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oh-babylove · 1 month

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~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.”

166 notes · View notes

copias-girl · 1 year

Note

Okay but like, Copia is 100% SO ticklish, and no one can tell me differently

YES

Allow me to elaborate a bit:

COPIA BEING TICKLISH BLURB:

(I kinda got a little carried away with this and it turned a bit spicy lol)

𖤐

It was evening, and you were all cozied up together watching a fun Satanic B movie from the 1970s. The both of you were eating candy- cherry sours, to be exact- cuddling, and of course: rooting for the Devil’s victory in the film. You were having a lovely night in with your darling Cardinal; intimately pressed up against one another on the sofa. You fit together so perfectly, but you shifted positions every now and then to prevent getting sore.

But this time when you wriggled around, Copia froze. He felt your fingertips brush against his side, which was a bit more sensitive than usual since he was only wearing his silk pyjama set, as opposed to the many layers he wore during the day. He tried his best not to interrupt the movie; after all, it’s not like you were trying to tickle him. All he had to do was keep his cool and try not to think about it, because- oh! Your fingertips started mindlessly drawing shapes into his ribs. Copia twitched, biting his lip to stifle laughter. He stole a panicked glance at you, only to find you enthralled in the film. You must not have noticed what you were doing, but sweet Satan you were getting more and more aggressive with-

Copia all but screamed, erupting into laughter and flopping off the couch like a fish.

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you pounced on top of him, straddling him and continuing your attack.

So you were doing it on purpose!

“You sneaky little-! You-! Ahahahaha!” Copia had tears streaming down his cheeks, threatening to streak his clergy paint as he writhed beneath you.

You giggled deviously, tickling the Cardinal’s sides and soft tummy a bit more while he protested and floundered on the carpet, trying in vain to shield himself from your devilish little fingers.

Deciding to take mercy on the old man, you ceased fire and allowed him to catch his breath.

“Dolce, why do you torture me so?” He sighed weakly, a handsome grin lazily tugging at his lips.

“Because it’s fun.” You replied simply, fisting your hand in the silky fabric of his pyjama shirt and leaning down to teasingly brush your lips against his, causing the poor man’s head to spin in desperation as he pulled you close, his hands roaming your body.

You captured the Cardinal in a deep kiss then, relishing in the soft moan he released as you threaded your fingers through his greying hair, sucking his tongue into your mouth.

Pulling away, you caressed a gentle finger over Copia’s thin moustache and kissed the corner of his mouth, leaving him breathless as you trailed lower. You lifted his shirt up, already feeling him tense up and try to twist away.

“Calm down, old man. I’m done tormenting you. For now.” You grinned.

The man hesitantly stopped struggling and propped himself up with his elbows, curiously observing you.

You kissed Copia’s soft tummy, causing him to release a soft whine. He was always self-conscious about that part of himself, but you absolutely loved it. Casting a coy glance up at your lover, you pulled his pants a bit lower, licking a slow stripe up his happy trail. Copia gasped, awestruck eyes fixated on your seductive form. A red hot flush painted his freckled cheeks and he bit his lip, the haze of arousal already beginning to cloud his mind.

With a kittenish smirk, you bit at his love handles while your palm ghosted over the growing tent in his pants, causing a deliciously desperate moan to tumble from the Cardinal’s lips.

“Dolce, I thought you were done tormenting me.” He groaned, petting your hair as you kissed and licked and nipped at his tummy some more, soft fingertips tracing shapes around his belly button and up and down his happy trail, relishing in the way his muscles twitched and tensed from the ticklish sensation.

In response, you only blew a raspberry onto his stomach, causing the man to jolt and shriek out another burst of laughter.

“Dolce!” He whined, twisting and turning, managing to sit upright and lean against the couch, huffing.

You giggled, moving to sit next to him on the floor. With a merciful gaze, you cupped his pretty face in your hands and pressed a loving kiss to his soft lips, which the Cardinal eagerly returned.

“Alright, I’m done tormenting you for real this time.” You grinned. “Let’s finish the mov-”

“No, I want… ehm… Dolce, let’s go to bed.” Copia whispered, lust swirling in his eyes, his hand coming to rest on your thigh.

“But darling, there’s only twenty minutes of the movie left.” You pointed out, your own eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Bed. Now. The film can wait, but I am not so patient.” The Cardinal pulled you in for a searingly desperate kiss.

And without breaking your passionate lip lock, the two of you managed to stumble through his rooms; furiously tearing off each other’s pyjamas, bumping into a side table, and nearly knocking over a lamp. Finally, the two of you collapsed onto the luxurious bed in a tangle of limbs and flurry of desirous kisses.

Your movie nights always ended in desperate, passionate love-making. Come to think of it, you can’t remember the last time you and Copia actually finished a movie together.

end <3

492 notes · View notes

ghostchems · 8 months

Text

masterlist

ONGOING

infernal | nsfw | parts: one/two/three/four/five | ao3 link

papa emeritus iii x fem reader Terzo is serving a death sentence. It isn’t like he had much of a choice. He remembers the game night clearly. The typical arguments and accusations of cheating had subsided and it was a rare moment of fun and relaxation with his brothers. The next thing he remembers is waking up on a gurney and gasping for air. They told him his brothers were dead. They told him they had removed his head for a photoshoot and then reattached it again. They gave him a choice: die now or take their money and never speak to them again.

the devil’s damsel | nsfw: non-con | parts: one/two/three/four | ao3 link

papa emeritus ii x fem reader after one mistake, you end up in the belly of the beast

cemetery stroll | nsfw | parts: one/two | ao3 link

papa emeritus ii x fem reader a creature interrupts your evening walk through the abbey cemetery.

bad idea right? | nsfw | parts: one/two/three | ao3 link

raphael x fem tav your companions have made their stance on making a deal with a devil clear but as the stakes of your quest grow you aren't so certain

lovers led astray | nsfw | parts: one | ao3 link

cardinal copia x fem reader - upior sequel much has changed within the ministry since the dust settled. you're stuck in a position you never wanted - the chosen lover of the cardinal, the heir apparent, as well as the secretary for the ministry's budding satanic education program. despite your life having more meaning that it ever has, you're still flooded with memories of the before times.

COMPLETED

*the titles link to the tumblr post. ao3 links included for all! for fics with multiple parts, i linked the last part bc i am lazy :) there are no tumblr links for burn with me because its an ~ao3 exclusive~ (i stopped consistently posting the chapters on tumblr the longer it went dhdjsjsj)

papa emeritus iii

cirice | nsfw | ao3 link

you are searching for inspiration at the site of a local urban legend but something beckons to you

kazoo comfort | sfw | ao3 link

you take a break from your daily duties to clear your head when you run into a cozy-looking retired papa

the rose | sfw | ao3 link

terzo reminisces about simpler times

upiór | nsfw | ao3 link

upiór (n.) - a person cursed before death, a person who died suddenly, or someone whose corpse was desecrated

the wedding guest | nsfw | ao3 link

you have just gotten over a break-up and attend a wedding of a friend alone. a man with face paint distracts you from the festivities

the cardinal’s cure | nsfw | ao3 link

cardinal terzo notices you seem a bit stressed and he has perfect solution

gloves | nsfw | ao3 link

you are the resident glove maker at the abbey and cardinal terzo comes to you with a curious request.

you drive me (crazy) | nsfw | ao3 link

the prompt: Now that Terzo has retired he has to take driving lessons because Imperator won't let any of the ghouls drive him around anymore. Reader is hired to teach him but what happens when love (or just sex) gets in the way of his lessons?

a man after midnight | nsfw | ao3 link

the prompt: looking at the mirror but the reflection isn't. looking. at. you.

the phantom touch | nsfw | ao3 link

when copia is gone, the phantom comes out to play.

the dressing room | nsfw | ao3 link

the last show of the popestar tour has concluded with Papa being dragged off stage. your task is to keep him occupied in his dressing room

smoke break | sfw | ao3 link

you find solace and a private place to smoke when you are caught by the new papa.

cardinal copia

burn with me | nsfw | ao3 link

It’s been a long time since Copia has been able to play with his food.

restroom detour | nsfw | ao3 link

you're out with your friends at the new local hot spot: the pinnacle lounge. a trip to find the bathroom has you stumbling into something not for your eyes.

road rage | nsfw | ao3 link

as copia's assistant, you've found a nonconventional way to keep your boss calm.

oops | nsfw | ao3 link

copia makes a mistake while summoning a new ghoul.

upiór | nsfw | ao3 link

upiór (n.) - a person cursed before death, a person who died suddenly, or someone whose corpse was desecrated.

devotion | nsfw | ao3 link

the cardinal™️ doesn’t feel that you’ve been a good little sinner lately.

boys suck | nsfw | ao3 link

dracopia with the prompts: that gut feeling something is following you & having blood smeared all over you

the cream in cardinal copia's coffee | nsfw | ao3 link

you are blessed with the task of making the new cardinal his coffee each morning and on your first day, you forget the evaporated milk.

papa emeritus iv

the sads | sfw | ao3 link

you've fallen behind on your classes at the ministry because of an episode of the sads.

somethin’ spooky | nsfw | ao3 link

you've secured an invite to an exclusive party at a satanic church only to end up being underwhelmed by the lack of "spooky".

have some sympathy and some taste | nsfw | ao3 link

you become charmed by a spooky live performance at a bar you wandered into.

wrong place, right time | nsfw | ao3 link

you work at a local concert venue, specializing in requests from the music acts. one request and one warning slips your mind.

on leather wings | nsfw | ao3 link

copia surprises you with a spooky weekend getaway, culminating in some winged bedroom time

longing | nsfw | ao3 link

at a certain moment during a performance, copia thinks of you.

papa emeritus ii

la bella luna | nsfw | ao3 link

after a disappointing evening, you run into a mysterious man on the street.

mary goore

baptized in blood | nsfw | ao3 link

you will never forget the day Mary Goore rolled into town.

silco

thief | nsfw| ao3 link

desperate for shimmer, you steal some from the last drop and make your escape

#chems corner #sorry for taking the small break fellas #i got strangely overwhelmed and upset about the state of tumblr lolol #but i'm back now!#papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #copie x reader #popia x reader #terzo x reader #secondo x reader #bg3 raphael x reader #raphael bg3 x reader #mary goore x reader #silco x reader #arcane silco x reader #silco arcane x reader

168 notes · View notes

fishwithtitz · 10 months

Text

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

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

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

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

⛧⛧⛧

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader / 5.1k words

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

ao3 link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Il amore mio, what are you doing h-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d decided on the latter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then take it. Take everything you need.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for letting me love you.”

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

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

image/gif credit: imgur

#ghost band #ghost bc #copia #papa emeritus iv #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #copia x reader #popia x reader #papa iv x reader #sub copia #dom/sub relationship #ghost fanfic

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ink-and-dagger · 1 year

Text

Juice Box 🧃

Reader x Papa Emeritus IV || Popia x Juice box || Post-coital fluff || Drabble || MDNI || Copia being a weird lil guy 🖤

A/N: Quick, unedited brain-fart after Chapter 17. This is my new official Popia headcanon. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Fuck Midjourney. Fuck OpenAI. And fuck Tumblr for selling out.

#copia x reader #popia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia #popia #papa emeritus iv #ghost band #drabble #the band ghost #chapter 17 #ghost bc #ghost chapter 17 #copia juice box #juice box #my writing #fluff #mdni #I love him so much your honour

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multi-fandom-of-madness · 8 months

Text

Forbidden Fruit

Pairings: Copia X AFAB!Reader Type: Smut Summary: Copia loves bending it over onstage, and you just need to show that ass some appreciation. Warnings: Eating out and pegging Word Count: 2834 Notes: Read here on ao3. This is an AFAB!Reader story, but I don’t think it has specific pronouns. If you want to read this with different pronouns or as an AMAB!Reader story, literally hit me up, and I will send you that version, or repost it. Please don’t be shy in that regard :) Also, I’m going to be real, I wrote this so long ago, I just never ended up posting it (it was literally my first time writing smut), so I don’t really remember a lot of what happens here.

There were nights where it was difficult to be away from Copia. Especially with him constantly gone on tour, leaving you with nothing to do. Sure you could try to do some chores with the siblings, or garden with Primo, or just do literally anything, but that never seemed enticing enough.

Instead, you just decided scrolling through TikTok would be a better idea because on occasion, Copia’s gorgeous face would pop up and make the day better. Not that you did that all day every day, but a good portion of your day was spent scrolling on that god awful app.

When Copia finally got his break, you were beyond excited for him to spend his time with you while he prepared for the US leg of the tour.

Copia was beyond relieved when he got out of the car and saw you running towards him, jumping in his arms for a hug and a kiss.

“Did you miss me, dolce?” He asked, gently laughing and holding you tightly.

“Of course I didn’t. I just wanted to run and hug you and never let you go because I hate you,” you joked, knowing he would get a laugh out of the cheesy statement. He let you go, placing a hand on your cheek and smiled. You held his hand to your face and melted into his touch.

“Well I missed you, amore mio. Come, let’s sneak away and leave the ghouls to do the unpacking.”

“How could I say no?” You giggled, pulling him into the Ministry without another word.

He followed along, pleased with how happy you were to see him. When you finally got to the bedroom, he quickly undressed, getting into more comfortable clothing, and laid down, pulling you close to him. “How are you more gorgeous each time I return?” He asked, pulling you into a kiss, then trailing down to nip at your neck and collar. “I could just eat you up,” he chuckled.

“Copia,” you said, sucking in a breath.

He looked up. “Hm?”

“Fuck, I missed you,” you responded, pulling him into a passionate kiss.

“Care to show me just how much my dolcezza missed me?” He chuckled, pulling away.

The moment he pulled away, you flipped him over, sitting on his lap. “You know, you had no reason putting on these pajamas when you knew I would be pulling them off anyways,” you said, pulling off his shirt.

“Maybe you are right,” he said, grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him. “Maybe I just wanted to have you undress me,” he smirked, kissing you again. Rolling your eyes, you kissed him back, moving only to tug his pants off so that he was clad in only his boxers. “I feel that you are a little overdressed for this occasion, tesoro.”

“Well maybe I need someone to help me with th-” He wasted no time in flipping you over, pulling off your shirt and shorts, leaving you exposed except for your underwear. “Well someone’s eager.”

“I have been without you for far too long. I’m not delaying this any longer,” he said, ripping your panties off next.

“Those were expensive!” You gasped, playfully shoving him.

“I will buy you new ones,” he dismissed, flipping you over, trailing kisses down your body until he reached your dripping cunt. “So wet,” he mused, sliding a finger through your slick. “All for me?”

“Oh, fuck, yes. All for you,” you moaned, back arching at the contact. He brought his finger to his lips, moaning when the taste of you hit his tongue.

“I’ve been craving a taste of my favorite dish. I’ve waited far too long,” he said, burying his face in your cunt.

His tongue worked magic, swirling around your clit as he pressed one finger into your entrance. You grabbed a handful of his hair, eliciting a groan from him that vibrated through your entire body. “Oh sweet Lucifer,” you moaned, grinding against his face. He pushed another finger in, angling directly for that sweet spot he knew would have you melting into the bed.

He kept his eyes on you as you squeezed yours shut. He pumped his fingers in and out while he continued to eat you out like a man starved. The noises the two of you were making were downright filthy. He was drawing moans out of you, his fingers making squelching sounds as he fucked you with them.

“Shit shit shit, yeah right there,” you chanted as you felt a familiar coil building in your stomach.

“Are you going to cum?” He asked, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you. “Going to cum all over my face and my fingers?”

“Fuck!” You shouted as he dived back into your pussy, clenching around his fingers. “I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. Fuck, unholy fuck!”

“That's it. Cum for me,” he said, sucking your clit with more fervor and angling his fingers just right. It was enough to send you over the edge. He worked you through your orgasm, and only pulled away once you started flinching from overstimulation. “That’s it. Good girl,” he praised, coming to lay next to you as you came down from your orgasm. He put a gentle hand on your chin and pulled your face to look at him, then pulled you into a sweet kiss.

You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips, and he pulled back with a chuckle. “Ready for round two?” He smirked.

With a nod, you knew it was bound to be a long night.

—

Quiet time was valued by you and Copia both. A way to destress with each other and just chill out without having to talk or do anything. He had been reading a book for the past thirty minutes while you scrolled through your most recent addiction that is the app TikTok – with headphones on of course. There was no reason to disturb the peace.

While scrolling, you found countless baking videos, some BookTok videos, cosplay, but most importantly…tour videos.

A lot of them were with the ghouls being chaotic demons onstage. They were entertaining, but what piqued your interest most was the Copia clip that popped up.

Adjusting your posture, you watched what the creator called a ‘crack video’ of the random things that happened during Mummy Dust.

Some of it was the ghouls, Dewdrop slamming his fist into his guitar, reaching for a person in the crowd, and then jerking off in time to ‘cum’ with the confetti. Or Phantom holding his guitar at weird angles, posing with an oddly threatening aura, or trying out some new hip thrusts. Even Rain and Cirrus had their moments in the video.

But what interested you the most was when Copia popped up. He was just as chaotic as the ghouls. Growling, thrusting, slapping imaginary asses, and fingering the air. But it couldn’t get any better when you saw the perfect angle of someone filming as he bent over, wiggling his ass back and forth as if taunting someone to come and fuck him.

Someone coming up, bending him over the bed, moving their hand from his groping his ass to roaming up his spine, then pressing his head in the bed as they fucked him…Sathanas…what an image…

Clenching your thighs together, you watched as he began to bend forward, sticking his perfect ass out for everyone to ogle. And fuck did he look good. Every curve of him made your mouth water. It was too much just to look at, but you couldn’t look away as he wiggled his ass. He looked absolutely delectable.

A small moan slipped out of your mouth at the thought of pounding him into neck week, and Copia gave you a look.

“Everything alright, amore mio?” He asked, placing a bookmark in his book and setting it aside as he looked at your phone and removed your headphones.

“How have I never seen this before?” You mused, looking at him with a mischievous grin.

“Ah, so I have caught your attention?”

You rolled your eyes. “When do you not?” You paused and looked at him, admiring his unpainted face and mismatched eyes.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I want to fuck you,” you stated bluntly.

“Well, I am happy to let you climb on to-”

“No. I want to fuck you.”

He gave you a confused look, and you slid off the bed, going to look for the box you had hidden in your dresser. You set it on the bed, then crawled on top of him. He placed his hands on your hips as you began rocking against him, his cock quickly hardening at your movements. “Amore…”

Leaning in to kiss him, you let a small moan slip through your lips. “I want to fucking devour you. Every inch of you is absolutely perfect. Please, Copia, let me…”

“I need a little more context, yes?” He chuckled, nipping at your neck. “What’s in that box, il mio cuore?”

You brought one hand back, blindly searching as you kept your eyes on him and leaning in for another kiss. When you opened it, his eyes went wide.

A nicely sized black dildo, harness, and a bottle of lube were all that was in the box. ‘Oh,” is all he said.

“You can say no.” He just stared at you and the contents of the box dumbly. “Copia?”

“Cazzo,” he cursed. “Si, yes, please,” he said, quickly scrambling to remove his clothes.

A chuckle escaped your lips as you grabbed both of his hands, then leaned in to nip at his neck. “Let me worship you,” you whispered.

He visibly shuddered. “Please,” he begged. You began unbuttoning his pajama shirt, trailing sloppy kisses from his neck to his stomach, leaving practically no bit of skin dry. You made sure to pay close attention to his nipples, biting at one and pinching the other, then switching every few moments. Finally, you made your way to the waistband of his pants. Sitting up, you gently pull the fabric off of him. Of course, no underwear. What was the need when he was next to you? Made for easy access.

You stripped him fully, then began gripping his thighs, appreciating how meaty they were. He let out a moan when you dug your nails in slightly, causing his back to arch.

“Please, amore. I need you,” he moaned, his hands desperately reaching out for you.

“Not yet, darling. I said I wanted to worship you, and I meant it.” Sliding down his body some more, you made your way to his calves. They were so defined that you couldn’t help but press kisses to the soft skin. You trailed kisses back up to his thighs, then began biting, enjoying the way that he bruised easily, allowing you to mark him however you pleased.

He was moaning and desperate, and you knew this was just getting to the point of annoying teasing, which isn’t the intended goal. Bringing one hand to cup his balls, you licked a long stripe up his cock, taking the head in your mouth and swirling your tongue in ways that made him see stars.

“Vita mia-” he moaned, cut off when you took him fully into your mouth. He laced a hand through your hair to steady himself. “Please, I want to en-enjoy you. I’m going to cum if you -if you keep doing that.”

Although he asked for it, he whined and bucked his hips when you pulled off. “Bend over the bed,” you commanded, and he couldn’t help but obey. He looked like a desperate whore with how fast he slid off the bed and stuck his ass out, but this wasn’t the time for degradation. This was time for worship. “Fuck, you’re so pretty,” you whispered, bringing hands up to knead into his ass. “So perfect~”

“All for you,” he breathed out, trying to push his ass further into your hands.

“All for me, but you’re the one flaunting it onstage. Are you really that needy for attention?” He whined in response. “I’ll give you attention, darling…don’t worry,” you assured, grabbing the bottle of lube from the box. Slicking up your fingers, you smeared some around his hole, causing him to lurch forward at the sensation. “Color?” You asked as you began hooking the dildo into the harness and sliding it on.

“Green,” he huffed out, already overwhelmed by the simple touches he’s received.

With his confirmation, you pressed one finger into him, enjoying the way he clenched at the sudden intrusion. He let out a groan and tried pushing himself back. You placed a hand on his hips to still him, then began thrusting the single finger before adding a second, alternating between thrusting and scissoring to stretch him open.

“Please, I’m ready. I need you,” he moaned, pushing back against your fingers. He let out a sad noise as you retracted them.

Smearing whatever lube was left on your fingers and a bit more poured from the bottle, you lined up with his hole, barely pressing the head of the dildo into him. He let out a whine, and tried pushing back.

You put a hand on his hip and leaned to whisper in his ear. “Settle,” you said as you began pushing in. He grabbed the bed sheets, twisting them in his hands as you moved. You got about an inch in, then pulled out slightly, and pushed forward more, until it got to the point where your thighs were touching the meat of his ass.

“Your fucking ass is…sathanas this is fucking amazing,” you said, letting the dildo sit in his ass as if he were nothing more than a cockwarmer.

He moaned in response, trying to move on the dildo on his own, prompting you to move. Starting slow, you thrusted forward, eliciting a delicious groan from him. “Amore mio, please…more…” he begged, letting his head fall to the bed, muffling his noises.

Gently, you turned his head to the side, examining his handsome face as you stared in his glassy eyes. “Don’t hide those pretty noises, darling,” you said, punctuating the end of the sentence with a gentle thrust.

He let out a surprised moan, and lost control of what spilled from his mouth.

“You’re so pretty from here. Sathanas, how have I never done this before?” You asked, picking up the pace, punching out moans and grunts. “Taking me so well. Like you were built to be fucked.”

He let out a spent “uh-huh,” in response, fisting the bedsheets and closing his eyes.

“Bet this is what you think about on that stage. Getting dicked down. Wanted to be bent over, and let everyone see just how good you are. So fucking good.”

“Please, tesoro, I need more,” he pleaded. And who were you to resist such a beautiful plea?

One hand trailed up his back, while the other reached around to stroke his cock, which was slick with pre. He was absolutely dripping. It was such a beautiful thing.

He let out a high pitch moan once you hit his prostate dead on. “Yeah? Like that?” He nodded. “Fuck, Copia, you’re so beautiful like this. Laid out and bare, letting me treat you how you deserve. So good.”

There was an attempt to match the pace of stroking his dick in time with your thrusts, but it didn’t last long when you kept nailing directly into his prostate, and his hips began moving on their own.

“Amore, please, can I cum? I need to cum,” he asked, bouncing back on the silicone, not letting you keep your pace.

“Cum for me. Show me how good I’m making you feel.” You twisted your wrist, jacking him off at a simple pace, then swiping a thumb over the tip.

He shuddered and tensed, streams of white covering your knuckles. You fucked him through the orgasm, only getting slower when he began to twitch from the overstimulation.

Carefully, you pulled out, then removed the harness. He stayed in the position until you helped him move to lay on the bed.

He looked practically ruined, and oh so beautiful. “I’m going to grab a washcloth, love, I’ll be back,” you said, slipping off to the bathroom.

He looked half asleep when you came back, and you gently tapped his cheek. “Still with me?” He nodded. “Good.” You took the wash cloth and began wiping him down. You laid next to him, whispering praise while you stroked his peppered hair.

After a few minutes, he came back down to earth. “You didn’t cum,” he said, cuddling into you.

“I wasn’t doing that for me,” you responded, wrapping an arm around him.

“And if I asked to eat you out?”

“Then I would be a fool to say no,” you laughed. He grinned before disappearing between your thighs.

You would definitely be doing this again.

#bat writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost #ghost x reader #the band ghost x reader #nameless ghouls x reader #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #papa copia #papa copia x reader #copia #copia x reader #papa iv #papa iv x reader #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #popia #popia x reader

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molly-ghuleh · 1 year

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Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 1

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: You are a translator for the Ministry. You receive a letter summoning you to the Abbey for a project involving an ancient diary with a mysterious author, but you find yourself wishing you were back home. That is, until you meet the charming Papa Emeritus the Fourth.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: Hi all!! This is the first long-form fic I've ever written and decided to publish, so I hope you all enjoy!! The first chapter is mostly setup and scene building, so not a lot of interaction with our beloved Copia. But there will be more, I promise!!

Warnings: none for now but there will be some in later chapters.

AO3 Link

Prologue

“Will you help me move this box?” the Brother of Sin says.

Wordlessly, the Sister of Sin stops what she’s doing and maneuvers through the crowded, dusty basement room to help the Brother. The two crouch down, bracing their hands against the box of books. It leaves behind a path carved into the layers of dust as it slides across the wooden floor.

Once the box is pushed a few feet out of the way, the Sister lets go and, losing her balance, falls to her hands and knees from the crouching position. She cries out in surprise when her hand sinks through the floorboards as one of the slats gives way. The hole is only a few inches deep and filled with dirt and cobwebs, but the Sister’s hand falls onto something softer than wood.

She lifts her hand to find that there’s a small leather-bound volume hidden face-down in the small crevice. The Sister can hardly imagine how long it has been there, with how thick the grime lies on the back cover.

This room of the Abbey’s basement had been long forgotten, until Sister Imperator tasked these Siblings of Sin to clear out the room to make way for new storage. They had half expected to find a ruby-encrusted sarcophagus in the room, with how ancient and opulent the Abbey is. So far the only things of interest they have found are books—it seems that the only items stored in the room are books.

The Sister gently removes the book from the hole in the floor and replaces the wooden slat. Even through her gloves she can tell that it is close to disintegrating. The distinct orange of rotten leather lines the edges of its binding and a few corners of pages fall to the ground.

“What’s that?” The Brother asks.

The Sister carefully turns the volume over so that she can read the front cover. It, too, is covered in dust, so she gently brushes it with her hand in order to read the embossed leather cover. Having been face-down in the crevice, the gold leaf illuminating the embossment is preserved and it shines in the low light of the basement.

“It says…” the Sister squints to read the small letters, “...Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth? Who’s Elizabeth?”

The Sister turns over the book once more. “I don’t know, just… Elizabeth.”

Chapter 1

The ride from the airport to the Abbey is a long one. The car you had been picked up in took you through the city and the suburbs, to the rural outskirts of civilization where the coniferous trees block much of the sunlight. The winding roads, dotted in late-afternoon sunbeams, feel endless as the car climbs into the hills. It’s been a silent ride, and rather awkward (at least, you feel that it’s been awkward) because the helmeted ghoul who drives the sleek black sedan has not said a word.

You knew that the Abbey has ghouls. A few abbeys do, as they are big enough to warrant summoning help, but your home chapter is not. This is the first time you’ve met one.

You wonder if they’re all so stoic, or if the driver simply doesn’t have anything to say. He isn’t impolite, but you wish he would say something, anything to make the drive a little more bearable. You want to ask him about the Abbey–what the Siblings are like, what Papa is like. How many Siblings live there full time? How big is the library? You’ve heard that the ghost of a former Papa haunts the corridors, is that true? Hundreds of questions brew in your mind, but the ghoul remains silent and you’re left feeling like an unwelcome guest in a strange country.

You already miss home.

The Marseille abbey, your home for the better part of your adult life, is a medieval stone structure built on a hilltop south of the Marseille city proper. The ornate, stained-glass windows of its chapel face west over the Mediterranean so that the sunset streams into the room during Black Mass. The walls are old and drafty, and keep faded tapestries in a constant state of fluttering. The linens line the walls of the refectory in between tall, narrow windows which also overlook the sea. If it were not for the inverted crosses and scenes of the unjust fall of Lucifer, one might think the atmosphere in the chapel—and the rest of the small abbey—is almost holy.

The windows in the Sibling dormitories are small and south-facing, with deep stone sills and wood frames that have somehow managed to survive the ages (although they hardly open without a fight.) Your own dormitory windowsill is lined with personal prayer books. Each has about a hundred loose papers sticking out. They are your translation practice, your way of staying versed in every language you know, because you know the prayers by heart at this point. The papers are experiments: which language makes the prayer sound better, sound prettier? Which language makes the most sense? Which language makes the prayers the shortest, the longest?

No matter which language you use, to you the prayers sound the most beautiful in your mother tongue. That is how you’d memorized them, after all. Yet… you wish there had been room in your single suitcase to take your prayer books with you.

“We’re almost there,” the ghoul says, snapping you out of your homesick reverie. His voice is deep and softer than you’d expected. There’s no spurt of hellfire from his mouth as you’d half-thought there would be, and no low rumble in his words that might signify he’s more beast than man. The ghoul, despite his bug-eyed mask, seems shockingly human.

He steers the car through tall wrought-iron gates which seem to open automatically. You can see the tall peak of the Abbey’s bell tower peeking through the trees, and suddenly the reality that you’re very, very far from home hits you.

You unfold the crinkled envelope in your hands and reread the letter for the hundredth time that day.

Dear Sister,

I hope this letter finds you well.

We at the Abbey have recently uncovered a very important document which we require your expertise to translate. However, this document is extremely fragile and cannot be transported in the post. Papa Emeritus IV and the rest of the Clergy request your presence at the Abbey as soon as possible.

We expect this project to take several months. Enclosed is a one-way ticket for you to travel to the airport closest to us, from which a car will transport you to the Abbey. We will discuss plans for your return to Marseille when you are nearing the end of your work here.

We anxiously await your arrival.

Sincerely,

Sister Imperator

The letter itself is quite presumptuous. Sister Imperator had assumed you were not busy, and assumed that you would be able to drop everything and travel halfway across the world for a months-long project. And then to use Papa’s name to exaggerate the importance of this mysterious document which she hadn’t even disclosed the nature of?

Well… you can’t exactly say no to the woman who practically runs the Ministry’s affairs.

The car takes a bend in the Abbey’s endless driveway and emerges into a clearing. Sitting far back on a sprawling lawn is a massive, imposing stone structure. The rows of trimmed hedges and flower bushes do little to soften the gothic hardness of it. Two pointed bell towers loom over the steep roof of what must be the chapel, with stained glass windows stretching up at least two storeys. The central image is of Baphomet, in his iconographic pose. The setting sun glints off of his golden halo. Sweet Satan, you think, your eyes tracking the window as the car rounds the drive. Baphomet alone must be taller than the entire height of Marseille.

The ghoul pulls the car to a stop in front of the wide steps leading up to wooden double doors. A woman stands there, her hands clasped in front of her and her back straight, like the matron of this grand palace. You suppose she is–the severity of her expression alone leads you to believe that it’s Sister Imperator who waits for you.

You step out into the chilly air and shut the car door behind yourself. The ghoul already has your suitcase in hand and gestures for you to walk up the stairs before him. You wish he’d let you carry your own suitcase, if only to give your hands something to do, but you are far too stunned to ask. Climbing the shallow stone steps feels like stepping into another world. A world in which you feel far too plain to exist.

“Sister,” The woman greets with a smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which squint at you beneath slightly furrowed, well-groomed brows. She strikes you as someone who is all business, all the time. “How was your journey?”

You return her smile as best you can. She speaks to you like you don’t understand English. “It went well, your dark eminence.”

She seems a little surprised that you respond so fluently, but she quickly fixes her face into another warm grin. “I am glad to hear it,” she says. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sure you must understand that this document is very important, and quite fragile. We would not risk losing it in the post.” “Of course,” you nod. “If I may ask, Sister Imperator, what is this document? You did not disclose it in your letter.” You gesture to the envelope safely stored in your jacket pocket.

Sister Imperator turns to step inside the slightly ajar wooden door and you assume she wants you to follow. The ghoul accompanies you over the threshold, but at the wave of a hand from Sister Imperator, he turns down a narrow corridor with your suitcase and disappears around a corner.

You are still a bit too overwhelmed to thank him. Instead, you look at the woman beside you. “The ghoul will bring your luggage to a room we have prepared for your stay,” she explains at your silent question.

She continues down the main hall, deeper into the Abbey. Your footsteps echo through the atrium, bouncing up to the high, painted ceilings and off the stone walls. There are a few wooden benches pushed back against the wall, with pots of surprisingly lush houseplants on either side. Framed oil paintings line the walls: some depicting biblical scenes, some of landscapes, and a few large, dignified portraits. You can tell by the distinct Papal paints in each portrait that the subject is a Papa, and you wonder which one depicts Papa Emeritus IV. You’ve never seen an image of His Unholiness before.

After a few moments of silence, Sister Imperator speaks again. “We found the document last month, in one of the storage rooms in the Abbey’s basement.” She likes to use the royal ‘we’ a lot, you think.

She continues. “One of our archivists believes that it is at least five hundred years old. It is very fragile, you see, and so we ask that you handle it with the utmost care as you work with it. We would prefer it if you used gloves. And frankly, Sister, I believe that you would want to. The leather is fairly rotten.” You stay silent as you follow slightly behind her. You’ve worked with old, rotten books before. The pages nearly crumble apart in your hands and the leather splits easily, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“We believe it is a journal—a diary, rather, of someone very important in the Ministry’s history.” You find it strange that she doesn’t immediately disclose whose diary it might be. “Who, if I may ask?” “Elizabeth.” Sister Imperator’s voice is clipped as she answers you. She gives no further explanation. Just Elizabeth.

There are millions of women named Elizabeth in the world. It is very likely that there is more than one important Elizabeth in the Ministry’s history as well. It’s a fairly common name, especially five hundred years ago (if the archivist is correct). For all you know, this document could be some random Sister’s sexual logbook, and documenting her sinful indulgences was her way of praying to the Lord Below.

You break out of your ponderance over possibilities when Sister Imperator turns a corner to walk down another, slightly narrower (but still wide) corridor. She speaks again. “The book is to be kept in a lockbox at all times when you are not working with it. Under no circumstances is it to be removed from the Abbey library without my express permission, or the permission of Papa. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sister,” you answer hastily. Her tone of voice as she lays down the law makes you feel as though you’ve already made a mistake.

“Now. The reason we need you, Sister, is because none of our own archivists or translators can figure out what language the journal is written in.”

This piques your interest, and also slightly flatters you. “What do you mean?” you ask.

She releases a long-suffering sigh. “The writing is jumbled. It is a mess of letters and sometimes numbers, with no spaces whatsoever.”

The possibilities immediately start to stack in your mind. Latin from the Roman era tended not to use spaces, a practice called ‘scriptio continua’. Ancient Greek also did this… but wouldn’t the in-house translators be able to read it?

“I cannot explain it well enough,” Sister Imperator says. “You will have to see, Sister.”

The two of you come to another set of large double doors. Sister Imperator pushes one open and steps inside, holding it open for you. You slip past her into a huge, bright room, filled with hundreds and hundreds of bookshelves. Immediately you are hit with the scent of old books and parchment paper, and the gentle sounds of turning pages. To your left sits an ornate wooden desk with one Sibling standing behind it. They are sorting books onto a three-tiered cart, presumably to put them away in the correct order. You accidentally make eye contact, but they smile politely and you respond in kind with a little wave.

You avert your gaze upward towards the open second floor, which wraps around the large atrium and is protected by a dark oak bannister. A few Siblings linger on the catwalk, carrying books or making their way towards the wide staircase that opens to your right. The bottom floor of the atrium houses several wooden tables where another smattering of Siblings sit. Most other tables are empty save for an abandoned book or two.

The late evening glow shines down into the room from a large, circular skylight in the middle of the ceiling. There are desk lamps and overhead lights scattered about but none have been turned on yet.

It reminds you of the University library.

“Come,” Sister Imperator says after allowing you to gaze around the massive library for a moment. “The lockbox is in the restricted section. You will receive your own key while you are here but you are required to return it, directly to myself or the Head Librarian, before you leave.”

She leads you up the carpeted staircase and deep into the bowels of the second floor. Towards the back corner, where the shelves are labeled ‘Fiction - Romance’, there is a wooden door tucked against the wall. A sign beneath its small glass window reads ‘RESTRICTED’. Sister Imperator fishes a rather noisy set of keys from her pocket and finds the correct one to unlock the door. She pushes it open with a squeak that feels loud in the quiet of the library. When both of you are in the room and the door is shut behind you, she removes an identical key from her keyring and hands it to you. “Your copy,” she says. “Do not lose it.”

The room isn’t cramped, but it is small compared to the atrium. A few single-person desks sit along the back wall, while the walls on either side of you are lined with glass boxes. Each box is shaped similarly to a narrow cubby, and houses a single book. Printed labels on the front face of each box display a box number and the name of the volume stored inside.

“Your key allows you to access any of these boxes,” Sister Imperator explains to you, “but I do not expect you to require any of them, except for the diary you’ll be working with. It is kept in box number seven, which is here,” she points to a box about halfway up the rightmost column of cubbies. Using her key (still attached to the incredibly jingly keyring), she gently unlocks the box and it glides out like a drawer.

You step beside her to look down into the glass drawer. The diary is wrapped in white linen, but you can see the faint brown color of the leather through the cloth. “The archivist requests that you keep the white cloth under the book at all times,” Sister Imperator says. She reaches down into the box and gently retrieves the diary, careful not to jostle the cloth too much. “It will protect the leather from further decay.” You don’t need her to explain how preservation works, but you appreciate it anyway. It saves you from having to ask, or endure another awkward silence.

She places the book down on a nearby table and slowly unwraps the cloth. Already you can see small flecks of brown and orange sticking to it where the leather has rotted, but it seems to be fairly well preserved in light of its age. On the front cover in small, embossed gold letters is the name Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth,” you say, understanding.

“Elizabeth,” Sister Imperator replies. “That is the only word we have managed to decipher. Hopefully you will be able to help us with the rest.”

You nod. “I believe I can.”

She wraps the cloth loosely around the book once more, and returns it to its box. “I do not expect you to start tonight, Sister. We will give you time to settle, and have something to eat. But from tomorrow morning until you are done, this is your sole responsibility. Do you understand?”

Her sudden, almost intimidating tone surprises you. You bite the inside of your cheek–a nasty habit you’ve had since you were a child. “I understand, your Dark Eminence,” you say with another nod.

Her face softens, as does her stare. “Please, just Sister is fine,” she says. You follow her again as she begins to lead you out of the Restricted room. “I believe the dinner hour is to start soon. I will show you to your dormitory, and then leave you to get settled.”

She brings you back through the library and the main hall towards where you’d seen the ghoul disappear with your luggage. The dormitory hall is a long, narrow corridor with windows on one side and doors on the other. Each door is marked with a number and a nameplate, and in between each door are wall sconces lit by incandescent bulbs. Halfway down the hall there is an opening to a stairwell which, you assume, leads up to the second floor of the dormitories. You walk past many, many doors, some of which have two nameplates, until you reach the very end of the hall where there are unmarked doors. Sister finds her keyring again and unlocks one, then removes the key and hands it to you.

“These rooms here are the guest quarters. They are typically not suited for long-term stays but we have prepared yours to have everything you will need. If you need anything, ask Sibling Superior and they will make sure that you receive it.”

Sister Imperator turns to leave, but then turns around. “You know, Sister,” she says, with a curious look. “For someone of your expertise, I thought you would have been… older.” You can’t tell if it’s praise or suspicion in her voice. “Yes, well,” you stall. How are you supposed to explain that language just comes naturally to you and that it’s not your fault you’re not old and wrinkly? “I suppose once you learn one language, all the rest come easy. Especially romance languages.”

“Hm,” Sister Imperator hums, sizing you up for a moment. “Find me at the end of the week and we will talk about your progress. I’m sure you will know your way around by then.”

It seems her well of kindness has run dry.

~~~

If the loud ringing of the bell didn’t tell you that the dinner hour had started, then the steadily rising sounds of a crowd did. You can hear the murmurs of conversation even through your closed door. A few Siblings emerge from the dormitory next to yours, their chatting and laughing growing quieter as they walk down the corridor towards the refectory. The old wood floorboards creak above you from the movement of Siblings who occupy the second floor. All around you there is an excited bustle, and yet you don’t feel like joining it.

You have never liked crowds. Especially crowds of strangers. And these strangers all seem to know each other, if the echoes of loud conversations tell you anything.

But your stomach does rumble, and you feel rather weak from a day of travel, so you decide that it’s best to eat something before you go to bed. Once the corridor seems clear again, you quietly slip out your door (patting your pocket to make sure you remembered your key) and make your way to the refectory. Sister Imperator hadn’t shown it to you but you can make an educated guess as to where it is.

When you emerge into the main hall, you see a few Siblings occupying the wood benches that had been previously empty. They all hold trays or to-go boxes on their laps. Some speak animatedly, enthralling their friends with stories from their eventful day, while others sit quietly beside each other and eat. You think that it might be nice to sit somewhere to eat so that you feel a bit more connected to the Abbey, but all of the benches are occupied. The ever-growing roar from the refectory does not seem too appealing, either.

The large room is across the main hall from the library. When you turn the corner you see that it’s not as grand as the atrium, and that it only occupies one level. There are sheer curtains hung over the windows, which allow the sunlight to illuminate the room but keeps it from growing too warm. Siblings, Clergy members, and ghouls alike sit at long wooden tables not unlike those of your home Abbey. But these tables alone are longer than the entire length of the Marseille refectory, and once again you’re reminded that you’re quite far from home.

No, you can’t eat here. Not tonight.

There is a long counter stretching nearly wall-to-wall to the left of the door, where a dwindling line of Siblings make their dinner selections. Whatever meal the kitchens had prepared smells delicious but you find that you don’t have the appetite for it. However, close to where you stand in the doorway and nestled in the space between the wall and the counter, are a few baskets of fruit arranged on a small table. The baskets are nearly empty, with the only indication of their contents being the small pops of color peeking through gaps in the woven pattern.

Despite not wanting a hot meal, you are hungry, and so you enter the refectory and move towards the baskets. You opt for two good-sized oranges–although the bananas do look perfectly ripe–and turn to leave as quickly as you came. Your eyes briefly sweep over the crowd and land on a long table, perpendicular to all the others, situated on a platform at the opposite end of the refectory. The platform isn’t tall, but it is just enough to raise the table’s occupants slightly above the Siblings. The table is entirely composed of men, save for Sister Imperator, who seems to be talking to an older man with Papal paints and long blonde hair–is that Papa?

You look at the others occupying the table, and find that no less than three are also wearing Papal paints.

Marseille is a tiny Abbey. At any given time, only about ten Siblings reside there at once. And so there is no need for an upper Clergyman to be stationed there. Instead, the Chapter is run by Bishop Beaumont, who (until now) is the highest ranking member of the Satanic Ministry you have ever met, let alone seen.

So, to be faced with not one, but four Papas, all in the same room, makes your heart thump with nerves. You recognize them all from the portraits in the main hall, but in person they are all so much more… just more. And yet you still don’t know who is who.

Of course, you know that all four of the most recent reigning Papas are brothers, the order of which was determined by age. The man who Sister Imperator is talking to must be Papa Emeritus I, or Papa Primo, as you’ve heard him called by Bishop Beaumont. The other three look relatively close in age, and so you truly have no idea which man currently holds the helm and steers the ship.

You realize you’re staring when you make eye contact with one of the Papas. You nearly gasp in surprise, as if you shouldn’t even be on the same plane of existence as him… and yet your eyes met. Of course one of them would have caught you eventually, you think. You were practically ogling them from across the room.

Hastily, you turn and make your way back out of the refectory and into the main hall. Your eyes fall on the nearest portrait. The Papal paints of the subject match the ones of the man you’d just been caught staring at. You blush as if his portrait could think, and had just caught you a second time. Your eyes flick down to the gold plate affixed to the frame, and read the words.

PAPA EMERITUS IV.

#the band ghost #ghost band #ghost #ghost bc #papa emeritus x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv #copia #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #copia x f!reader #popia x reader #popia x f!reader #papa emeritus iv x f!reader

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ghulehunknown · 8 months

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Creature Comforts - Copia X GN Reader

Photo credit

Rated PG: This fic is purely fluff and comfort; no mature themes aside from discussions about mental health.

Written for my Twitter friend <3

Summary: Papa treats you to a nice spa day after you’ve been dealing with some mental health issues.

CW/Tags: character depression, self deprecation, established relationship

Word Count: 2K

Author’s Note: Better days are ahead, my loves

Hey you busy?

Bloop, goes the familiar whoosh of the sent text message. You sigh, wondering when he’ll be able to respond. You know how busy he’s been lately.

Your phone buzzes almost immediately, to your surprise. You exhale a snort of laughter. A bunch of indecipherable, poorly strung together emojis - and finally, a response.

Never too busy for you, amore. Do you need something?

I’ve had a rough day

I’m exhausted

Can I come to your room tonight?

Oh. You mean our room?

“Our room?” you wonder. Your heart lifts for just a moment before falling back into the sinkhole of your chest as you remember what prompted these feelings that made you so desperate to hear from him in the first place. But you know you could hold it together so long as you had the promise of seeing him tonight. If you could just hold yourself together…

Your fingernails clack together on the screen as you type a response, backspace backspace, type type type.

Yes you old fool

I guess that’s what we’re calling it

In that case…yes, you may. And bring some of your belongings. I have a drawer for you. See you soon, my love. XOXO.

He even includes a little rat emoji.

You heart-react the message as you finish up work for the day. Afterwards you retreat back to your room and slump over your mattress, giving yourself some time to decompress before going to Papa’s - well, your shared room.

You gather some belongings in a tote bag and make your way down the long corridor, finally stopping at the familiar wooden door. You knock, then suddenly feel self-conscious. Should you have just walked in? What if he was undressing? Well, nothing you haven’t already seen -

“Amore,” he says, a pleasant smile on his face as he opens the door for you, gesturing with his arm for you to enter.

“Hey,” you respond quietly, leaning into him and wrapping your arms around his upper half.

He seems slightly taken aback by your very sudden display of affection but quickly reciprocates, enveloping you in his embrace and gently holding the back of your head and kissing the top of it.

The two of you stand there in silence, holding onto one another. You inhale the familiar scent of his cologne as your hands clutch around the soft cotton of his hoodie. Your fingertips rub the cloth fibers, grounding you and giving you comfort before breaking away after a few moments.

“I, eh, didn’t have much time to prepare. But, ah!” He scratches his head as he speaks then leads you into the bathroom.

As you walk into his bathroom your mouth falls open and you drop your tote bag to your side. Illuminated only by candlelight, you find the bathtub filled with warm, soapy water and a mug of tea on a tray resting over the tub.

“Is this…for me?” you ask, turning to look at him.

“Sì, it is. I wasn’t sure when you would arrive so I kept adding more hot water when it got cold. I poured some Epsom salts in to help with your backache, but you can add more if you need it.” He walks over and shows you the taps and bag of bath salts as if you didn’t know how it all worked.

You marvel at the simple act of kindness he offers you. No one had ever done this for you before. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing, but please - enjoy. I have some… business I must attend to, but I will be back soon, I promise.”

“Business? This late?”

“Sì tesoro, but it will only take a moment. Please,” he repeats, gesturing towards the bath again then clasping his hands together again and awkwardly shuffling backwards.

When you glance behind your shoulder again, he’s gone, having gently closed the door behind him. You undress and tie your hair up, then slowly dip your feet in. He had kept the water very warm, but not hot. You ease yourself in all the way, relaxing and feeling your back crack against the tub.

You lean forward to grab the mug of tea. It smells vaguely floral and sweet. You sip and smile; he had remembered just how strong you like your tea.

You close your eyes as your mind starts to wander. All the stress from the week runs through your mind, the fog of depression lifting but still present. The fog had become too familiar and some days all you could see was mist. But some days - the days you spent with Papa - you saw sunshine peek through the clouds.

It hardly seems like any time passes before you hear a knock and a timid opening of the door, just a crack of light shining from his bedroom into the bathroom. His nose pokes through the crack of the door as he clears his throat. “Eh, tesoro? Is it alright if I come in?”

“Of course,” you call, eyes still closed until you hear his footsteps get closer to you. You turn your head and look up at him. In his hands he’s holding a small bouquet of flowers in a vase and a box of your favorite sweets. His hair is ruffled and his cheeks look flushed.

“I didn’t have time to get these before you came over, I hope that’s okay,” he says almost out of breath, sheepishly looking away from your body.

“Okay?” you ask almost confused, but by his next sentence you can tell he does not understand.

“Ah sì, I should have prepared better…and not interrupted your alone time. Mi dispiace, tesoro mio,” he says, setting the items down on the vanity.

“No, Papa, please don’t apologize. It’s just…I…” Your voice begins to falter as your eyes well with tears.

“Oh shit, now I have made you cry.” He looks around for some tissue, muttering incoherently, and decides on balling up some toilet paper and offers it to you.

You shake your head and hide your face in your hands. You don’t want him to see you cry, but you can’t help the tears from flowing.

“I will leave you alone tesoro, I did not mean to upset you.”

“No,” you mumble through your hands.

“Hm?” You hear his knees crack as he groans the same way he does when he gets out of bed in the morning. Now his voice is practically in your ear. “What did you say, my honey?”

“Don’t go,” you say quietly.

“Okie dokie. I can stay here as long as you want me to.” He groans again as he shifts on the balls of his feet and his ankles crack. “Did I upset you, amore?”

You shake your head, finally taking the wadded up toilet paper from his hand and dabbing at your eyes.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Hmm, okay,” he says matter-of-factly. “Did someone upset you today?”

You shake your head again as you blow your nose into the toilet paper blob.

“Did something happen?” he continues asking.

“Not really,” you respond, turning your tear-stained face to look at him. He looks distressed, his brows furrowed.

He nods, and strokes your temple where he tucked your hair. You shiver and he dips his fingers in the water. He runs the hot water tap for a few seconds then swishes the water around. He wipes his hand off on the towel on the floor then continues stroking your face, his hand still a little damp.

“Why are you sad?” he asks.

“I…I don’t deserve any of this.”

“What do you mean ‘don’t deserve’?”

You gesture around vaguely at your surroundings. “This.” You pause before continuing, then look at him. “You.”

“Oh cara mia, no,” he says, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and kissing the side of your face. He caresses the back of your head, the ends of your hair damp from when you leaned back against the tub earlier.

He pulls back to look you in the eyes, holding your chin in his hand. His red hoodie has several damp spots across the chest. “Listen to me, amore. You deserve everything in this world and more. Much more than this aging fool can give you.”

You give a pathetic little laugh and close your eyes, crying silent tears. His black gloved thumbs wipe them away as he kisses your forehead. “Thank you, Copia. I almost believe it when you say it,” you say.

“Believe it, tesoro. Per me, sei perfetto. Sì?” He looks at you earnestly, his usually intimidating gaze softened under concerned eyebrows.

You nod, your face enveloped in his warm palms.

“How about you change into your pajamas so I can show you which drawer is yours, mm?” he continues, standing up. “I’ll give you a few moments.”

“That sounds good,” you respond with a small smile. Once he steps back out and closes the door behind him, you unplug the drain of the tub and slowly get up.

Your body feels immensely heavy, the water falling off you weighing you down compounded by your aches and pains. But overall you think the Epsom salts did some good because your shoulders feel looser.

You towel off using one of his maroon towels monogrammed with a gold IV and step into your comfortable pajamas. You step over to the sink and complete your nighttime skincare regimen before opening the door back into his room.

Of course, he’s playing a game on his NES and looking very invested in whatever it is. “Oh - eh - ah, there we go,” he says, pausing the game and getting up from his bed. “If you brought some things to keep here, I left…this drawer,” he continues, moving across the room to his dresser and opening one.

“Thank you…does this mean what I think it means?” you ask.

“Well if you think it means you’ll be staying over more often, then yes. I sure hope so.”

You smile at him and start to empty the contents of your bag into the vacant drawer. Some pajamas, a couple of habits, socks, leggings, a sweater, a bra, and underwear. His eyes get wide when he sees your racy red lace thong get tossed into the mix.

“And by staying over, I hope this also means more occasions where I can see you in those,” he says in a lower voice.

“Now Papa, what kind of Sibling do you take me for?” You turn around to face him, placing your hand on his chest.

“The slutty kind?” he blurts out. “Er -”

You burst out laughing, the first time you have actually felt joy all day. “Well, that’s not what I came here for this time.”

“I know, tesoro,” he says, pulling you into a hug. “I know. You know I never expect it, sì? Just because I am Papa does not mean I expect those things, or anything for that matter.”

“Of course,” you respond, squeezing around his torso tighter until he makes a small squeak and clears his throat. You let your arms slack around his trunk.

“Actually I had some very fun other kind of plans for us this evening,” he says slyly.

“What movie are we watching tonight?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Eh - how did you know?”

Sometimes Copia could be a very predictable man, but you liked that about him. “Lucky guess,” you respond, staring at the popcorn bucket and snacks spread across his bed.

“Well don’t just stand around here, go, get in bed!” He pulls away and gestures for you to hop in bed with him.

You cuddle up together, your head resting on his shoulder as he changes the input on his TV and scrolls through the home screen.

“Did you get a new TV?” you ask, not used to seeing the larger size screen. And it was a flatscreen. Wait, was it a smart TV too?

“Sì, I did. It just seemed time to let the old one go.”

“The old one wasn’t even big enough for you to play games on.”

“It did just fine! But, admittedly, the video quality was not so good for movie nights with you.”

“Copia?” you ask.

“Mm?”

“Did you buy the TV for me?”

“..You were a contributing factor,” he half-admits.

You settle back down on his chest and reach for the popcorn, smiling. “You bought it for me.”

Although he never confirms, you’re almost sure you can hear him smile back, if that’s even possible.

English to Italian Translation

Mi dispiace (I’m sorry)

Per me, sei perfetto (To me, you are perfect)

#ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus x reader #ghost bc #the band ghost #copia is my husband #copia my beloved #copia fluff #ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction fluff #popia my beloved #popia #popia x reader #ghost band comfort fic

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dantesunbreaker · 1 year

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Red Velvet Lines

(Dracopia)Papa Emeritus IV x GN!Reader

It's the Clergy's annual Halloween ball, and you're without a date. But its seems a certain pair of mismatched eyes are watching you from across the room.

TW: Alcohol, blood drinking, suggestive themes, implied hypnotism 2.3K words (There is potential to write a NSFW part two later? Maybe?)

GIF by preqvelle

All Hallows Eve is one of the most celebrated occasions amongst the clergy, and tonight is no exception you think as you find yourself mingling amongst your fellow siblings of sin. Every year a grand ball is held, siblings and ghouls alike invited to in or out of costume to drink, dance, and socialize. Many come with partners in tow, few getting a kick out of silly couples costumes, while others come alone. Whether it be in hopes to leave with a newfound bed mate for the night, or simply to have a good time by themselves. You aren’t sure which of those you would consider yourself.

Without a date for the night, you find yourself sticking to the outskirts of the room, mingling with your siblings and making a clear point to avoid the dance floor. But as the night drags on, you find yourself leaning against the bar, whiskey sour in hand. That’s when you feel eyes on you from across the room, a prickling tingle that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Play it cool. Don’t draw any extra attention. Slowly, casually, you turn around, eyes making a wide sweep until they stop on a pair of eyes staring right back at you. Breath leaves you in a hot gasping huff. Cool winter mint and frigid white ice watches your every move. Something about his eyes both chills you to the bone and sparks a burning flame at your core.

Of course you know who he is, the former Cardinal turned Papa. But you can’t understand why his attention is on you of all people. There were plenty of other brothers and sisters of sin in attendance. Siblings that are far more attractive than your own plain features. Yet, you still feel his gaze on you even as you turn back to your drink. Why would he have any interest in you? You attempt to put the current reigning Papa far from your mind, focusing on savoring the last sip of your drink. But that turns out to be a little hard to do.

“May I have this dance, mio caro?” You spin around at the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. There is a flutter of your heart as you come face to face with the same multi-colored eyes.

“Oh, um... Papa?” You stammer nervously, wringing your hands and shifting from foot to foot. “Are you sure that you want to dance with me? I mean.. I’m sure there are plenty of beautiful sisters that are simply dying for the opportunity to dance with you. And well.. I’m just me.”

A warm, hearty chuckle is your response, dismissing your self depreciative comments as a gloved hand takes yours, whisking you away to the center of the dance floor. It amazes you how effortlessly he moves you, as if you were floating on air, pulling you to his chest with practiced ease.

“I have no doubts that there are many siblings desperate for the chance to be in your place,” Copia hums into your ear, keeping your hand in his, while the other hand rests on your waist. “But, they all share the same flaw. None of them are you, piccolino.”

Heat flushes your cheeks, eyes cast down to your feet with a wave of embarrassment while giving no resistance as Copia begins to sway you both in time with the song softly echoing around you. That feeling soon is all but forgotten though as suddenly you are being spun out from Copia’s arms, only to circle back in until your chests touch. You are far from being a dancer, more than likely to trip over your own feet. But Copia seems to know how to lead you well enough, swaying you both across the room with ease and skill that would make onlookers think you have been doing this for years.

As the song draws close to an end, Copia pulls you up from a dip and brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “Let’s go outside, catch some air, si?” It’s a hushed whisper, only loud enough for you to hear, and you find yourself nodding in agreement before you have even processed what he said. Too caught up in feeling enraptured by the way he moves your body and holds you close.

The music fades, and Copia seamlessly transitions from dancing to holding your hand and leading you off the dance floor. Together you slip from the room unnoticed, a brisk walk through the corridors of the abbey until coming to a secluded balcony. It feels like a rush of adrenaline as you step outside into the crisp air, goosebumps rising as it feels like little pin pricks biting at your cheeks.

But that shoves to the back of your mind as you are spun around, back facing towards the beautiful gardens below. Something tells you that you should be afraid, ready to turn tail and run, but you are mesmerized by soft alluring eyes as Copia draws near. Under his spell, you don’t want to run. You would allow yourself to be devoured by the beast.

“Do you trust me, amore?” Your back presses into the cool stone of the railing, caged between Copia’s arms resting on either side of you. His voice is rich as honey, putting you at ease and leaving you wanting more. Even as he leans into you, breath tickling your neck, you can’t seem to resist the charm of his soft and sweet touches. No matter how much your brain screams no, your body succumbs and outweighs all rhyme or reason.

“Yes,” you whisper, breathless, eyes closing as your head tilts back at the feeling of Copia’s lips brushing the delicate skin of your neck.

You feel rather than hear the soft vibrations of Copia’s chest as he gives a pleased hum, a hand snaking around the back of your head and anchoring in your hair. Lips press against you, soft and warm along your neck, lulling you into a false sense of safety. For a moment later, you feel twin sharp pin pricks of pain from the very spot Copia presses against your neck. Eyes snap open, mouth dropping in a silent gasp as you clutch at Copia, fingers digging into one shoulder and grabbing a fistful of his hair. Tugging harshly barely has Copia moving even a fraction of an inch.

Warmth spreads from your neck, you can feel something trickle down past his lips in the brief second you break the vacuum seal Copia has on your flesh. Blood no doubt. Your blood. Though it should send fear striking down your spine, there is something about the way Copia’s tongue soothes over the wound he has created that has you slowly returning to a lax state in his arms. The grip in his hair loosens, the hand clawing at his shoulder smoothing to a soft caress as you instead hold him to you.

A sudden rush of euphoria seems to drip through your veins, pleasure keeping your limbs heavy and compliant. Pain fades until all you have to focus on is the feeling of Copia’s plush lips, the soft lapping of his tongue as he greedily drinks up whatever you have to offer him. Carding your fingers through Copia’s hair, you focus on the heat that pools between your thighs. You feel almost suspended on air, as if Copia’s teeth at your neck were the only thing keeping you from floating away.

But through your haze of ecstasy, you notice the freckles of black that are closing in on your field of view, sucking in a deep breath becoming suddenly difficult. A spike of fear hits your chest, but lethargic limbs keep you from being able to struggle. All you can manage is a trembling double tap to Copia’s shoulder as your fingers tighten in his hair. You plunge head first into darkness, a feeling of peace washing over you.

“Tesoro,” through the dark silence, a soft voice breaks through, calling to you in a loving tone.

Softly groaning, your heavy eyes gradually flutter open to find piercing eyes inches from your face, watching you with great intent. Your mind is foggy, but you recognize Copia’s gentle features. Though, the crimson that paints his bottom lip, bleeding into the once crisp white along his chin is peculiar. A lucid smile paints your face as a hand drops to cup his painted cheek.

“Guess I took a little too much this time.You were unconscious there for a few minutes” Copia gives you a sheepish look, arms around your back and supporting the back of your neck. “Mi dispiace amore mio. You taste so delizioso, I couldn’t help myself.”

“It’s okay, C,” the smile on your face reaches your eyes, regaining your senses the longer that he holds you in his arms. “Besides, it’s not all on you. I should have signaled sooner.... I may have also gotten a bit too carried away. Still haven’t quite learned my limits yet.”

Gathering your strength, you push up to crash your lips against Copia’s in a heated kiss that is all tongue and teeth. You taste the salty copper tang on his lips, a unique hint of sweetness that you’ve come to learn is entirely you. It doesn’t take long though before you need to pull away, gasping to suck much needed oxygen into your lungs. Copia of course has full composure, though his paint is a bit worse for wear. Black and white paint has mixed with your blood into a dull brown from lip to chin.

“Give me a minute to get my breath back and I’ll fix your paint up,” you sigh between gasps, holding Copia by the shoulders as you work on supporting your own weight. There is a soft twinkle in his pearly eye that is full of adoration. "We can't have you going back looking like this, Sister Imperator would be livid."

Gentle lips brush yours, not quite a full kiss, but enough you feel their presence without being deprived of the room to breathe.

"Why bother going back?" Copia's nose touches your own, his cool breath fanning across your cheeks. "I can think of plenty of other things I'd much rather be doing with you back in my chambers."

You scoff, giving a playful swat to his shoulder. "Because a certain Papa is expected to give a speech, and I won't be taking the fall for the reason you are late again,” you fix him with a stern glare, recalling the reaming you received from Sister the last time.

At least Copia has the decency to give a flash of shame, like a puppy being caught being naughty. But it doesn’t last long.

"You can have me however you want later tonight,” you catch the look of mischief in Copia’s eyes and quickly amend your statement. “After! You can after you are finished with your expected Papal duties for the night."

Overly dramatic, Copia deflates, bottom lip jutting out in an adorable little pout. But he concedes. He is just as worried about the harsh lecturing you both would get for being late the second time in a row. It’s best not to play on thin ice. So Copia doesn’t fight it, your eyes locked together as you take the time to collect yourself, placing a firm hand at the center of Copia's chest when you feel you are able to manage on your own.

Knowing what to expect as the outcome from your game of cat and mouse, you have one of the emergency make up kits that would normally be used for when Copia was on tour stashed behind one of the statues in the corner of the balcony. While ideally you would want to clear his whole face of paint and start with a blank slate, that wasn’t an option. It would take too much time, and you would be late, which if that were to be the case you would rather skip it all and go to Copia’s room.

So you settle for scrubbing at the stubborn paint of his chin, only stopping once it gives way to pale white skin. Once patted dry, you dip into the white grease paint, slathering a thick layer across the bottom half of Copia’s face. When you have achieved a full and even coverage, you shift your focus to touching up the black of his lips. As you set about setting the paint, you think that it certainly isn’t your best work, but under the dim lights of the ballroom you doubt anyone will notice.

“All done,” you humm happily, giving Copia a light pat on the shoulder as you pack the supplies back into the kit. When you glance back up, Copia’s smile is practically radiant.

“So,” Copia takes a step back, giving an extravagant twirl before spreading his arms out as if to display himself. “How do I look, amore mio?”

“Handsome as ever, Papa,” you smile fondly as you tuck the paint kit back away in its original hiding spot, knowing one of the ghouls would later come by to retrieve it. “Come, let’s get back before Sister sends someone after us.”

Stepping in stride with you, Copia spreads an arm out across your back, tucking you close into his side as you enter the building. Music still filters down the hall, a quiet hum that lets you know Copia’s cue hasn’t been missed yet. You might just yet might be able to go without any suspicion being aroused.

“Amore,” Copia however, cuts your train of thought short just as you open the double doors to the ballroom. “My apologies..but you uh have a little..something dripping from your neck.”

Of course, you catch sight of the twin red velvety lines slowly dribbling down the side of your neck in the reflection of Copia’s white eye....Just as you hear Sister clearing her throat from beside you. Copia gives you a sympathetic smile, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. But in the end, you think that your fun is worth a little ass chewing from Sister.

#papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #copia x reader #popia x reader #dracopia x reader #dracopia #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #hot damn this was fun to write #spooky season is upon us #not getting my hopes up that this will be well received but damn do I love this one

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copias-fluffy-asscheeks · 1 year

Text

NSFW Copia HCS

*𖤐*

He's been a switch all his life, having bottomed more at first, and in his time as cardinal due to a lack of confidence and or inexperience he preferred to let another take the lead, but now as Papa he's got more confidence(at least when donning the paint, it boosts his confidence a lot) and he is comfortable topping more, but still likes to be taken charge off at times.

Topping or bottoming, I don't care. this man is noisy and loud as FUCK. Whimpering, whining, moaning, gasping, groaning, babbling, begging and growling, you name it.

He doesn't really have any sort of favorite position, but he does enjoy cowgirl a lot, and he WILL have you (s)creaming and seeing stars during doggy style.

Ever the pleaser, this guy has the biggest oral fixation. And with big I mean HUGE (wink wink.)

Like. If you identify as female and or wear panties, he'll ask you if he can take them if you'll be gone for a bit, if he leaves for tour or anything, or he'll just keep them in his room. Whatever the circumstances he'll take them, lay them out on his face and inhale your scent like it's cocaine. He'll lick at the fabric to taste you and smell you as he jacks off to the thought of eating you out.

If you are a guy or identify as one, he'll stick his fingers down his throat and suck them, or beg you to let him suck your fingers. (Or your cock, of course, strap on or a real one, he doesn't care.)

Gender does not matter at all. Ass is ass, taints are taints. Thighs are thighs.

If you peg him or yall do anal, bend him over a desk, counter top, table, anywhere. He is a sucker for feeling helpless and letting you rail him up the ass like a good little boy.

Praise kink. PRAISE. KINK. As cardinal, hearing a partner tell him how good he was was infernal paradise. He felt so small and like he wasn't enough, and there you were calling him nice things and praising him, it hit him like music to his ears and he'd disparately hump your leg as you kept on his running your hand through his hair and praising him.

Even as a papa, even though he has more confidence, he still loves being praised, he works so hard, and hearing you call him a good boy as he does whatever you ask, or even when he's topping, he melts.

Is he an old man? Yes. Are those hips SMOOTH AS FUCK? Yes. Like, we have all seem the Jesus He Knows Me vid. The way his hips thrust and sway so smoothly while the rest of his entire body is just still, just hanging there? That hip control. Yes please.

No matter if he puts on a tough act, he'll always end up begging and whimpering even though he's in control whenever he's about to cum.

He's a sucker for some cuddle sex. Just laying there whilst you slowly make love, still in a spooning position and hearing all your soft gasps and pleas is hypnotizing.

Definitely gets you juice boxes and chocolates (and lots of kisses and snuggles) as aftercare, making sure your sugar levels are right.

Perhaps he'll give you a massage too if you're sore and you allow him.

bite his thighs.

Lick and suck at his nipples. They are sensitive. Play with them for long enough and he'll easily cum from just that, it's perfect.

Leave hickeys and marks on his insecurity and you will never hear him complain about them again. Connected to the praise kink, he loves some worship, giving, but most definitely receiving too. His cute soft tummy deserves lots of kisses.

*𖤐*

A/N: Kind of short but I'm having brain errors and I can't think of anything, but once my errors are over perhaps I'll make a part two to this.

Taglist: @sweatandwoe @lightbluuestars @ghoulettka @copias-girl @papasmicstand @random-bl-fan

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copias-girl · 2 years

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Lenten Sacrifice

Antichrist Popia x Catholic Reader

A/N: So Ash Wednesday was on Feb. 22 to mark the start of Lent, and instead of solemnly repenting, I was thinking of this. Since I’m on my way to hell, does anyone wanna tag along? <3

•♥︎𖤐₆⁶₆𖤐♥︎•

You’d just gotten back from Ash Wednesday mass, strolling through the grand halls of the ministry until you reached your beloved’s papal suite.

Upon opening the large door, you were met with the graceful sight of Copia, sitting on the sofa, waiting for you with a predatory glint in those dichromatic eyes. He wore his black ruffled blouse; the fitted leather vest that he wore on top was embroidered ornately in gold.

“Papa.” You greeted the man, a shyness suddenly coming over you.

Copia remained silent, instead just rising to his feet and adjusting his gloves while he pierced you with his sharp gaze.

You swallowed nervously, intimidated by the man you called your lover. You found yourself taking a small step backwards as your Papa slowly stalked towards you, only halting his steps once he was right in front of you.

He looked you over, huffing out an amused little scoff at the ashes on your forehead.

“No kiss for Papa?” Copia prompted you, and you immediately closed the gap between you, reaching up to rest your hands on his shoulders as you eagerly kissed him.

Copia’s arms were snaking around your waist as he forcefully deepened the kiss, letting out an obscene moan that you hungrily swallowed.

He loved the way your kisses would sting at his lips and tongue after you’d taken holy communion. His cock hardened at the way your fingertips would burn his skin after you’d dipped them in holy water.

It was gravely unconventional, a good little Catholic girl like you dating the Antichrist. Copia’s congregation found it strange, and if your mother ever found out, surely she’d be planning your funeral. But love doesn’t discriminate; and you truly did love each other.

Suddenly, your Papa pulled away, panting as a glistening saliva string still connected you. Lust swirled heavily in Copia’s eyes as he studied you while he caught his breath. These singeing, after-mass kisses never failed to rile him up, the bit of pain mixing with the pleasure to create something even more maddening. Your Papa was such a dirty old man, relishing in the taboo aspect of your relationship; getting a thrill out of the fact that he was corrupting such an innocent little thing like you. Reveling in the fact that he, the Antichrist, had taken your precious virginity and continued to ravish you every day that you visited him at his unholy ministry. Copia delighted in the thought that your family and your church would be absolutely appalled to find out that you were dating a man who was a whole lifetime older than you; and the Antichrist nonetheless. He was everything you had been warned about, and yet you took a big bite out of the forbidden fruit, the decadent juices dripping down your chin.

“Tell Papa, Dolcezza, what did you give up?” Copia asked.

“Wh-what?” You squeaked, a hot blush painting your cheeks as you gazed up at him.

“What did you give up, hm? Cioccolato?” He smirked condescendingly.

“Y-yes…” You cast your gaze down in chagrin, feeling silly.

“Ahh, you give up cioccolato for your god like a good little girl, yet you come here and suck the Antichrist’s cock every day.” Copia chuckled, causing your cheeks to burn in shame.

“I-!” You tried to protest, but your voice died in your throat as you realized you had no rebuttal.

“I wonder what your god would think about that, eh?” Copia growled, eyes glinting with dangerous mischief.

Before you could muster up a reply, the man turned on his heel, plucking something off the table, tearing the wrapper, and holding it up to you.

Your eyes widened as you stared at it. Damn it, pink chocolate. Your favourite.

Your uncertain eyes nervously flicked up to your Papa’s.

“Go ahead, little one. Take a bite.” Copia’s voice was eerily calm, almost verging on passive aggressive. When you made no move to obey him, the man clenched his jaw.

“Dolcezza, do you love Papa?” He asked, feigning hurt.

“Of course I do, Papa!” You cried, desperately reaching for him, upset that he’d think any differently.

“Then take a bite, Topolina mia.” He insisted. “Be a good girl and break your Lenten sacrifice for me, si?” A smirk was playing on Copia’s painted features as he taunted you.

Conflicted and guilt-ridden, your wide doe eyes stared into his half-lidded ones until you eventually nodded hesitantly. A small, barely-there little nod.

Eyes glimmering with delight, your Papa held the pink chocolate bar up to your lips once more, satisfied when you timidly leaned in and took a bite.

“Ah, what a good girl for Papa.” The man purred, discarding the chocolate onto the coffee table. He didn’t ask you to eat more, didn’t demand you to finish the entire bar, he just wanted you to take one bite. And somehow, that was even more despicable, because he made you eat just enough to have you breaking your sacrifice for him.

But who were you fooling? You’d do anything for your Papa, anything at all. He had bewitched you, and you were his willing victim.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Copia felt the exact same way about you. You were pretty clueless to the fact that you had the mighty Antichrist under your spell, all wrapped around your little finger.

Copia leaned in and gave you a kiss, humming at the taste of the creamy ruby chocolate on your sweet lips as you needily kissed him back.

“Such a naughty little thing, you are. Playing both sides likes this.” He teased you as you squeaked out pitiful protests, trying to tell him that no, you were good, you were a good Catholic girl. But how could you be, when you were with this man? You felt oh so dizzy; dizzy from his sinful kisses and dizzy from trying to justify your actions.

You gently bit Copia’s lip as he deepened the kiss, your tongues swirling together passionately as you helplessly melted into him, running your fingers through his luscious grey hair. You whimpered into his mouth when you felt his long, thick, hard cock straining against the corset of his pants and grinding into you; all while his gloved hands wandered lower, reaching under your short, frilly dress and grabbing two handfuls of your ass.

Before you knew it, you were being dragged into the Antichrist’s luxurious bedroom and forced into your knees.

“Fucking tease.” Copia growled, unlacing his pants with skilled gloved fingers. He pulled his heavy cock out, already reddened and weeping considerably as he ordered you to open your pretty mouth.

He didn’t give you any warning before he shoved his length past your lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair and beginning to fuck your face at a brutal pace.

You moaned in surprise, gagging on his cock as tears immediately began welling in your eyes. You did your best to take all of his impressive length, choking and coughing when the sensitive head of his cock hit the back of your throat over and over again. Your sounds were music to Copia’s ears, only spurring him on further.

“Do you go to confession after sucking Papa’s cock, Dolcezza?” Copia chuckled cruelly. “Do you get on your knees and pray for forgiveness? I only- fuck- I only want you to get on your knees for me.” He hissed, gazing at the ashy cross on your forehead as he continued to thrust roughly into your mouth.

You squealed out a humiliated moan around his cock, tears spilling onto your flushed cheeks as you stared up at him with bleary eyes, bracing your hands on his muscular thighs.

“You belong to Papa, little one. No other god, just me.” Copia snarled.

“You understand, si?” Using his grip on your hair, he pulled you off his cock so you could answer, satisfied when you only nodded rapidly while coughing and gasping for air. Barely giving you a break, Copia forced his cock back into your mouth as soon as he got your affirmation. Your Papa could be so merciless sometimes, but that was just one of the many exciting things you loved about him.

Gripping the sides of your head and continuing to fuck your throat, Copia growled out obscene moans, panting heavily. Shoving his length as far in as it would go, he held you there for a few moments, gurgling and sputtering around his girth while your nose pressed into his happy trail.

“That’s it, Dolce. My sweet girl.” The man shuddered breathlessly, seeing stars from the way your tight throat spasmed with each dry heave.

You suctioned your mouth around him, wanting to give your Papa as much pleasure as you could. He let out a loud, broken moan at that, beginning to thrust roughly once again.

“You suck my cock so well, oh- my good little slut!” He moaned, hips beginning to stutter as he neared his end.

You were fully crying on his cock now as you took everything he was giving you, his addictive praise causing your heart to flutter.

“Fuck! Oh, this sinful little mouth of yours! Dolce, I’m-!”

With a loud groan, Copia pulled out of your mouth and blew his load all over your face. Thick white ropes of hot, sticky cum painted you; dripping down your flushed, tear stained cheeks, your swollen lips, and even on the cross on your forehead. His big cock twitched as he came; and the man never failed to astonish you with how much he could give you, just cumming and cumming and cumming until he was finally spent.

You must have looked a mess, with cum and drool shining on your flushed and swollen lips, your thick lashes wet with crystalline teardrops. Copia smirked at the sight of you, smearing his unholy cum into the ash on your forehead.

“You pervert.” You pouted as he destroyed your holy marking. “And you got cum on my church dress too.”

Your Papa grabbed your upper arm and hauled you to your feet. “Oh? My little cockslut is worried about her church dress, eh? Her slutty little church dress?” He cooed, stroking a gentle finger across your cheek. “Look how fucking short it is. I’m surprised they even let you into that place wearing this.” He growled, causing you to shiver.

“I-it’s not slutty, you’re just a dirty old man who sees it that way.” You sniffed pitifully, egging him on.

“You call your Papa a dirty old man?” Copia echoed in exaggerated disbelief. “Is that what you think of me, Dolcezza?”

You only nodded, still pouting cutely as you licked some cum off your face, wiping away the rest with your sleeve.

“Well, what does that say about you, eh? You’re a little Catholic girl who loves fucking dirty old men.” Your eyes widened as he turned your quip around on you like a goddamn Uno reverse card. “You’re supposed to be a good little virgin, yet you spread your legs for a dirty old man every day and let him do what he pleases with you.”

“Papa!” You whined, clutching the fabric of his sleeves as you shamefully buried your face in his chest. You loved teasing each other; you loved it when Copia put you in your place. The shame only made your pussy wetter.

Copia didn’t waste any time in shoving you down onto his plush bed, planting a firm hand on your upper back and pushing you into the comforter when you tried to get up. He lifted your dress up over your ass, unceremoniously tearing your sinfully small panties down and off your legs. With a hand on each side of your ass, he stared directly at your pussy, which was dripping with an embarrassingly large amount of slick.

“Principessa, tu sei così bagnata.” Copia gasped, exaggerating his shock just to tease you. “Tell me, Dolce, if you are such a good little Catholic girl, why is your pussy so wet, eh?”

You now willingly buried your face in the bed to hide your shame. “P-Papa please…” You whimpered.

“What would your priest say, hm? If he could see you right now? Soaking wet and begging for the Antichrist’s cock like a whore.” Copia growled, cracking a sharp slap onto your ass and causing you to cry out.

You felt ashamed; what would your priest think? He would obviously be horrified and oh so disappointed in you.

“Does he know you’ve even let me sodomize you?” Copia taunted you with a condescending smirk. “Have you told him that during confession, Tesoro? That I’ve taken your virginity everywhere?”

“N-no!” You squealed, closing your eyes, pussy involuntarily clenching around nothing. You hoped that the wicked man didn’t see, but of course he did; nothing ever slipped by him.

“Ahh, do you like the thought of that, Principessa? Perhaps you should tell him what a naughty little thing you are. How you’ve given yourself to the very beast you were warned against.” Copia purred into your ear, voice dripping with lust. It always seemed as though his accent got thicker when he was aroused.

His fingertips trailed along your glistening slit, teasing just the opening of your pussy and pulling a high pitched gasp from you as he gathered your sticky juices. He pulled his hand away, licking his painted lips and watching as it webbed between his gloved fingers. He flipped you onto your back with one hand while he sucked your wetness off his digits, his intense eyes boring into yours as he did so. You cried helplessly at the sight, feeling an indescribable ache in your core.

After licking every last drop of your arousal off his gloves, your Papa forced your legs apart and, without warning, shoved his face between your thighs, his tongue immediately licking a hot stripe up your pussy and swirling around your clit before giving it a hard suck.

You screamed out at the intense pleasure, your fingers tangling in his soft hair, trying to somehow ground yourself. Copia’s grip tightened on your hips as your thighs closed around your head, grinding right onto his face. Your Papa never failed to make you feel like you were free-falling in the best way possible.

“So pink and tight. So wet for me.” He murmured before licking into you feverishly, slurping up your sweet nectar like a starving man. Your little mewls, yelps, and moans only spurred him on until you were writhing and whining in a pleasure-crazed frenzy.

Copia stopped just short of you cumming, leaving you desperately pleading for more. But within a second, he was ripping your dress off, roughly slinging your legs over his shoulders, and stuffing his thick cock inside your tight heat. He didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size, immediately beginning to fuck into you in an almost animalistic manner, hard and fast and merciless.

“Oh! Papa!” You felt like the wind was behind knocked out of your lungs with each of his deep thrusts, causing your eyes to roll back as he stretched you and filled you up so perfectly.

In this position, Copia’s big cock reached so deeply inside you that you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He precisely hit every pleasure spot inside you, the head of his cock slamming against your cervix as he muttered out strings of Italian curses.

You were utterly in awe as you gazed up at the man; his mouth hanging open, a few locks of grey hair falling into his face, and panting heavily as he used you as his fuckdoll.

“Take it! Take it! That’s it, Dolce, take my cock!” Copia growled, his gifted eye gleaming dangerously. It almost frightened you, the way it would practically glow in situations like this; but that little bit of fear only served to make you wetter. The grip he had on your hips was sure to leave bruises as he relentlessly fucked into you over and over again, showing you no mercy as tears rolled down your hot cheeks.

“Are you- fuck- are you my good little Catholic cumslut?” Your Papa moaned, trailing a finger across your lower lip.

“Yes, Papa! Aah-! Yesyesyes!” You gasped, lovingly nipping at his finger when it dipped into your mouth.

“That’s right. That’s fucking right, Dolce.” Copia snarled, his hand then trailing down to pinch at your nipples, causing you to arch your back off the bed, your legs tightening around the man.

You wept with pleasure, incoherently babbling and squeaking as you reached up to thread your fingers through Copia’s hair once more, pulling him down into a desperate kiss, all teeth and tongues and broken moans. Every time you were intimate with him, you were absolutely astonished at how hard this old man could fuck you. His thrusts were brutally relentless, taking your breath away; and before you knew it, you were about to tip over the edge.

“P-Papa, I’m-! Y-you’re gonna make me-” Your little voice almost sounded alarmed, helpless, as if you didn’t know what to do.

“Cum for Papa, little one, cum all over my fucking cock.” He hissed, sucking a dark hickey into your neck as his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive little bud.

With a piercingly high pitched moan, your orgasm came crashing over you like a ton of bricks. You wailed your Papa’s name over and over again, pussy fluttering and spasming around his thick length as your grip tightened almost painfully in his hair.

You convulsed under him, nearly feeling your soul leave your body as you just kept cumming and cumming; your pleasure so intense that you even squirted for him.

“Goddammit!” Copia cursed as he pulled out, giving himself a couple quick strokes before he was spilling his hot cum all over your pussy, grinding the sensitive head of his cock right into your clit, causing your eyes to cross and roll back as you moaned desperately.

It was all too much, the sight of your Papa shuddering and gasping as he stared at his seed painting your pussy and mixing with your own juices that were oozing out of you. You whined and mewled from oversensitivity, your legs falling open as your body went completely limp. Copia collapsed on top of you once he was finished, letting out a heavy sigh and wrapping his arms around you. Feeling his full weight on top of you was so comforting, especially as the post-orgasmic euphoria washed over the both of you like gentle ocean waves.

When you’d finally regained most of your senses, you were giving the man a gentle shove, and he rolled off you with a groan.

“Stay here.” You pecked his lips, limping into the living room, completely bare and dripping with your mixed cum.

When you returned, you found your Papa shirtless as he lay against the headboard, his blouse and vest discarded onto the floor, the corset of his rat-bitten pants still undone.

Your gaze swept over his beautiful form; his tousled grey hair, the 666 marking on his chest, the delicious little happy trail peeking out from his pants.

“Che ti preso?” He enquired curiously, but a mischievous smirk spread across his face as soon as you held up the chocolate bar and hopped back on the bed.

You bent down, kissing along his happy trail, his tummy, up his chest. You swiped your tongue over the mark on his chest, causing the man to exhale shakily.

Snuggling into Copia’s side and hooking your leg over his, you took a bite of the creamy chocolate, holding the bar up to his lips so he could have some too.

“I love you, you devil.” You giggled, placing gentle kisses along his jawline.

“Mm, ti amo così tanto, my little angel. Più di tutto in nel mondo.” Papa hummed dreamily, putting an arm around you and holding you oh so close as he gazed at you wondrously, his mismatched eyes sparkling with nothing but love.

Who knew the Antichrist was such a hopeless romantic? You sighed happily as the man leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss, simply unable to get enough of you.

The two of you remained in bed for the rest of the evening, sharing pink chocolate kisses and relishing in your sweet forbidden love.

𐕣𖤐 end <3 𖤐𐕣

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bupia · 1 year

Text

Love letter: Chapter 1 - Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader

Summary: Working as the Cardinal’s assistant, one day you find a letter inside of one of his filing cabinet. As you take it in your hands, you notice there’s no “from” or “to” written on it.

Words: 3.159

Warnings: Some Italian swearing. This chapter is pure romance, but there may be smut in the upcoming chapters.

It was pretty early in the morning and you were already making your bed while all the other siblings who shared the dormitory with you were still asleep. You were the Cardinal's assistant, although you weren't sure why he chose you. You hadn't been in the Ministry for very long compared to other few siblings who applied for the role. To be fair, you were not sure how many people applied to be Cardinal's assistant. He was not as popular in the ministry as Papa Emeritus III, Terzo. Many siblings in the ministry would do anything to be close to Papa, but it was well known that Terzo didn't care for any siblings in the ministry. There were rumors that his heart was already taken, some rumors suggested that he already had what people would call his “Prime Mover”, but you weren't sure about it as you didn't know much about him. Nevertheless, you decided to do the best job you could.

When you first started as his assistant, you thought the job would be boring. In the beginning, it felt a little dull, but as time passed, you and the Cardinal developed a good relationship. Working with him became your favorite thing to do at the ministry, especially when he would call you by Italian nicknames.

You had been working together for 7 months now, and although waking up early wasn't your favorite thing, being near the Cardinal was pleasant. Cardinal Copia was a nice old man - gentle, clumsy, silly, focused, and respectful. He also had a habit that you found amusing. Sometimes, he would mumble words in Italian. You weren't able to understand all of it, but you were already used to some words like "cazzo" and "merda."

With all the time you spent together, you started to see the Cardinal in a different way. He was not just your clumsy boss anymore; you started to feel something else. Hearing him call you by your name, was the highlight of your day. You loved how your name sounded on his voice with his accent. But you needed to keep it extremely professional, not showing any emotions, controlling yourself to not blush or talk to him in a shaky voice whenever he was too close to you.

Looking at the clock on your bedside table, you realize that you are already a few minutes late. You rush to the door, opening it quickly, causing Sister Emily to almost drop the laundry basket she was carrying.

"Is everything okay, Si-sister?" She asked, her voice shaky from being startled by you.

"Yes, I'm sorry Sister Emily, I didn't mean to scare you." You apologized before leaving your dormitory in a hurry.

You run down the stairs and head straight to Cardinal's office. Luckily, it's still early and there aren't many people in the corridors. You reach his office door, grab the keys, and unlock it. You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear the click of the door unlocking, indicating that Cardinal hasn't arrived yet.

Once inside, you open the curtains to let in some light and notice that his desk is a bit messy. "He must have stayed here late last night after I left." You think as you start organizing the pens on his desk before getting on your knees to organize the files in the filing cabinet of his desk.

As you're organizing the files in the filing cabinet, you come across an envelope that doesn't belong there. There's no "From" or "To" written on it, just a blank envelope with a paper inside. You consider putting it back in the folder, but your curiosity gets the best of you and you decide to open it, but before you can read the contents of the letter, you hear a click at the door. You quickly stand up, close the cabinet door, and shove the letter into your pocket fixing your habit.

"Buongiorno, sorella!" Cardinal greets you as he enters the room, looking at you suspiciously. "Is everything okay?" he asks while he takes some steps ahead getting close to his desk.

"Yes, Cardinal. I was just organizing some papers you left on your desk." You explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I completely forgot to organize them yesterday." He apologized.

"No problem, Cardinal. I'm here to help you with whatever you need." You assure him with a smile.

He smiled back at you, pulling his chair to sit on. "I honestly don't know what I would do without you, sorella. You're one of the best things that has happened to me recently. I really made a very good choice, sì?" He giggled.

In an impulsive act, you got up quickly from your chair, putting your hands on the table and taking a deep breath.

"What's the problem, sorella?" He looked at you, sitting in his chair.

"I just noticed I forgot your coffee, Cardinal." You said, turning your back to him and walking to the door before he could say something.

Feeling your heart jumping from your chest, you closed the door behind you. Those words messed with you, you know you had an impulsive reaction but you didn't know what to do when you heard him calling you as "one of the best things that has happened to me recently." You were pretty aware of how you felt about Cardinal Copia and you didn't want to let it show.

Walking to the kitchen, you could smell the coffee. The scent of the coffee was filling the corridors already. You could also smell bread being baked.

"I came to get Cardinal's coffee!" You said as you entered the kitchen.

"Sister! We thought you wouldn't come!" One of the siblings said, getting the tray with Copia's breakfast and lending it to you.

"Oh! I didn't forget at all, I was just busy with some duties." With the tray on your hands you left the kitchen and headed to his office again.

Stopping by the door, you opened it slowly, keeping the tray straight with one hand. When you stepped inside the office, you saw Cardinal Copia in front of the window behind his desk with his gloved hands behind his back. You stayed in silence for a while, just staring at him. Today, he was wearing your favorite cassock, the black one. Not that you didn't like the other ones, but there was something about the black that would make you look at him more than usual.

Using one of your feet, you closed the door behind you. As the door clicked shut, Copia turned his head to look at you over his shoulder. As you took steps to get closer to his desk, Copia turned his body in your direction and gave you a gentle smile.

"Oh, sorella. You're too good for this old man. What would I do without you, sì?" Giggling, you placed the tray on his desk in front of his chair.

"Well, Cardinal, I'm just doing my work." You smiled at him as he sat in his chair. "And also, if I didn't get it for you, you would totally forget to eat because we both know you get too focused on your work and forget to eat!"

"Sì, sì, you're right, sorella, but you are not 'just doing your work.' You do a lot more for me." He reached for your hand and held it. You froze at the touch of his hand reaching for the one that was still holding the tray handle. Turning your eyes from your hand to his face, you saw that he was staring into your eyes.

What only took a few seconds felt like hours due to the silence that filled the room after his touch. Giving him a shy smile, you could swear you saw him blush. As he let go of your hand, you walk back to your desk trying not to loose your composure.

For the rest of the day, you and Copia stayed in silence while doing your jobs. It was not common to work with him in complete silence. He would call your name to ask for something or just to point out some information. Sometimes, he would also engage in casual conversation. However, at times, you could swear you felt him looking at you.

Lunchtime came after a long morning of silence. It almost felt like time had stopped. Looking at the clock on the wall, you see that it is almost time to get Cardinal's lunch.

“Co-, Cardinal Copia” You took a deep breath before keep talking. “I’m gonna get your lunch at the kitchen with the other siblings.” You got up from your chair and walked to his desk to pick up the tray that was on the right side of his desk.

“Oh! Sorella, don’t need to worry about it. Go have your lunch with the other siblings and I will ask for someone to clean it and bring the lunch.” You stopped walking to his direction and nod with your head.

Turning your back to him, you left his office and went straight to the cafeteria. It was the first time that Copia hadn't asked you to do something for him or allowed you to do it. Today was definitely not a normal day, but at least it was Friday, which meant that whatever was happening between you and the Cardinal, the weekend would probably fix it.

Returning to the office after eating with the other siblings, you hear Cardinal's voice screaming in a not-too-unfamiliar language and loud noises coming from inside the office. You hurried your steps and opened the door, finding his office in a big mess. Cardinal Copia was throwing papers in the air, and some were already on the ground. The shelves were disorganized, all the drawers from his desk were fully open, and only your desk remained untouched. You stepped inside the office, closing the door behind you looking around all the mess having no idea what was happening.

"Cazzo! Merda! Dov'è?" Cardinal was now on his knees on the floor, taking out papers from the filing cabinet.

"Cardinal, is everything okay?" You asked, approaching him getting on your knees in front of him.

"Sorella! Great! I'm glad you're here!" He grabbed your hand, looking at you. "Sorella, per favore, essere onesta con me, did you see an envelope today when you arrived at the office early this morning?"

You knew exactly what he was talking about. "I'm sorry, Cardinal. I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't seen it." You lied. You wanted to tell him that yes, you saw it and yes, it was in your pocket, but you were too afraid to admit it. What would he think of you? There was no plausible excuse for having it in your habit's pocket.

"I may have taken it with me somewhere else. Are you sure you didn't see anything, cara?" Cardinal sighed.

You nod your head. "I'm sorry, Cardinal. I'm sure we'll find it somewhere, right?" You give him a smile.

"Sì, cara, you're right."

"Should I help you clean up this mess?" You put your other hand on top of his.

"Ah... sì..." You felt his grip on your hand getting tighter, and you let go of his hand. Cardinal get up giving you his hand for you to hold helping you to get up after him. You smile at him grabbing his hand, holding your habit, you get up.

As you and Cardinal starts to organize the room, you couldn't stop thinking that the envelope was still in your pocket. Not only that, but you had also lied to him about not knowing what he was talking about. If it wasn’t bad enough that you had taken it from his filing cabinet, imagine how much worse it was now that you had lied about it.

While you were organizing his documents in the filing cabinet, you thought you could just put it there without him noticing it. But that would be strange, if you just looked at him saying: "Look, Cardinal, it was here the whole time!"

So you had to think in a better plan. Maybe when it was time for you to leave his office, you could tell him that you would stay just a little bit longer, so you could hide the envelope somewhere and tell him how you found it on Monday.

As the last hours of the workday approached, Cardinal Copia got up from his chair. He walked towards your desk and stopped in front of it. "Sorella, I suppose we're finished for today, sì?"

"Oh! Cardinal, I haven't finished these papers yet. Is it okay if I stay for just one more hour?" Your face was glued to the papers in front of you just to avoid his gaze.

"Are you sure, sorella? Do you want some company?" He asked, not moving from in front of your desk.

"Yes, Cardinal. I'm sure. I'll finish these papers in an hour or less, and you can go rest now. Don't worry, I'll lock the door when I leave.” You replied, still focused on the papers.

He grumbled some words to himself.

"Hm?" You lift your head in his direction. "What did you say, Cardinal?"

"Nothing, sorella. Just thinking out loud, sì?" He took a step back from your table and walked to the door. "Buona notte, cara. Don't forget to lock the door when you leave." You smiled nodding at him as he left and closed the door behind him.

After he left, you returned to focusing on the papers in front of you. They weren't a big deal; you just needed to review some official documents from the Clergy to make sure everything was in order.

By the time you finish with the papers, you get up from your chair, stretch your back, and start to clean up your desk right away. You organize the files in the shelf and check if Copia's desk needs attention. With everything in order, you leave the office and lock the door. The corridors are already quiet, and you can only hear the sound of crickets outside the Ministry.

As you approached your dormitory, you retrieved your keys from your pocket. Suddenly, an envelope fell out. You realized with dismay that it was the letter you had forgotten to replace. You couldn't believe you had forgotten it.

Picking up the letter envelope from the floor, you weren't sure what to do next. Should you return it to his office, dispose of it, or keep it with you until Monday?

With so many options and thoughts running through your mind, you decided to head back to your dormitory. At this point, you regretted taking the letter from Cardinal's filing cabinet. However, it was too late, and you already had it in your possession, even worse, in your room.

Realizing it was a lost cause, you placed the envelope under your pillow and took a quick, relaxing shower. Upon returning, you checked under your pillow to ensure the envelope was still there. Unfortunately, it was.

Lying down, you couldn't stop thinking about what you had done. You had lied and hid it from Cardinal Copia, and if you told him what you had done, he would probably be disappointed and remove you from your position. You were supposed to return it after he left, but you got so distracted with the papers that you forgot.

But there was something else on your mind: why did Cardinal look so worried about this envelope? What was in the letter? If he was hiding it, it was probably something important. Your curiosity started to hammer in your head with questions that could only be answered if you read the letter, but should you? Invading Cardinal's privacy like this would probably put you on a tightrope. In fact, you had already invaded his privacy when you took it from the filing cabinet and shoved it into your pocket. And yes, you had the intention to give it a look before, but now, after seeing Cardinal on his knees throwing the papers all around, you weren't sure if you really should read it.

Yet, curiosity wasn't leaving you alone. You swiped your hand under your pillow and grabbed the envelope, bringing it close to your chest and taking a deep breath. You look around to make sure all the siblings were asleep and with a trembling hand, you open the envelope and take out the letter from inside. You still hold it close to your chest, gathering the courage you need.

Unfolding the letter, you realize that it bears the handwriting of the Cardinal. As you begin to read, you do not see any name mentioned in the first few lines but the next few lines made your eyes widen.

“If you are reading this, it's probably because I have finally mustered the courage to deliver this letter. I know that a man of my age and position in the Ministry shouldn't be feeling what I feel for you, but it's inevitable to do not feel the way I feel when you are one of the few people who truly show compassion for me here. You've turned my world upside down in these last few months. Through small acts of affection and words, I try to show what I feel for you, but being close to you is like losing my breath, and whenever you look at me, I feel my body freeze and I have no reaction, that’s because I see gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at me, and it's almost impossible for me to maintain my composure. Your smile brightens up the room and your voice calling me as “Cardinal” is like music to my ears, although, I really wish you’d call me as Copia. Sometimes, I'm afraid of speaking too much and letting my feelings escape from within me. I can't say if this is love, passion, attraction, or something beyond that, but I know that I want to be the one holding your hand, Finally, I would like to say that even if my feelings for you are not reciprocated, I hope you can still understand that...”

"What?!" you exclaimed in your head. You turned the paper over to see if there was anything on the other side, but the letter ended there. It was inconclusive. "How can someone leave a love letter inconclusive?" you ask to yourself. Oh- wait. You sit up fast on your bed, noticing you've just read a love letter from the Cardinal, and you have no idea who he wrote it for. You've just read that Cardinal Copia is in love with someone from the Ministry, and you start to wonder who it is. But, do you really want to know? You feel a tightness in your chest. It was going to be a long weekend until Monday, but not forgetting about the Sunday mass. You’d see Cardinal Copia earlier than you thought.

Chapter 2

Grammar

⸻

Cazzo - fuck Merda - shit Sorella - sister Buongiorno - good morning Cara - dear Dov’è? - where is it? Essere onesta con me - be honest with me Sì - yes/right Buona notte - good night

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