believable." You sighed, picking up the pace of your rolling hips.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, depraved noises escaping you both as your bodies moved in rhythm with each other.

Copia's arm was locked around you, the other firm on one of your thighs, squeezing occasionally. He could feel himself edging dangerously close to release. But he wanted you to come first. "Need you to come for me, topina. What's going to get you there, hm?"

Your head turned so your face was against his neck as you whined. "Talk to- fuck- talk to me."

"And what would you like me so say? How you feel so perfect rubbing yourself against me right now? That you're my perfect topina?" He chuckled when you mewled. "Oh, you liked that."

"Fuck." You gasped. "Yes, yes."

The grinding of your hips became desperate, almost feral, as you neared closer to your orgasm quicker than you ever had done before.

"Was it being called perfect? Or being called mine?" Copia mused, having to pause his thoughts for a second as he could feel himself practically throbbing beneath you. "Fuck, you really are perfect at this."

The way he said it, the tone of his voice, the breathlessness of it, had you toppling over the edge. Your pelvis bucked a few more times, chasing the high, as your mouth formed around a silent scream against the skin of his neck.

Copia took that as his queue to let loose, wildly rutting up underneath you for a minute before his own orgasm hit. He couldn't even find it in himself to regret the mess he'd made in his pants. It was worth it.

He instantly relaxed beneath you, accepting the full weight of your body as the afterglow had left you in a state of not being able to hold yourself up anymore. Copia's gloved fingers danced up and down the length of your back, soothing you.

When you finally sat up again, hands planted firmly on his chest to support yourself, you looked content. Copia was glad you weren't suddenly freaking out.

"Thanks for the orgasm, buddy." You patted him gently on the chest before standing up onto shaky legs.

Copia chuckled. Buddy? "I should be thanking you. I was sentenced to a night with my pillow until you offered to help."

"It was mutually beneficial." You assured him as you tugged your jeans up your legs. "Now we just never speak of it again."

"Sì, sì." Copia knew he was going to have trouble with that. "You can stay the night if you want."

You glanced at him. "We've already crossed one line tonight. Let's not cross any others."

He didn't point out how you'd shared a bed before and it hadn't meant anything. But he didn't want to push you. "If you're sure."

"I am." Slipping your shoes back onto your feet, you looked at him. "You should definitely get some rest now."

"I will, topina." He replied softly.

You straightened up and placed your hands on your hips. "Well, I'm done here so... see you around."

Copia shook his head with a laugh and corrected you. "See you tomorrow."

"Really?" You looked hopeful.

"Sì. I was being sincere when I said you are my priority. I will make more time for you, I promise." He moved to the edge of his bed and beckoned you over. When you approached him he cupped your chin in a gloved hand. "My topina, bestest friend in the world."

You giggled at his phrasing. "I can accept that title."

Of being the bestest friend in the world? Or of being his?

"Goodnight, Copia." You planted a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

It caught him off guard. But not in an unpleasant way. In fact, he found he rather liked it. "Goodnight."

He watched on fondly as you slipped out of his room and disappeared into the night. Collapsing backwards onto his bed, Copia wondered how he was going to manage never mentioning tonight to you again.

A/N: Second Copia dry humping fic. Apologies for the slight repeat but I think about it a lot when it comes to him…

[ghuleh-witch]

okay hear me out:

Copia coming backstage to try and fuck you during his little breaks.

[simplydozing]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥

Cardinal Copia x Reader She's finally here in all her glory. Copia is overwhelmed with emotion seeing his family finally coming together. Part 1 Word Count: 1142 || Ao3

ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ Ti ameró fino alla fine dei tempi = I'll love you until the ends of time (Poorly translated/Google translate)

Time flew since he’s come home, having only a few weeks left to spend with you until the baby was born.

 The minute he stepped foot through those heavy wooden doors, he was on a mission to find you. Which in turn was a fruitless effort. You were already waiting for him, all swollen and teary-eyed from just your thoughts about him making it back. His first thing he does is pull you in for a long-awaited passionate kiss. He’ll then bring his focus down and whisper to your bump how much he missed you both, and press multiple kisses.

  From then on, he did nothing but dote on you. He’d rarely leave your side, only doing so if there was a calling by the Clergy. Even then, he’d order a ghoul to take his place for the time being. It was always either the ghoulettes or Mountain. He took notes on who was the best to call on.

Did you know that Mountain imitates everything you do? When you sit, he sits in the same position you are. If you’re walking, he’s behind you with the same stride. You’re making something to eat? Cool, just let him grab the same stuff you have. He does all this to be as protective of you without being too overbearing.

 The ghoulettes, on the contrary, love to pamper you. With them, you’re always in for a spa day or some sort of general relaxation. They’ll make a space to be as comfy as possible for you. They’ll indulge in some of your hobbies from knitting to reading.

 Copia thanks whoever is with you and rewards them with all kinds of luxuries.

The nights were spent with you as close to him as you could be, wrapped in his arms. Sometimes, when he thought you were asleep, he'd scoot down and start talking to his daughter. There were countless conversations about how he would lay the world at her feet if he could. These were the times his mind would be at ease, pouring his heart out to her. He'd earn a flurry of kicks and movement in response. You could already tell she was going to be daddy's girl.

He spent everything to give you all the love you deserved, plus more.

Then, it was time.

 You spent hours working through intense pain to bring her here, with Copia at your side at all times. He was just as scared, but he did his best not to show it. He'd clench your hand about as hard as you did his. There was constant praise and encouragement, forever drilling in your mind how amazing and strong you are and how you were never more beautiful than you were in this moment.

 Any time you said “I can’t,” any time you cried out, he’d remind you of how far you’ve come.

Dawn turned to dusk, and you were so exhausted. But when the final stretch came and went with your little girl finally in your arms, you realized that you’d do it all again if it meant having her here with you both.

And Copia was so smitten. Seeing you holding her made him speechless. The sight before him was a renaissance that he couldn’t look away from. You were wrecked by your labor, but it was a magnificent scene to behold when you first held her, talking to her and calming her cries.

“Are you ready to hold her?”

He nods, closing his gaping mouth. He scoots closer, his movement is robotic. He holds his arms out.

 They’re shaky. Lucifer, he’s so nervous. He shouldn’t be, with all the things he’s done not only for her but for you. He’s waited so long for this, what if he messes up?

 Everything goes by in slow motion. You help position him to hold her properly. He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels a weight.

 And my god, isn’t it spectacular?

 He lets out a breathless gasp at the mere first glimpse of her.

 She’s here, with him, with you. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him since marrying you. She’s the most perfect thing he ever saw.

 He’s unaware of the tears streaming down his smudged face.

 She awakens, and is startled at the new face staring at her. She begins to wail, but he acts on instinct to quieten her once more.

“Shh, mia stellina. It’s your papa,” he ever so slightly rocks her.

“Don’t be scared.”

He brings a hand to caress her little face, and you could not believe how quick it was for her to settle.

“Yeah, you know me, don’t you? You recognize who I am?”

 She squeaks and nestles in the soft blanket that swaddled her. Her hand grasps his thumb, tiny fingers barely wrapping around it. This makes his heart nearly explode.

“She’s so small,” he hardly speaks above a whisper.

“She’s the spitting image of you. You saw her eyes, right?” 

 She has his eyes, the left being pale and pallid of color.

 You both marvel at her sleeping form. Everything about her derives from him, from her nose to her chin.

 You did say you wanted a mini version of him, and to see that your prayers were answered brought so much joy to your heart.

“Have you thought of names?” He asked with a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t found or thought of anything for her.

“I have, actually,” you hummed. You lean over to get another view of her face.

“I was thinking…. Cynthia?”

 He perks up at the speed of sound, locking eyes with you.

“A-After my…” he trails off, being on the verge of spilling.

“After your mother,” your hand places on top of his that’s holding her head.

“Cynthia Vittoria.”

“Cynthia… Vittoria,” he faintly echoes.

 He breaks his gaze from yours, looking back at her.

 It’s perfect, nothing better suits her.

 He kisses her on the nose, and touches foreheads with her.

”Ti ameró fino alla fine dei tempi.”

 Your eyes welled up again, treasuring this memory for eternity.

He looks at her with the same devotion he shows you. His state is more relaxed, looking as if he was made for this. And in a way, he was. 

You could stay and watch him babble to her for hours on end, but your work is catching up with you. Heavy eyelids struggle to stay open. You curl up against the infirmary pillow, keeping your family in your sight as you drift off.

Copia took advantage of this, and began singing to the both of you.

Life Eternal.

The same song he sang to you when you first started courting him.

And now, he was finally able to sing to his daughter, just like he said he would all those months ago.

[ninesposting]

More of Nora and Cardi, this time they got caught smooching on company time

ArtFight starts soon so I gotta get this stuff out of my system before I’ll be drawing other stuff for a month lol

[copiousloverofcopia]

imagine copia about to become papa iv and his prime mover saying something like "you're going to be papa" and he's like duh, not getting it at all, and she literally has to go "no, you're going to be *papa*" and that's how she breaks the news to him

It's a shame how long it's been since I got this...like a year. 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Hopefully this little sumthin sumthin will be worth it.

And Then It Hit Him

You have news for your husband, Cardinal Copia on the brink of his ascension to the Papacy, but will he stop long enough to listen?

Also available on AO3 HERE!

You were doing your best to remain patient, though the news was burning from inside you. Wringing the fabric of your habit in your fingers as you waited for the perfect moment to interrupt him. Your husband had barely looked up from his parchments since you entered. A comfortable silence between you as you noted his hands were once again covered in ink. 

You were instantly transported back to when your dear sweet Cardinal was only the Ministry treasurer, and you still a naive novitiate. A time when you fell hard and fast in love with eachother. Watching with joy as he ascended the ranks of the Ministry. Proving himself worthy of his station at each and every turn. 

Now he was only weeks away from the announcement that he would receive the miter. The highest honor that only the select few could ever hope to achieve within the church. Truth be told you had wondered if your news would pale in comparison, but knowing Copia as you did, there was no way it would.

"Cope..." You nudge, hoping to finally garner his attention. Copia stopped, pulling his glasses off from where they hung on the bridge of his nose and began rubbing his eyes. Clearly he hadn't moved them from his work for more than a few second at a time.

"I'm so sorry cara, I just have so much work that needs to be done before I head back out on tour. If I leave anything unfinished Sister will have my head for it." He responded, taking your hand in his. His eyes, returning to his desk. You could tell he was worn down by it. The endless bureaucracy of the Ministry trampling over him in the guise of all this paper and ink.

"Copia, my love...I know you have a lot on your plate, but I—I just have something I wanted to tell you." 

"Of course, what is it?" He asked you, a sweet smile sent your way.

"Well.." You began, rounding his desk and placing your head on his shoulder. Breathing in the scent of his cologne. Like old books and patchouli, a scent that had intoxicated you night after night for so long now. It hardly seemed fair just how much it had affected you. Like a spell cast on your senses. Clearly it was one of the many reasons, like his undeniable charm, that led to you being in this position. "Soon my love…you are going to be a Papa.”

You were surprised when Copia's reaction was lacking. Letting out a sigh as he finished up the sentence he had been writing. "I know, I know. That's why I have to get this done." He explained, clear now that he had completely missed what you were trying to tell him. You thought for a moment, trying to decide if you could stand one more minute of knowing it all on your own, before finally you let out a groan.

It stopped him, Copia catching on that you needed him. Letting the pen drop to the desk as he pulled his attention away from the plethora of papers decorating it to face you. Heeding you as you gently brought his jaw up to help face you. Your eyes locked with his when he gently kissed your hand. The hair of his sideburns, tickling your palm as you spoke.

"No…Copia.” You began, a note of both amusement and disbelief in your voice, “...that's not what I was trying to say.” 

“I'm sorry amore… you should have had my full attention. Please…what is it you wanted to tell me?”

“I'm trying to tell you, you silly man, that you are going to be A PAPA.” You emphasized by taking his hand and placing it on the small of your belly. Suddenly it was clear to him. Hitting him all at once as his eyes began stinging with tears. He stared at your still inconspicuous belly. Both mystified and deliriously happy before looking up at you.

“Amore, are you sure?” he asked you. His voice quivering—a mess of emotions. You could feel Copia's hand trembling as his thumb gently glided over your stomach. Already so gentle and tender with a child he had only just discovered existed.

“I'm very sure Cope…we’re going to have a baby.” You smiled. 

“Sweet Satanas, I'm going to be a Papa!” Copia yelped, casting himself up from the chair and pulling you tightly into his arms. Blissfully crying and whispered praises in Italian, his hand never leaving your belly. You began to laugh. Copia looking up at you once again just as your own tears began streaming down your face.

“A papa and Papa.” 

Notes:

novitiate- nun or sister in training 

[cowboyemeritus]

Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter One

Series Masterlist

Summary: After another victory in the ring, your manager, Copia, makes sure you’re taken care of. (18+)

Content Warning: smut, violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, references to organized crime, drug use, ethically dubious relationship

Read on AO3

Notes: Howdy, everyone! WE ARE SO BACK (for now, at least)! A lot has happened since I last wrote something for you all (graduated college, got a job, moved across the country, etc.), but I got really excited about this idea and couldn’t stop myself. I’m considering turning this into a series, so if you thought this was cool please lmk!

GIF is by @ghuleh-recs :)

You’ve got this bitch licked.

She’s up against the ropes, desperately trying to protect her face as you pummel her over and over again. There’s blood streaming down from her nose, mouth, and a large gash on her hairline. You can tell it’s hard for her to see with how much is in her eyes. One of her front teeth is chipped.

It’s the fifth of five rounds. Thirty seconds left on the clock. Up until now it’s been a pretty close fight. She’s one of the tougher opponents you’ve faced and you’re in equally rough shape. Your split lip stings with every breath, and your nose will definitely need to be set after this. It only adds fuel to the fire of your rage.

You’ll win. Despite being evenly matched, you’ve managed to get in more solid hits, especially in the last two rounds. This girl is a fucking idiot, insulting you like she did.

“At least I don’t have to fuck my manager for table scraps.”

This isn’t about winning anymore. This is about making her suffer.

All you need is a well-timed right hook. You hit her directly on the temple, and she crumples to the ground. The crowd screams their applause, but you can’t hear it over the blood roaring in your ears. Before anyone can interfere, you’re on top of her, landing hit after hit in rapid succession. You want to beat her face in, to turn her into a bloody pulp.

It takes several men to finally pry you off of her.

“Fucking bitch!” You continue to thrash and curse as the referee and the unconscious woman’s manager kneel by her side, checking to make sure she’s still alive. When your opponent finally sits up, you redouble your efforts to break free. She starts to crawl away from you. There is genuine fear in her eyes, the sclera now red with blood. It’s not until you feel a firm hand on your shoulder that you finally still.

“That’s enough, dolcezza.”

Copia is looking down at you, a bemused look on his face. Still restrained, you rise to your feet. You spit a glob of bloody saliva towards your defeated foe, looking her up and down one last time.

Serves her right.

The manager, a hairy man with a misshapen face, points a finger at you, glaring daggers.

“Control your fucking dog, Emeritus.” His entire body shakes with anger. “Or I will have her put down.”

Before the situation can escalate, the men transfer you to Copia, who keeps his composure as always. Grasping your wrist, he raises it in the air and the crowd cheers again. A moment later, his gloved hand finds your waist, pulling you into his side as he whisks you away, leading you out of the ring towards the makeshift locker room. The feeling of his body against yours is grounding, eating away at the rage boiling inside.

“You did well tonight,” he says quietly in your ear. “The Boss will be pleased.”

The crowd is already clearing out of the abandoned warehouse, few willing to risk being caught by the authorities. Some linger, money and drugs moving from hand to hand. You’re about halfway to your destination when one of the loiterers, a man with dark hair and a scruffy beard, intercepts you.

“What an amazing fight,” he exclaims. You detect a slight southern drawl. Copia gives him a polite, reserved smile, and you feel him squeeze your hip.

“What can I say? There is no fighter quite like mine.”

His.

“Indeed,” the man says. Finally, he regards you. “That’s why I always bet on you, darling.”

You mumble out a quiet “thank you,” as you’ve been coached. There’s a moment of tense silence as you wait for the man to get to his inevitable point. He’s jittery, dilated eyes darting around wildly. You know why he, and all these other men, are really here.

It's not your athleticism.

“You know,” he continues, returning his attention to Copia, “I'm quite interested in the particulars of the sport and would love to pick this little lady’s brain. If we could have some time one-on-one, I would-”

“Thank you,” Copia interjects, “but we will have to decline.” Seemingly unfazed, the man takes a wad of cash out of his coat pocket, offering it to your manager with an unsteady hand.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Copia’s tranquil demeanor finally cracks.

“She’ll bite your dick off, DeFroque. Now get lost.” For emphasis, you jerk towards him a little, snapping your bloody teeth together. DeFroque jumps back in surprise, paralyzed for a moment. Without another word, he turns tail and flees.

“Quel cocainomane...” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s clean you up.” You nod in assent, and the two of you resume your journey.

The “locker room” is really a grimy old office at one end of the warehouse. It's empty save for a battered old desk and a rusty filing cabinet, the floor covered in chips of yellowed paint. The fluorescent lights flicker as Copia sits you down on the desk and begins inspecting your face. He grasps your chin, turning your head side to side. You want to lean into his touch, but remain pliant for him.

“You’re allowed to defend yourself,” he remarks, examining a pink welt on your cheek. He breaks away to dig through one of the drawers, producing a small hand towel, cotton balls, bandages, and rubbing alcohol a moment later.

You shrug. “I like offense.” Copia’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“That’s why you always draw the biggest crowds, cara.”

Uncapping the bottle, he thoroughly soaks one of the cotton balls. Tilting your head up, he dabs it on the bridge of your nose. You hadn’t even noticed the skin had broken. The alcohol stings, but you remain still, used to the sensation. There’s a comfortable silence as Copia cleans the blood from the rest of your face, taking extra care around each cut and bruise. He has always insisted on caring for you in this way, despite being able to do it yourself. You’ve learned to let him, and savor every touch like it’s a gift.

Copia moves from your face to your hands. You offer them to him as he carefully unwinds the tape around your wrists and thumbs. Knowing the routine by heart, you slowly rotate and bend them to show him they feel alright. Copia nods in approval. With the towel, he dabs at your knuckles, wiping away your opponent’s blood until the skin is visible again. He shoots you an interrogative look when he sees they’re all split.

“She made me mad.” Copia sighs. You both know that in an official boxing league, this kind of behavior would be enough to keep you from ever setting foot in the ring again.

“Amore, what am I going to do with you?”

Now it’s your least favorite part. Copia gestures for you to lay back on the desk and despite the gnawing feeling of dread you obey, legs dangling off the edge. Hovering over you, you can’t help but gaze up at him, admiring the contours of his face. You feel the urge to run your hands through his mousy brown hair, but he’s already reaching for your broken nose. You jolt when he finally makes contact, writhing a little beneath him. He tuts.

“Stay still.” It’s all but a whisper.

There’s a faint crunching noise as Copia pokes and prods at your nose with experienced fingers. You do as he commands, balling your fists and gritting your teeth at the sensation of bone and cartilage moving. Once he’s satisfied with the positioning, he packs your nostrils with cotton, then gently places a bandage over the break, securing your nose in place.

“There,” he coos. “Not so bad, eh?” You glower at him and he chuckles. You think Copia is going to let you sit up but he doesn’t move, looking down at you with an interested look in his peculiar, mismatched eyes. He brushes some loose hairs away from your face and runs his thumb across an undamaged section of your cheek. Planting his hand next to your head, the other finds your opposite hip, effectively pinning you to the desk. You don’t resist when he leans down, pressing his mouth into yours. He’s forceful, enough to agitate your split lip, but careful to avoid bumping into your nose. Closing your eyes, you take in the lingering minty taste on his lips, instinctively parting yours at the feeling of his tongue prodding at you. Unconsciously, your thighs press together.

Copia’s tongue is gentle in its exploration. It crosses your mind that your mouth is still bloody and you are in desperate need of a shower, but clearly he doesn’t mind. With the hand at your hip, he begins to lightly trace the waistband of your shorts, his index finger running along the edge. The two of you remain like this for what feels like forever until, unable to breathe through your packed nose, you start to tremble from the lack of oxygen. Having mercy on you, he breaks away. While you desperately catch your breath, he takes the tip of a gloved finger between his teeth, pulling the garment off to expose his bare hand. It quickly returns to its place, this time right above the apex of your thighs. Smothering you with his mouth once again, Copia swallows your quiet moan as he reaches down to grab at your core. You want to pull him closer, but the second you try to reach around with your free arm he grabs your wrist.

“Let Papa take care of you.”

With no other choice, you lay back as he massages you through the fabric of your shorts. You’re practically melting under his touch, your aches and pains fading until they’re nothing but background noise. The fight itself seems so far way, as if it happened in another life. You can’t imagine why you were so angry before. Right now, Copia is at the center of your whole world, like he is, and always has been, the only thing that matters.

When he finally slips his hand under the elastic to touch you directly, you moan for him again. He traces your clit with his middle finger, dipping down to feel and gather the wetness of your cunt. Your self-control slips, and you grind your hips up into his touch. Seemingly satisfied with your state of arousal, Copia withdraws, sliding an arm under your body and lifting you so that you’re sitting upright. You swing your legs over the other side of the desk so that you’re face-to-face. Copia removes his other glove, placing it next to you before gripping the waistband of both your shorts and underwear. Planting your feet, you just barely lift your ass off the table, allowing him to pull the garments down. You have to kick off your slides so that he can completely remove them, dropping them on the floor next to the desk.

The anticipation is heavy as you watch Copia free himself from the confines of his well-tailored suit pants. His cock is thick and hard, immediately springing forth when he unzips his fly. The tip is flushed a light purple and already beading with precum. You swallow down the saliva rapidly accumulating in your mouth, wanting to reach out and touch him but knowing to let him lead. Sure enough, he takes a small step forward, slotting himself between your parted legs. His hands find the underside of your thighs, lifting them up to rest on his hips. You fall back, propping yourself up on your forearms. The desk is just the right height where he has perfect access to your entrance, and you shudder at the sensation of his cock teasing your folds.

Copia drapes himself over you as he slides inside your wet heat, claiming your mouth again. He fucks like you fight, hard and fast, snapping his hips with an unparalleled ferocity. The force is enough to move you back and forth on the desk, and your already exhausted arms begin to wobble with overexertion. When they finally give out you fall back, nearly smacking your head. You just barely manage to catch yourself.

“Dolcezza, you make Papa a very happy man. You know that?” You nod and Copia rewards you with a well-angled thrust, hitting a spot that has you convulsing under him. He hums, satisfied by your response. Still pounding into you, he grabs onto your sports bra, dragging it upwards to expose your breasts. They bounce each time his hips drive forward, the cool air immediately pebbling your nipples. He pinches one of the pink buds, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and you gasp, back arching off the desk.

“Fuck!” It comes out like you’ve been kicked in the chest. You can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach, pulling tight like a rubber band. Copia’s pleasure is evident on his face, his brow furrowed and cheeks flushed. Small droplets of sweat bead at his graying temples.

“You always — Fuck! — You always fight so well for me.”

Slowly, his hand trails down to where the two of you meet. His thumb begins to trace tight circles around your clit, compelling your body to contract around him.

“Papa-”

“Where would I be without you, mia campionessa?”

Your orgasm sneaks up on you, crashing down like a tidal wave. You thrash wildly on the desk, a hand clapping over your mouth to stifle a long string of moans. Copia follows not long after, spilling inside you with a low groan. For a moment, everything is still. You gaze up at him, spellbound. The florescent lights create a blueish halo around his form and with the flush still decorating his cheeks, he’s practically glowing. You know he won’t kiss you again, but when he withdraws entirely, tucking his soft cock away, the disappointment still stings. Unable, as always, to find the right words, you bite back the feeling and silently get up. Going through the motions, you let Copia assist in making you presentable again. You’re acutely aware of his seed dripping out of you, but choose to pull your shorts and underwear back on before he can address it. From a hook on the door he retrieves your jacket and sweatpants. He’s halfway through pulling on his own coat when there’s a knock.

“Yes?”

“Sir,” a muffled voice announces. “The earnings are secure. Car is ready for you.”

“Bene. We will be along soon.” He looks to you, offering you his arm. You take it like it’s a lifeline. “Let’s go home, dolcezza.”