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rewin-d · 2 years ago

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yeeeAAAAAA

A Cardinal Truth

It’s time to worship that belly and those thighs like they deserve. NSFW. Minors DNI.

Cardinal Copia x Reader, ~2,600k words AO3 Link

Belly worship, thigh worship, love handles, self deprecating comments,

You watch from your place at the edge of the bed as Copia pulls the suspenders from his shoulders, letting them hang loose at his sides while he meticulously places his coat jacket on the hanger which he claims has the miraculous ability to chase away creases.

He clears his throat, the light of the lamp on the dresser catching the features of his profile as he stands in front of the closet door. You admire his long nose, the curve of his brow, his full lips. His upper lip twitches, his mustache jumping with it. You enjoy how the soft light accentuates the little flyaway hairs he misses when he trims, somewhat longer than the others in his otherwise maintained facial hair.

A piece of brown hair tinged with silver falls over his forehead, and after his suit jacket is hung straight with the others in a pattern which Copia claims is very important - black, red, white - he smooths his hair back. You hold a pillow in your lap and squeeze it to you as you bite your lip and smile. Just watching Copia perform his nightly routine is an intimate act for you, your heart bursting with the knowledge that you get to see him like this. Not the right hand of Papa Nihil, the second most employee of the month Cardinal, but merely Copia. Overworked, exhausted, but insistent you spend your evenings together no matter how late or tired he is Copia.

You watch as he moves toward the mirror next to his dresser, a hand scrubbing over his face as he looks at himself. You watch as he squints as if in displeasure, his fingers lightly ghosting over the wrinkles at his eyes, visible now his make up has been removed. He pulls his white undershirt from his pants and lifts it over his head, his hair a veritable bird’s nest that he attempts to tamper down once he tosses the shirt aside.

His back and neck are covered in the light freckles you know travel across his chest and down his arms. You can just make out the front of him through the reflection of the mirror, his chest covered in downy brown hair interspersed with wiry gray that you know Copia hates. Sometimes you catch him plucking the gray hairs from his chest.

You hear Copia grumble, and your eyes snap up to his which are trained miserably on his midsection. He grabs a handful of his belly, just protruding slightly over his pants and gives it a wiggle while he whispers self-deprecating Italian. The thickness of his hips and thighs are only accentuated through the tight black pants of his suit, and he turns to the side looking himself up and down.

You’re getting up and crossing the small space without a thought, your fingers grabbing for his soft skin as you wrap yourself around his frame.

“Amore!” He gasps, his arms coming up as you duck beneath them, nuzzling your cheek into his bare skin.

You sigh happily, your fingers tracing over the curve of his rigatoni blamed pudge, dancing down his happy trail to the edge of his trousers. Copia’s breath hitches as he gazes down at you, his lips parted slightly as his pupils begin to dilate from the heat simmering in the belly your attentions are so immensely focused on.

“What are you doing, dolce?” He whispers, biting his lip when you press a kiss to his love handles.

“Can I tell you a secret, Copia?” You say, smiling prettily up at him as you rest your chin on his middle.

“Hmm?” He questions, not trusting his voice. Copia runs his fingers through your hair, mesmerized by your actions.

“I love this part of you. I love how soft you are, how your suit hugs your curves. I think you’re beautiful.”

His immediate reaction is to scoff, his eyes finding his reflection in the mirror. He frowns at the way his midsection juts out from his hips, a fact he can usually hide within his belted cassocks. Copia loves his sweets, and in his old age, the little cakes and chocolates are going right to his thighs. They fill his pants, already sinfully tight, the skin around his dick even affected by his bad habits, the shape of him easily identifiable.

“This isn’t attractive, amore,” he sighs, his gaze turning to you. His fingers leave your hair to gently press against your cheek. “Although you are sweet for saying so.”

“Yes it is,” you say, your eyes wide and sincere. “Every time you take off your shirt I want to grab you and never let go.”

“Get off the floor, please,” Copia says, pulling at your arms fruitlessly as you do not budge an inch.

“Copia,” you place a hand on his chest, letting your fingers slide down the length of him. He shivers. “See yourself through my eyes. You are everything.”

“But I am old,” he gasps.

“Yes,” you answer honestly, pressing another kiss to his skin.

“I am…flabby, in places.”

“Yes.”

“I am wrinkly,” he says, his voice shaking.

“Yes,” your thumbs rub circles into his sides.

“I look frightening.”

“You can look quite intimidating sometimes in the right light,” you concede. Your lips tease around his belly button.

Copia grips the edge of his dresser, and growls, his brow furrowed, “And!?”

You look back up at him and smile, “And I love every bit of it. Every bit of you. All of you. For all that you are. You are my Copia.”

He stares down at you with wide eyes, his hair falling into his face, sweat on his brow. Copia blinks and a tear falls, hitting your cheek. You do not flinch as it slides downs your face to catch at your chin. Your eyes are only for him. You want him to see and understand that you love him. So incredibly and so deeply.

“Amore, amore mio,” he whimpers, his hands coming up to cradle your face. More tears fall, sliding down his ruddy cheeks as he sniffles in an attempt to control his emotions. “I love you. Ti amo. You have my heart in your hand, cosa preziosa. Do you feel it beating for you?”

Copia,” you whisper, your eyes shining with the breadth of your own emotion. You move out of his grip to place hot kisses all over his skin, pressing your nose into the roundness of his belly. “Let me show you what I can do with more than your heart.”

Your fingers slide up his thighs, curling your hands around the thickness of them, the fabric of his pants smooth against your palms. The pants are so tight to his skin you can hardly grab a handful of his thighs. Your lips continue to press kisses all over his belly and around his belly button, nipping at the hairs there.

Copia uses both hands to grip the edge of the dresser now, his breath blowing harshly out of his nose as he closes his eyes against the feeling of you kissing and touching places he often feels unsettled by. As a couple, the both of you are no strangers to sex, but there is a deeper intimacy in these secret erogenous places he had no clue could affect him so.

As you press yourself closer to him, Copia squirms when you brush against the aching hardness which strains against the prison of his trousers. You pull back to admire it, the curved outline making you blush and rub your thighs together. You hear a dark chuckle above you and raise your eyes, Copia smirking down at you with a tilted head, his white eye nearly iridescent.

“Do you like looking?” His voice is low, rasping, each syllable winding around his Italian accent. “Do you like to see what you do to your Cardinal?”

He rolls his hips toward you, arching them toward your lips, his cock shifting in his pants. You see a desperation behind his feral expression, Copia hiding behind the mask of the Cardinal, overwhelmed by your affection. You dart forward and kiss him through the fabric, rock solid against your lips before biting down on the skin of the underside of his belly. Copia’s hips jerk and he gasps, a sudden intake of breath hissing through his teeth.

Your intention is to leave bruises, marks of your love all over his skin and you pepper little love bites up and down his belly, sucking hard at the sensitive flesh near the center that has him bucking toward you again. His dominant expression crumbles into sweet surrender, a mewl escaping his parted lips.

“Satana, cosa mi stai facendo? Mi sento così bene, così bene, amore mio,” Copia murmurs frantically, his voice nearly breathless as he moans into the quiet of the bedroom.

You unbuckle his pants and slide the zipper down, his cock springing free from its confines. It bobs in place, jerking, searching for relief, searching for your touch. The tip shines with precum and you move very close, your lips nearly a hairbreadth away from brushing against the red and needy skin. You glance up at your Copia and his eyes are wide, eyebrows raised dramatically as he waits to see what you will do. He whines.

“Touch me, oh touch me, per favore,” he begs.

You grip his hips, closing the distance between your face and his need, but you merely allow your cheek to slide against the side of his cock, a cheeky look crossing your features as Copia watches you with rapt attention. That slight, gentle, soft friction has him pressing himself harder against you, confusion etched across his face as you continue your trek until your nose brushes against the plush skin of his pubis, the wiry hairs tickling your face.

You kiss there and he nearly buckles.

His thighs, covered in soft dark hair, are thick, but strong. The muscles flex under your hand as you finish removing his trousers, flinging them to the side, the suspenders attached to them clacking as they hit the floor.

Copia is wiggling, his hips moving left and right as he throbs. He’s taking deep, cleansing breaths as he watches a drop of precum collect at the tip of his cock. You drag your fingernails across his thighs, delighting in the way the dresser shakes behind you as he pushes and pulls against it.

You take the very edge of your finger and gently remove that glistening drop, hearing Copia’s breath catch as you inspect it carefully for a moment before gazing up at him with a most innocent expression, bringing your finger to your mouth. You watch his eyes widen while his pupils narrow as he watches you lick his desire from your skin. It drives him mad, his hand coming down to slap yours away from your mouth to accept his searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth with desperation, wrapping around yours in an attempt to taste the saltiness on your tongue.

You pull away sharply and grab his chin, staring into his eyes. His chest heaves, his breath hot against your face.

“Don’t be bad,” you tease.

Copia’s face flushes, but there’s a new sharpness to his gaze, a slow confidence building there.

“Cattivo, amorino? I will show you bad when I have you spread before me,” he promises.

You suck in a breath, a small noise leaving your mouth which absolutely delights him. A smirk twists at his mouth when he catches you moving your hips to try and stifle the pure ache you've felt between your legs since you started to watch him undress. Wanting to gain back control, not finished with the utter worship of your lover's body, you wrap your hands around and squeeze his butt, enjoying the squeak that leaves his mouth as you pull his hips close to you once more.

You begin to lavish his thighs with kisses and bites, sucking hard on the pliant skin of his inner thigh. Copia buries his fingers in your hair. Your fingers knead and prod, massaging his thighs in tandem with your kisses. Each sweep of your lips in that special crease where his thigh meets the pubic area has him keening, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Copia's hips stutter against your touch, humping at the air. His cockhead is swollen and red, weeping and desperate.

You turn your attention to his other thigh, not willing to leave a single inch of these deliciously plump areas untouched. You bite at him and pull just a little, the skin jiggling back into place and he jumps, a high-pitched moan escaping him. You glance up at him. He's breathing heavily, his lips parted, wet around the mouth. His eyes are tightly shut, and the sweetest little "ah, ah, ah"s leave him as his entire body positively shivers under your ministrations.

"Copia," you say his name softly, your hand raising to grab the flesh of his belly.

His head shoots down and he opens tear stained eyes, his face open and pleading.

"I love you," you tell him. You try to infuse your words with every bit of honesty and truth.

His bottom lip quivers as he smiles, his hands leaving your hair to cup your face. He looks at you as if you are the only thing in his world that matters. You are the only thing in his world that matters.

"And I love you," he whispers. "So much. So deeply. I love you."

Keeping eye contact, you cup his balls with one hand, your other hand wrapping around the hot flesh of his cock. Copia's fingers tighten around your cheeks, and he gasps, his hips jumping. He presses his forehead against yours, whispering a string of unintelligible Italian as you pump your hand back and forth. He arches into you, thrusting himself into your hand. His movements rock you both, and you allow yourself to simply be taken into his rhythm.

His breath picks up, his whimpers steady and growing louder until he's nearly falling on top of you, his legs giving out. You hold him close as his body shakes head to toe, and you feel ropes of his cum land on your stomach. He becomes pudding in your arms, laying heavily against you on the floor, his face buried in your neck as he attempts to settle his racing heart. Your fingers draw circles on his back, your lips pressing kisses to any piece of skin you can reach in your position.

Copia sighs, his arms tighten around you for a moment before he pulls back, looking at you softly for several seconds and leaning in reverently to kiss your lips.

"Thank you," he breathes against them. "You don't know how - " His voice breaks and he goes silent.

You cup his face much the way he did yours and kiss his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids.

"You're perfect, just the way you are," you say.

He wobbly smiles and buries his face against you once more. You allow yourself to be lost in his embrace, warm and content, until you feel him begin to nibble against your neck, his mustache scratching against your skin.

"Amore," his voice is a purr. "Remember what I said about having you spread before me?"

****

The next morning, you wake with bleary eyes, stretching, enjoying how relaxed your muscles feel while the throb between your legs reminds you of just how grateful Copia was the night before.

Speaking of...your eyes do not find him beside you in the bed, and you scan the room until they fall on him standing once more before the mirror.

He's completely nude, a cup of coffee in one of his hands and he turns this way and that as he admires the bruises littering his belly and thighs. He chuckles softly and slaps a hand to his belly.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror and they are warm and happy.

#FUCKIN LOVE THIS #💥💳💥💥💳💥💥💳#cardinal copia #ghost bc #copia #cardinal copia fanfiction

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