#copia imperator x reader

[ficandkaboodle]

The Stroke of Midnight (Copia x Fem!Reader) - NSFW

A/N: Veteran smut-writers, y'all deserve a hillside of marigolds and picnics complete with pasta and endless breadsticks 🫡 (Seriously, though, thank you to all who've put up with me on this beast. It put me on life-support just long enough to finish it in time! Y'all deserve the pasta picnic and some cookie boxes with dope-ass cookies) It’s my first attempt at non-blurb smut so you’ve been warned… Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 5897. Shoot dang, almost made it to 5900! CW: Reader and Copia are buzzed so expect many, many references to alcohol and its consumption. And you know what happens when Copia gets buzzed . . .👀 So on that note . . . MDNI for sexy times while intoxicated!

Shady business and unfeasible expectations be damned (or perhaps blessed): the Satanic Church knew how to throw an actually good New Years Eve party. Of course, it would've been given enough if it relied solely on the expectation that alcohol flowed like water. But no: They went the extra mile and actually included food. Not dinky little cocktail wienies and room temperature hors d'oeuvres –  honest to Beelzebub food!

Now that was a commitment to making sure everyone in the congregation was having a good time, in your opinion. Everywhere you looked, there was some form of excitement: Siblings dancing; Clergy members opening party crackers while drunkenly cackling at the curse of glitter they'd inflicted on each other; ghouls challenging each other to shot-downing competitions; and everything in-between.

In short, it was a beautiful bacchanalia with which to welcome another year of spreading the Old One's word.

The only thing that could make it actual perfection, though? Perhaps if your boyfriend of a month and a half were actually by your side. Or, at the very least, within eye shot!

You weren't entirely shocked that he'd disappeared. Being Frater Imperator, it was only an expectation that he might get pulled away for some ass-kissing from residential and visiting eminences alike. But it had been almost half an hour, and your own friends had wandered off to makeout or have other types of fun with their own significant others at this point.

Far be it from you to consider yourself clingy – you liked your independence. But . . . Okay, maybe some sappy part of you still lingered inside, coloring your thoughts and expectations. Specifically, they were colored with the same black and pink of Copia's lips.

Part of you wondered what cheesy holiday romcom you were trying to replicate, holding out for something as cliche as a kiss on New Years. You’d even gotten dolled up in a cutesy mini dress like one you’d probably see in such a sappy flick!

But then again, Lilith and Eve sinned so that man could be born and kiss the way that he did. Deadline aside, getting one at anytime tonight would be the perfect assurance that you were truly entering a brand new era of your life.

So . . . It was probably understandable that you may have looked a little pouty to the sober-enough onlooker. Your eyes scanned the crowd, taking a sip of the cocktail you'd been nursing in order to pacify yourself. By now, you were starting to realize a burning hum in your ears and cheeks as the alcohol began to seep into your blood.

You were beginning to contemplate giving in and venturing to the snack table for some garlic-dipped pita chips (you'd been staring longingly at them since you first arrived, only holding off because of the coveted Kiss), when –

There! Finally! You knew that jacket! It's hard not to, considering it was a glittery gold. It caught so much light that it was frankly a wonder how you hadn't found his gilded disco ball ass sooner. Especially given how . . . awkward his movements are. Uneven, always moving too far left, then too far right before barely uprighting and –

Oh. Oh no.

At one point, he stumbled to a wobbly stop, head cocking and eyes squinting before flying open wide.

A smile grew on Copia’s face as his arms flew up in front of him, hollering out a notably slurred, "There she iiiisssss! Amore mio, la mia vita, la mia mela – " He paused to make a singular yet violent hiccup. "Mela alla cannelaaaaa!!"

You met him halfway in his path towards you, worried that he might collapse on the marble floor if you didn't at least try to catch him. Copia wasn't an especially heavy person but in his drunken state, he seemed to disregard the courtesy of not foisting his entire self onto you. Instead, he was far too focused on hugging you close, mushing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Ahhh, topina. I -hic- missed you!" Your nose wrinkled as a waft of a powerful alcohol flowed down to your nose. You had a bit of a buzz going yourself but at least you had a cute little cocktail to thank for it. Judging by your burning olefactories, Copia was on some of the harder stuff.

"I – ugh – I missed you, too," you responded carefully. It was an awkward act to try and balance the remainder of your drink while also getting Copia to balance flat on his own two feet but you somehow managed. Call that a New Year’s Eve Miracle. "Geez, what happened to you?"

You may as well have told a corny little joke with how he giggled.

"Some Clergy members gave me some shots of rum from Ja -hic-maica! Coconuts!" You couldn't tell what he was laughing at now: The fun time he was having, or the look of horror on your face. Harder stuff indeed.

Now you had an important decision to make: Either you found a seat, prayed that he sat still long enough for you to build up a plate of fried and greasy foods for him to sober up on; or you played the part of the boring old partner and marched him to his chambers for an early evening (well, as early as 11:18pm could be considered).

You heard a sigh slither into the middle of your thoughts as Copia's arms wrapped around you once more, nudging you back into him. The threat of him putting his weight back on you was enough for you to come to a quick decision: Sober him up just enough to where he could take ten steps without the threat of collapse, then take him to bed. With how he was standing, there was just no way you were going to be able to make your way to the other side of the Great Hall, never mind the other side of the building.

You felt confident with your choice just by the journey to a free chair and table alone.

"Okay, oookay," you grunted as you tried to angle his rump into the seat. Copia let out a disappointed sound too young for someone of his age as you gently de-tangled yourself from his embrace. Inconveniences aside, you had to fight back the desire to coo at how adorable he was being. Copia was always affectionate with you, but it appeared that alcohol added a whole different layer to that.

"Don't worry, Caro " you softly assured. "I'm just going to get you a little something to nosh on, okay? I'll be right back. But only if you stay put, alright? If you leave – even if it's just to go find me – I won't be able to find you. So can you be a good boy and do that for me? Stay put?"

When you saw his expression collapse into a somber pout, you wondered if perhaps he found your tone patronizing. Judging by the sulky "fine" he uttered, however, it was apparent that he was more upset by the fact you couldn't be fused at the hip forever.

You could work with that. It wouldn't be long anyway. Even when you returned with a flimsy red paper plate covered in tortilla chips, a scoop of veggie lo mein, and two egg rolls, you could tell that the look of joy on his face was only meant for you. He would've disregarded the little spread entirely and latched himself back on you if you didn't take the time to place both it and a cup of water before him with the gentle instruction that he tuck in.

"Carefully," you were sure to add. A tipsy gait was bad enough; if he ate himself sick, you'd be even further out of your depth than you were already beginning to feel.

To your relief, he listened, proceeding to nibble on an egg roll's crunchy wrapping. Good. Now all you had to do was sit and wait for his system to clear up a bit. Your back and feet cried with relief as you plopped yourself down on the seat next to him – your first and only real mistake of the evening.

In hindsight, you would compare it to being like a living lava lamp. Maybe there was some science to it or whatever, but you were becoming increasingly unable to apply logic. All you knew was that the longer you sat, the warmer your face began to feel and the more bubbly your brain seemed to become. The flare of alcohol was rising inside of you like a hot river, flowing upwards, into your chest, into your cheeks, and into your brain. You could practically feel your sensibilities flickering like a lightbulb threatening to go out.

Crap. Curse that cute cocktail, it had betrayed you after all! Your eyes fluttered as though that would do literally anything for you besides make you look frazzled.

"Wha’s the matter, Schricchio?" Copia sounded only slightly less slurred, though the fact that he was able to pin your shift in demeanor after only an egg roll and a half stood as a good sign. All the more reason for you to remain firm and stand your ground against the liquid possession threatening to take over your senses.

Copia needed you to be the sober one here, even if he didn't really know it. You shook your head and nudged your cocktail further away from the both of you.

"Bad aftertaste is starting to hit," you claimed. A part of you mourned that you would have to abandon it so soon. The dull pain was slightly remedied when Copia wordlessly offered you a bite from the remainder of his fried treat. It was nice to know that there were some things about Copia that not even alcohol could change.

"Are you mad at me?"

He sounded quiet. The sounds of the party grew softer and softer as you both walked further from the Great Hall. On occasion, you'd pass a couple making out or a Sister of Sin drunkenly sobbing over her phone while her equally sloshed friends warned her against texting "him" back.

Otherwise, though, most of the Abbey's residents and attendees were either back where the action was happening, or making some action happen in their rooms. Which was where you, as a Sibling yourself, would probably be heading to once you got Copia situated in his own quarters. As sweet on you as he was, your relationship was still new; you didn't feel it was right to impose and spend the night without his permission.

And even if you had it, you'd have to second guess if it was a situation where anyone was being taken advantage of. He seemed slightly better than he did nearly half an hour ago, no longer launching himself on top of you in an unsuccessful effort to fuse. Even his balance seemed somewhat improved. However, the rum was clearly still in his system, making his cheeks and nose run red and his sensitivities run tender.

That was probably why he sounded so nervous and shy when he'd asked you his strange question.

You knew he couldn't see the confusion on your face, not when he was trailing behind you, but you nonetheless wore it. "No? Why would you think that?"

You probably weren't convincing, given that you barely turned to glance back at him, but you needed to keep your purposeful stride going. Evidently, Copia had a better handle of his alcohol than you did, seeing as the bit of egg roll you'd eaten did virtually nothing for you.

If you broke the intense concentration it was taking for you to avoid wobbling, your barely concealed cover would be blown – and you'd probably faceplant and force a buzzed old man to drag you off somewhere to hide your shame. He’d probably throw out his back and then you’d both enter the new year with wounded bodies and wounded pride.

Copia worried his bottom lip. "For getting silly. And for making us leave the party early."

You nearly scoffed with amusement. Did he really think that that would be all it took to upset you? The poor dear, so darling and worried even when on the brink of being absolutely sauced.

You sighed, the fruity smell of your cocktail fluttering back at you. "Issa New Year's party, Co: Everyone is drunk."

Including me, you thought with guilt. You winced as you realized a bit of slur was beginning to drip into your speech but carried on. "But I dun really care about everyone; I care about you. And a little while ago, I was worried our dear Frater was going to get himself hurt, y'know?"

"I know . . ." he mumbled. The hushed tone of his voice implied a guilt of his own, and it hurt your heart to hear him like that.

You knew good and well that Copia's onstage persona was more confident and bombastic than who he really was offstage. But to see him question or be uncertain about something still tugged a saddening chord inside you. And the alcohol no doubt made it worse . . .

Fuck it. Your conviction to maintain speed was tossed out the nearest window as you slowed your pace until you were right alongside your glittery guy.

"Hey." You entwined your fingers with his, flesh meeting warm leather. At fifty-something years-old, Copia wore the expression of a young child experiencing the wonder of their crush talking to them. Even in your fizzling state, you adored it and hoped you'd remember it forever.

"I mean it."

You gave his hand an affirming squeeze. "I was worried about you, y'know?" The cocktail told you to lean in and burrow against his arm, and you found yourself obliging. The sequins of his coat weren't the most welcoming texture, but the fact that they were on him made them 100 times more bearable to you.

"I wan' take care of you . . . 'Cause you're mine." Welp. There went the goal of trying to bite back your slurring. But Copia didn't seem to mind. Far from it, if his response was anything to go by, in fact.

Returning the gentle squeeze, he sighed dreamily. "You're so nice . . ."

You lightly giggled either from the cocktail further encroaching your senses or from feeling your partner press a small kiss to your hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Frater."

You felt him nuzzle his nose against the spot a kiss had previously been place, then a flutter of a deep inhale and respective exhale. "'Smell nice, too . . ." You almost wanted to make a sarcastic comment about how sure, the residual smells of debauchery from the party definitely made for an intoxicating bouquet. But as his hand released yours, only to wander to your waist, you couldn't help but feel that might've actually been apt in this moment.

A gasp popped from your lips, followed by a light squeal of delight and ticklishness as he gave the tender flesh a teasing squeeze. Your reflexive wiggling only stopped when his other hand crept further up your back. As he drew your bodies closer, you couldn't help but notice how his personal heat felt . . . more intense. Even in the drafty halls of the old structure, Copia was more than enough to set your cheeks on fire.

Well, that, and the intoxication wafting from him.

The gleam of his left eye pierced through the darkness like the stare of a predator on prey. And even in the haze of euphoria, there was a steadiness in them that made sure to lock in on you and only you.

"You feel nice . . ." The low rumble of his voice made a shudder run through you.

Oh, yeah: That Jamaican rum was still there. And no amount of food or water was going to hold it back from taking control of your Copia. Like a devil lying in wait, it struck at the perfect time: A barely-lit corridor, no Siblings or Ghouls or Clergy patrolling, far enough away so that the sounds of the party were just barely above a loud whisper.

Even a more sober you wouldn't have stood a chance. Petrified with lust and intrigue, you were the perfect kill. The rough kiss he pressed to your lips came easily, and you could only welcome it with a heady moan.

The tastes of cocktails and hard rum mingled together between your tongues, overpowering any other taste including your own. In your increasingly buzzed state, you were beginning to understand why perhaps Copia bothered to drink more than one shot of rum: At least when coming from him, it tasted diabolically divine.

A soft whimper for more filled the space between your separated lips, then muffled and obliged when they wetly reunited once more.

Uncoordinated and stumbling footsteps echoed through the corridor as you felt Copia gently but insistingly ushering you backwards until your back found purchase against the wall of an alcove.

There was a stark juxtaposition in that moment, where the cold and uneven stone biting into your bare back urged you even closer against the burning, soft hold of your beloved. The contrast had a dizzying effect, and you weren't sure which temperature made your nipples pebble beneath your clothing more as you released a trembling sigh.

Your thighs twitched out of reflex but that was all the rum demon needed to secure yet another opportunity to take and take. A low, spicy, coconut-scented moan was coupled with gloved hands removing themselves from the curve of your waist and back before returning to your body – with one traveling upwards to your chest and its twin sloping downward to grip at the meat of your hip.

In the short time you'd been an official couple, Copia had made many things clear: That he was the sort to treasure the one he loved, and that he had a fondness for breasts of all shapes and sizes had been but a few of them. And given how he gently cupped yours, relishing in its weight and warmth against his palm, it was apparent that this held even through the haze of inebriation. Not even the ambitions of the rum could blind him to the want of cherishing your body.

If he'd only remained fondling you, you would have been plenty happy. Both parties were enjoying themselves as Copia's thumb glided back and forth over your nipple as though it had found a new toy to play with; and the bead itself seemed to crave his stimulation even through the material of your dress, bending to his touch and tickling your senses.

But with a hardening grip, you were reminded of where his other hand had gone. It pinned your hip as close to the wall as possible, not allowing for even the slightest wriggle away.

"Amore." A single word made uneven by laborious panting. But even then, you knew what he intended: He needed you to stay put, to not move an inch. All the easier for him to position his hips against yours.

Even though your dress made the contact somewhat awkward, Copia's reaction portrayed utter bliss. It was just enough for his hardening dick to become aware of even the slightest softness of your mound. That was all it took for his head to tilt back to release a sound that combined a whine of pleasure with a groan of hunger.

He gave the connection a tentative movement, pressing himself against a slot only the barrier of clothing prevented him from fully entering. The friction proved to be all he needed to give your warmth a few more, testing thrusts before giving way to more frequent, eager, and harder ones.

When his hardness finally found the tenderness of your awakening clit (as evidenced by the full-body jolt and hiccuped, "Oh!" you gave), he knew he'd finally found the angle he wanted.

In the nanoseconds between his hips pulling back and rushing forward, you found yourself just sober enough to remember something. You had never paid mind to because it appeared to just be rumors from ghouls and slander from the Ministry's former director.

But as Copia's hips began to dig into yours, accompanied by hot pants that fanned against your face, you had confirmation: The Frater, when just drunk enough, loved a good frottage.

You squeaked with warm delight as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, forcing your abdomens closer as your lower bodies began to meld together in one humping blur. He, of course, accepted the embrace, shakily endearing you as "Schricchina" as your cute little noises continued.

What probably had once housed something as insignificant as a potted plant was quickly becoming the world’s smallest shrine to lust. The liturgy came in the form of whimpers and moans, your prayers coming from slurred utterings of "please"s and "fuck"s and garbled Italian he had yet to teach you the meanings of.

When it wasn't being attacked with sloppy, tonguing kisses, your mouth hung open, puffing out small pants and tiny "oh"s. You didn't care how you must have looked as drool threatened to fall from your lips; all you cared about was getting Copia to nudge at your swelling clit again and again and again and so on until you grew tired. (Which, of course, would be never.)

The glittery sequins of his jacket bit into your fingers as they gripped against his back and shoulders, but you felt none of it. Nor did you feel the grit of the alcove wall against your back as Copia's feverish movements caused your body to rock against it.

If it wasn't the feel of his hands squeezing and playing with you; his mouth nipping and sucking and licking at whatever flesh he could reach; or the enthusiastic thrust of his dick searching for your wet warmth, then you weren't physically or mentally able to pay it any mind.

Copia himself didn't seem to know what to do with himself; caught in a stupor of his own desires, he wanted to do it all, taste it all, and feel it all. His forehead would press against the junction of your neck, only for him to raise almost immediately so that he could carve his teeth there before applying wet suckles there to salve the reddening spot. His hands would leave their positions, only to instantly regret it and miss the bounce of your breast and the twitching of your hips with every thrust he gave.

He was delirious in a concoction of his own drunkenness, lust, and greed, and he only wanted it more. Unfortunately, this current position, with how your dress lay over your thighs, wasn't going to cut it! A growl rumbled from deep within his heaving chest as he roughly gripped your thigh before hoisting it up to rest against his hip. Your body would have slipped from the position if not for his own thick thigh coming up to seat half your jiggling ass against.

The change in positioning was awkward only for the amount of time it took for him to assure you were situated into place. Otherwise? The blast of pleasure was immediate. With your thighs now properly spread, so, too, did your lips, causing your wetness an easier escape to be collected by your panties. Every thrust against them smeared your slick and created a sticky sound that only seemed to spur Copia on once he realized it lay beneath the rustling of your clothing and your collective noises.

Gritting his teeth did nothing to sharpen the oozing, rasping purrs of "Yes"s. The mantra almost sounded as though he were even thanking you; for what, you were in no headspace to determine. All you knew (or cared to know) was that the feelings were mutual.

"A-Amore," he managed to wantonly string together. "A-are you cl-close? You gonna cum with me?"

His voice had gone husky by now, but even the roughened edges couldn’t take away from how pleading he sounded. The effect it had on you was almost shameful as you could feel your walls clenching, grasping desperately for a dick that wasn’t even inside it yet. A moan, the loudest you’d uttered yet, burst forward from your awaiting lips.

"Yes, yes, yes! Please! Right there, Co, right there –!!" All you could do was murmur mindlessly, begging, pleading for him to just. Keep. Going. There! And ever the dutiful lover, your Frater was more than happy to oblige.

Through eyes fluttering through wave after wave of sensation, you could make out how your lover’s expression began to tighten. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth wore into his kiss-swollen lip. It was as though he were concentrating. And judging by the increase in tempo and form, he very well may have been.

Thrusts that had been straight forward until now began to curve and rotate, not at all unlike the effortless hip movements he would perform during his frontman days. The devilish thrusts that just watching footage of would send your pussy salivating and craving him. Feeling them on you, experiencing how direct they were, how thoroughly they hit all the sweet spots on such a small target –

You could've broken into sobs with how good the friction felt. How every streak of his cock left a trail of blissful fire lapping at your needy little clit. Your hips would trail after his own, desperately trying to mimic his movements and catch each rut his body applied to yours.

Your breaths pitched higher and higher as words melted into incoherent, single syllable sounds. If any more direction for what you needed to get off were required, you would have to fight to give them form. It was perhaps by sheer luck (or the interference of Asmodeus himself) that all Copia needed was to listen to your whimpers, your screeches that only vaguely resembled cries for more, and note how your hands struggled to commit to one place to know precisely what his good girl needed.

You'd long since stopped caring who all heard you – all that mattered was that you came, even if it was only on Copia's clothed cock. And you would have only been able to hear the sounds of your dry humping session, if not for the collective sounds of the Abbey raising in unison.

It rippled from back where the party was at, came from behind muffled doors, was cried out into the night from the rooftops outside:

"TWENTY . . . NINETEEN . . . EIGHTEEN . . . SEVENTEEN . . ."

The numbers were sharp and sobering. The countdown! The New Year!

"C-Copia," you gulped. You tried to reorient your grasp on the man but the continued rolling of his hips made doing so difficult. Your body continued to bounce, threatening your semblance of mind. Worse still, your body continued to gobble up every sensation and threatened to render you no better than a dumb animal once more.

"Copia, the countdown – " You could feel your thighs beginning to quiver, your stomach beginning to do that telltale clench. Your clit popped demandingly as your petals fluttered in their mess. Without thinking, your hand flew to the back of Copia’s head and snagged at the hair.

The shriek this man made! Not only that, but the hold he had on you: Your tugging had clearly registered to his poor brain that this was a demand – he had to go all out. N o w.

". . . ELEVEN . . . TEN! NINE!"

"C-Cara, amore mio, tesoro mio," he practically choked before his words dissolved into a puddle of Italian and English and a third language you couldn't place. The final time he regained any semblance of coherency, it was only to demand one thing:

"Cum."

It was not rugged in any sense. It was husky, rickety. Desperate. For you and only you.

The leg that had been hoisted instinctively curled around Copia’s tensing backside in an effort to pull him in close and keep him in place. His hips stilled in a frozen thrust, tiny quakes shaking between the both of you in the spot you connected most. A white-hot flood overtook his senses, robbing him of the ability to even utter of moan of completion.

But for you, you still experienced everything in one overwhelming blanket: Stars and fireworks unlike those you'd ever seen on New Years flooded your vision. The final rut of his cock striking against your tender nub was all you could feel shocking your entire body, tingling your fingers and toes to the point of numbness. All you could smell was Copia's cologne mingling with the perfume you'd no doubt mostly sweat away. All you could taste was, yet again, the addicting taste you and Copia had created, as his tongue once again swirled into your mouth with an animalistic groan.

And all you heard was a cluttered chorus:

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

The whistling and booming of fireworks roared into the night as distant sounds of cheers and party horns and pots banging pans went off.

They weren't even the first thing you noticed as the waves of your orgasm began to ebb. In fact, even as the familiar sounds and smells of the new year began to wisp into the hallway from windows and passageways alike, all that filled your senses was . . . Copia.

The feel of his warm body slouching against yours, the impact of his orgasm rattling him weary. It was welcoming compared to the sloshed mess he’d been earlier; he hovered as much as himself above you as possible, as though putting his full weight on you in such a state might break you. You noted how his aftershocks caused his hips to reflexively twitch, as though even while overstimulated, his cock still longed to be with you. He grunted softly, quietly every time. The cute little noises and reactions tickled your own sensitive arousal, making your aftershocks vibrate your shivering thighs.

Perhaps egg rolls and party foods weren't what was necessary to sober either party up; perhaps a good old orgasm was exactly what you both needed.

The unfortunate cost, however, was that you now realized the position you both were in. Thank Satan nobody had been in the hallway at any given time. Otherwise, they would've been treated to the image of their dear old Frater Imperator madly humping away in an alcove, cumming at the stroke of midnight, then separating from a fierce tonguing while leaving a strand of spit between both his lips and the lips of his lover.

. . . Wait.

You gulped down some air, trying to even out your still heaving breast. You'd gotten your New Year's Kiss! Sure, it wasn’t the cute, romantic Hallmark movie-style you’d always imagined. But clearly your imagination sucked because this was legions better than anything you could have ever concocted! The absurdity of it all managed to make it through the still evaporating fuzz of your mind. You couldn't help but giggle breathlessly, causing your tired old man to look at you nervously.

"W-what? Is – Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his sobering up giving way to nerves and insecurity.

You tried to catch your breath to form the right words, but Copia couldn't help but babble on even through burning lungs.

"I'm so sorry! I – I was being stupid and horny and – "

"H-happy," you paused to gulp, "new year. Amore mio."

You inhaled just enough to soothe your lungs before leaning in for a kiss. It had much less tongue than most of the ones you'd shared this evening, but it was filled with passion regardless.

You didn't see how his eyes widened with shock, given that your own drooped shut, but you could feel how he quickly got over it just in time to return it. He even trailed after your lips as they separated. You would have gladly met him halfway once more, but you really needed to breathe. Even if the once crisp air had since turned hot and stinking of alcohol and sweat. And faintly of slick.

. . . Y’all really needed to get out of this nook.

You grunted lightly as you moved your thigh down from its perch over Copia's own. While the position had been blissful in the moment, you knew you were probably going to need to sleep on a heating pad tonight. But even before that . . . you were going to need a shower. The slick in your panties was cooling fast in the chilly January air, creating an uncomfortable feeling that squished against your thighs with every movement. Really, a bath was more preferable for such a mess but the communal bathrooms offered no such option.

You winced as you realized how wobbly you now stood even with the wall of the alcove supporting you from falling backwards. That shower was going to be difficult . . .

"U-uh." Your eyes flew up to a now sheepish-looking Copia. The redness on his face and ears no longer came from the rum demon possessing him, but clearly from that cute, almost schoolboyish nature he tended to have whenever it concerned you.

". . . Yes?"

"W-well. If it's okay with you, I – The Imperator Suite!" He paused, realizing he'd probably been a bit too loud. "I mean. The Imperator Suite: It – there is a bathtub. It’s really nice. Gets the best water and. And seeing as we both –  Er, I made us both a mess, I think it's only fair if . . . If –  And only if you're okay with it – If you'd like to maybe clean up . . . with . . . me? And then we can relax and cuddle and . . . "

His voice trailed. He cringed. Eyes screwing shut and all. As though he hadn't just dry humped the bejesus out of you in a hallway where you could've easily been caught.

Damn this adorable man.

You hummed adoringly as you placed a hand to his warm cheek, prompting him to look at your post-orgasmic haze.

"I would really like that, Frater," you assured.

You could have collapsed right then and there was his gloved hand overtook your own in a loving hold before bringing it to his lips for its own kiss.

No, really. You absolutely could have: The final wisps of sexual adrenaline had begun to give dissipate, leaving the full aches and pains of grinding at such an awkward angle (and with your back pressed against a stone wall, no less) to truly kick in. Copia, too, for all that limber hip action was worth, began to feel a dull soreness heat up in the bones.

It was going to be a long trek to the Imperator Suite, you both realized.

But between the hisses of discomfort from wet undergarments, the quiet "ouch"s, and assurances of how he had a stash of Tylenol back in his nightstand drawer, you were still glad for the experience.

Hand in hand, you weren't hobbling into the new year alone.

[ghostchems]

a spanking - frater imperator x female!reader

author’s note: 18+! mdni! exactly what it sounds like… thank you ghost for releasing a chapter and making me crank out 1.5k words of frater filth. ao3 link.

Frater Imperator has been increasingly irritable the closer the new tour dates and album approaches. To add fuel to the fire, he’s been waiting on his new office space to be complete and he’s currently camped out in an unoccupied room that is unequipped for his role. He's been having angry outbursts, peppered with expletives, as his frustration mounts. The shift away from being in the spotlight seems to be wearing on him particularly hard. Despite the rising tensions, the ghost project continues to progress with Frater's twin taking the lead.

The Staff are caught in the middle.

You’re a transplant from America, having fled due to the increasingly hostile environment. But now that you’re there, there is so much pressure. Most days you return to your quarters with your head spinning, unsure of how things will all tie together in time. And you feel bad for him — of course you do. Frater feels tossed aside but he *is* important and on good days, he’s a sweet man. Always asking about family and pets, how you’re feeling, if you’re enjoying the weather…

But you're starting to see another side of him lately. Change is in the air.

“Your habit is, eh, shorter today, Sister.” His gaze falls to your legs, his voice more rough than you’re used to. It pulls you from your work, collating production packets for the tour crew. Your hands immediately fall to your hem to tug it down, though you know it won’t do much. The thick fabric barely shifts an inch.

You try to keep your voice steady as you reply, "Laundry was backed up this week, Frater. This was all that was available."

He tsks, his eyes still wandering over your exposed flesh. "Come here." Frater beckons for you to come closer, his hand outstretched in a gesture that leaves no room for refusal. Despite your apprehension, your feet carry you forward until you stand before the couch he's using as a temporary workspace. His nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, and you can't help but notice how his fingers twitch against the bright yellows cushions.

“I’ve been… thinking that perhaps I need some… stress relief. Only seems fair that you help me… unwind." His voice drops an octave, sending a shiver down your spine as he pats his thigh in invitation.

A darker side had always lurked within him. When he first arrived as Cardinal, glimpses of it surfaced, though they faded as he settled into his role. But now, as his former comforts are stripped away, that cruelty and hunger for control began seeping through the cracks once more. Trapped in this temporary space with him, you feel that same darkness reaching for you.

Hesitantly, you begin to move toward his lap. How could you say no to Frater Imperator? You would be lying to yourself if you hadn’t thought about him in this way.

He shakes his head slowly, a wolfish smile spreading across his face. "No no, Sister. Across my lap." You freeze, eyes widening until his hands take you by the waist, ultimately guiding you until you're bent over his thighs. Your habit rides up further, a heavy palm resting against the small of your back to keep you in place.

"Such a pretty thing," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His free hand traces idle patterns along your thigh, each touch making you shiver. "But you've been distracting me. Making it so hard to focus."

You bite your tongue, wanting to point out that you aren’t the cause for all of this chaos. But all the same, your heart races as you feel the press of his fingers through thin fabric. Something in his tone, in the way he holds you here, tells you there's little point in protesting. And truthfully, some part of you doesn't want to.

The leather of his gloved fingers skim the hem of your habit, pushing the fabric up to reveal black lace underwear. He exhales sharply at the sight. His palm smooths over the curve of your backside, the cool material rubbing over your flushed skin. The touch is both possessive and exploratory, making your breath catch in your throat.

"Tell me, Sister, have you been thinking about this too?"

Your throat is dry, trying to swallow and find your voice, but all that comes out is a shaky gasp as his fingers continue to explore. Your hips shift against his thigh, drawing a sinister chuckle from above. Another sharp crack of leather against skin echoes through the room as his palm connects with your already burning cheek. You cry out this time, the pain less starting than before.

"Such lovely sounds you make," he purrs, beginning to alternate between gentle, probing caresses and stinging, harsh spanks. Tears begin to sting the corners of your eyes.

“Who is your Papa?”

The question hangs in the air. You’re new, having not been around when he *was* Papa but you know better. You know not to disappoint him now, not when he quite literally has you over his knee.

"You are, Papa..."

“Good girl.”

He delivers one final resounding slap to your tender backside, the sharp sting making you gasp and arch against him. Your eyes are squeezed shut, ragged gasps falling from your lips. He coos, shushing you as he delicately runs his fingers along the edge of your underwear. You relax in his lap for a moment until he’s moving you, firmly gripping your hips to shift you upright. His strength surprises you, effectively positioning you so that you’re straddling his lap.

The evidence of his arousal is unmistakable beneath your dampened panties, his pants visibly straining between your thighs.

“You’ve been in need of some relief, haven’t you? I’ve seen you around the Ministry… always so tense, hm?” His gloved hands splay possessively across your ass cheeks again, kneading the sensitive skin that's still warm from his earlier attention. Frater guides you forward, encouraging you to gently rock your hips against him.

“*Oh*…” you groan out, clutching his shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through you. His hands directing your movements, setting a steady rhythm that’s smooth compared to the harshness of how he spanked you. His eyes have glazed over, lips parted slightly as his hands squeeze your ass tighter. You can feel every breath he takes, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your palms. A soft groan escapes his throat as you grind down particularly hard.

"Do you like this, Sister? Do you enjoy being used like this by your Papa?” His voice is strained with need, his eyes boring into your own.

"Y-yes... yes, Papa," you stammer breathlessly, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and fear.

His hands slide up to grip your waist, just feeling you as you start to lose yourself. You begin to roll your hips against him, a sick kind of need filling you. His grip on you loosens, allowing you to get what you need from him without restraint. A deep, almost inhuman growl rumbles from his chest. You find your eyes start to close, your mouth dropping open in a silent moan as your thighs start to tense.

Frater’s hand suddenly has you, gloved fingers digging into your cheeks to force your eyes open. You come undone with a whimper. His hips buck up against you as he reaches his own climax with a strangled groan, the evidence of his release dampening the front of his tailored pants.

The both of you are in limbo for just a moment. Your head swims as you try to catch your breath, still straddling his lap. Your thighs quiver with aftershocks as he smooths his gloved hands over your hips in soothing circles. The room feels too warm, too close, but you can't bring yourself to move just yet, until he begins to shift you off of his lap.

"Thank you, baby. I needed that." His voice sounds lighter now, almost back to normal as he helps you stand. "Go home for the night, yes? Get some sleep. I want you back here first thing tomorrow—looking fresh and ready for our morning meeting." He flashes you that charming smile, the one that makes you forget the darkness that lurked in his eyes just moments ago.

"Yes, Frater.” You turn toward the door, legs still trembling from the evening's activities. The heat from your spanking still radiates through your body, and you're acutely aware of the wetness between your legs.

"Ah! Before you go..." He catches your wrist, stopping you. "Leave your panties with me."

A flush rises to your cheeks as you comply, hooking your thumbs under the damp lace and sliding them down your legs. The fabric catches slightly on your shoes before you manage to step out of them. Your hands tremble slightly as you place the black lace panties into his waiting palm.

His fingers curl around them possessively, and he brings them to his nose, inhaling deeply. "Such a good girl for Papa," he murmurs, tucking them into his pocket. "Now run along."

You *hurry* from his temporary office on shaky legs with a sore ass.

[avocado-writing]

worship

I just joined this fandom and unfortunately have gone insane for this man. It’s my first Ghost fanfic so please be kind, sorry if it’s ooc, I’m still learning! Ty to @lady-jane3 for proofreading! (sorry for bad Italian)

rating: e

words: 1.2k

tags: smut throughout (p in v)

How you both live for these nights. 

These nights where the sky is a dark velvet, its richness only exaggerated by the candles you light around the bedroom. The intimate caress of this chamber for just the two of you. This place is a sanctum, an altar, a place of worship.

The object of that worship being your lover’s body is a pivotal part of the ministrations. It’s what He would want for you, after all.

You remember when you first started these trysts. He was, of course, just Copia back then: awkward and fumbling and oh so sweet. How couldn’t you be drawn to him? You’d been friends before anything else, gravitating towards each other as the quieter ones in your classes. Him opening up like a flower as you chatted over coffee afterwards, revealing the petals of his soul under your soft scrutiny. Coaxing out that beautiful crooked smile of his, the one he was too bashful about to reveal in front of others in fear it would make him seem silly. 

And, well, he was a bit silly. But in a way you came to adore.

You’d spent more nights than you could recall chasing him down the empty halls on his damned tricycle, the two of you breathless with laughter. Then one night you’d tumbled into his lap and he’d looked down at you, smile faltering on his lips as the mood changed to something far more intense; and he’d kissed you, breaking the rosy tension.

You’d buried your hand in his robes and tugged him closer. Run your hand along his jaw. Swallowed the moans that spilled into your mouth. Lay there on the floor when you realised your desperate bodies couldn’t hold you up any more, legs tangling together like a couple of hormone-heady teenagers. 

“Copia…” the choke of his name from your lips had made him growl. “Your quarters are closest, yes?”

It took him a moment to register what you meant, but when he did his pupils swelled to nearly eclipse the colour in his eyes. 

“Sì. Yes, Satan. Let’s go.”

That first worship has been full of wandering, squeezing hands and awkward kisses as you mapped out each other’s bodies. He’d cum far too quickly and he looked like he wanted to evaporate from this mortal coil, the red blossoming on his cheeks and invading his entire face. Tried to stutter out an apology but you’d pressed your lips to his and encouraged him to caress you until he was hard again.

It was messy, exploring, perfect. The smooth slide of his cock into your needy cunt, his thrusts getting surer and surer as he worked out what made you mewl. How could anything ever top this?

The two of you never worshipped with anyone else after that.

He became cardinal next. Of course he did; you never had any doubt, he was so sincere in his faith. You’d lain with Copia to show the Dark One your joy at his elevation. You remember the way he held your arms behind your back and bounced you on his length, pulling out to the tip before slamming back home. You’d thrown your hair back exposing the long line of your throat to him, encouraging him to bite, to mark. Oh, how he did.

“Sei uno spettacolo,” he’d muttered, eyes transfixed on you as if you were some holy symbol at which to prostrate himself. Perhaps, to him, you were. How could you ever deny him? He held your body and your heart by now. 

Then, however, he was put in charge of the Ghost project. And he was gone for weeks on end. Your duties kept you at the monastery, and oh, it was such torture. Phone calls rambling long into the night where you talked about nothing, anything. Occasionally dipping into phone sex when the urge got too great, getting off to each other’s voices was never the same…. but it meant that when he returned things were that much more satisfying. You practically ripped his cassock off, kissing messily down his pale chest, taking his nipples into your mouth and biting until he groaned. Not finishing that night until you were covered in his seed, him sticky with your release. Sleeping in til noon the next day and only rising when a Sibling came to bring you both breakfast, squeaking in surprise at the messy tangle they’d caught you in.

It got worse when he was made Papa. For a while, anyway. Less time together. More longing. Oh, that awful, soul-wrenching longing. Tumbling into each other’s arms when he returned, then into bed when your bodies couldn’t hold it back any longer. Joining flesh in worship. Pinning him down onto the mattress with such force that he wept your name in pleasure by the time you were done with him.

And then… this. Frater. Different, administrative. At the monastery practically permanently. Though he couldn’t hide his disdain at not being with the band the blow was somewhat softened by the plush of your legs spread open whenever the two of you desired. Now you can worship for as long as you want, as often as you feel the urge. 

You feel the urge a lot. Just you and him. Perfection. 

Really it has long since gone past worship. It is just about being with the man you love… though, you could ask, what is holier than being one flesh with the head of His clergy? 

“Your mind is, eh, wandering, amore?”

The candles flicker warm orange light across his face. Your lover is kissing along the plain of your stomach; he’s already luxuriated between your legs, your thighs decorated in black paint smeared from his lip. You laugh gently - he can always tell when something dances across your thoughts. There’s no hiding from your Copia.

“I was thinking about you, love. Us. How lucky I am.”

He’s pleased with that, his face lighting up. He surges forwards to kiss you and you can taste your release on his tongue, tangy and sweet. 

“I’m the lucky one, I think. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world and the Dark One let me have you all to myself…”

You feel his cock press against you and you gasp, you always gasp, in anticipation of how he will make you feel. He presses inside you in one thrust and your body eagerly accepts him, his forehead falling to meet yours as he begins to slowly move inside you. He meets that sweet spot buried in your walls and your arms slip around his neck, bringing him closer.

One flesh, one soul. In these moments he is not Cardinal, nor Papa, nor Frater. He is just your Copia. 

A firm hand runs along your leg and he crooks it upwards, allowing himself to push impossibly deeper. You moan into his mouth.

“Copia…”

It isn’t a question but he replies anyway.

“Yes, always.”

He floods you with his release, making you throw your head back in ecstasy. When his cock finishes throbbing he doesn’t pull out, and you remain in an intimate embrace as you kiss him. Eventually he will grow hard again and you will continue - even as a self professed ‘old man’, your body can still get his engine running. He whispers your name like it’s a mantra, a prayer. You grin against his lips.

“My Copia.”

And he is.

[say10ized]

His ass is NOT winning…

[juttytaylorsmustache]

Before sister died, Copia had fully expected his end was near…

He had filled 4 journals up with directions on care for the ministry, ghouls, and clergy members for papa V.

He had spent the last tour making sure the next papal chamber and office was as exquisite and luxurious as possible.

He didn’t know who he would be, nevertheless his own brother. But he wanted the clergy in good hands.

In the desk, a note reads; “I have decided, that while you may make your own decisions as papa, you must expect one from your late predecessor. Please, promise me, you will summon no new ghouls. You see, this era of ghouls are far too capable to end touring now. They will already be heart broken with the loss of me, and won’t know how to continue. Music is the only thing, other than me, that held them together. You must promise me you will have them play whatever music you wish to create.”

Copia knew, that whoever the next papa was, his ghouls would need someone to follow and lean on.

And Copia knew…that it couldn’t be him

But he doesn’t die so it’s ok!!!! :))

[silverofthunder]

☆ serenity ☆

Copia (Frater Imperator) x F!Reader

summary: "Let’s just enjoy this moment like it is."

content: 850 words, fluff, mild hurt/comfort

well, i'm back to these reader inserts finally! it's been a while, sorry. this is just some silly little thing, inspired (shockingly) by the new stuff. 😊 hope you enjoy! 💜

You entered into your and Copia’s shared chambers, closing the door as quietly as possible as you thought that Copia might have been asleep already. You locked the door and dropped the keys to the small counter while kicking off your shoes, heading then straight to your bedroom. The lights were still on and Copia was sitting on the bed, reading a book, glasses balancing on his nose.

A smile, although tired one, rose to your lips as he didn’t look up when you got into the room. If the book was really good, you knew that he would have a hard time concentrating on anything else.

Without saying a word you climbed onto the bed, crawling to him and kissing his cheek. He smiled, gaze still glued to the book, and after a moment of consideration you positioned yourself so that you could rest your head on his stomach.

Copia let out a light ’oof ’ sound as you wiggled a little, searching for the most comfortable way to lay there. As you eventually found it, you let out a sigh, and felt Copia leaning the book against you.

You moved your hand, slipping it slowly under Copia’s shirt and starting to draw patterns onto the warm, soft flesh. Copia twitched a little, drawing out a light chuckle from you before you mumbled a quiet apology.

Copia just hummed and you continued to explore his skin, the weight of exhaustion starting to pull down your eyelids. It was the fight you couldn’t win – it had been a long day and with all the changes that were now happening it was no wonder that you were tired. However, while you were physically exhausted, you couldn’t say the same about your mind. It had a life of its own, and you just tried to keep up with it.

Now there was the new tune repeating over and over again – a very catchy one, you might add. It was kind of annoying but not really in the bad way.

”That song really got stuck into your head?”

”Huh?”

You felt Copia moving the book aside with a sigh, his other hand coming to rest on your shoulder while the other got buried in your hair.

”You were humming it again,” Copia said and you had to bite back the grin that threatened to rise on your lips. You hadn’t even realized that you had been humming it. But it certainly wasn’t the first time you did it.

”Oh, sorry.”

”It’s alright, dolcezza,” Copia spoke, his fingers caressing your head with slow movements. ”As much as I hate to admit it, it’s quite a catchy song.”

Now you couldn’t fight against the grin anymore and you could guess that Copia was rolling his eyes. You knew he didn’t actually hate the song but it was obvious this new era that had started was hard for him. A new position as Frater Imperator and duties that it had brought with, the new Papa and music was a lot to get to used to.

You lifted Copia’s shirt up a bit, revealing a bit more of his stomach, pressing a few light kisses on the happy trail. Another sigh escaped from Copia, this time more due to comfort, you hoped. Copia might have tried to hide it but you were quite good at reading him and knew when he was having some doubts. With everything new it wasn’t wonder he had them. But you also hated to see him thinking that he was useless or replaced just because he wasn’t good enough.

”I can hear you thinking, love.” Copia’s voice sounded a bit amused and you gently poked him to the stomach.

”As if you aren’t doing that, too,” you noted and Copia slid his hand from your shoulder to your face, taking a hold of your jaw and making you look at him.

”I know where this conversation is going,” he said, looking at you with a mix of softness and warning. You smiled at him, trying to look innocent despite knowing it wouldn’t work. He knew you too well, and before you had time to open your mouth, his fingers were on your lips, shushing you.

”No, no, we’re not having that again. I know you’re worried about me but you don’t have to be. I’ll be alright, eventually.”

With a slight nod you told him you understood and he withdrew his fingers from your lips, cupping your face instead. You had to trust his word and just let time pass.

”Let’s just enjoy this moment like it is,” Copia suggested, and you offered him a smile. He smiled back, then making a kissy face and you really wanted to move and kiss him properly. Too bad you were also pretty comfortable in your current position. So instead you did as you had done before, moved slightly to kiss his stomach and continued to give it extra caresses with your hand.

If Copia wanted some peace and quiet tonight, you would gladly give it to him. After all, these kind of moments were always the ones that meant the most.

[papathe5th]

Please, please, please write about reader getting spit roasted by c and v

COME TOGETHER (TOGETHER AS ONE)

.* .* 🐀* . *. .* .* 🦇 * . *•* .* 🦇 * . *. .* .* 🐀* . *.

Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader x Frater Imperator

Words: 3200

Rating: E (explicit)

Tags: power imbalance; degrading language; sweet talk & dirty talk; a bit of praise & a bit of degradation;

.* .* 🐀* . *. .* .* 🦇 * . *•* .* 🦇 * . *. .* .* 🐀* . *.

You’ve been supervising the renovations for Frater Imperator’s office for the past five months. Tonight, you’ve been summoned in person in his temporary working space.

“Here, dolce.” He’s been repeating the line for the entirety of those five months. “My final notes.”

The actual final note was passed to you by a Siblings of Sin that has been working with you side-by-side for five long months: Frater Imperator wanted you to meet him in his office tonight. Alone.

Tonight, you came to him alone. But he already had company.

Papa V Perpetua was wearing his clerical robe, the same black silk garments you’d admired during Black Mass this evening. He filled them well, yet you found yourself undressing him in your mind as you had every night since his return from preaching the Skeleta psalm around the globe. 

You’ve been finding yourself in the chapel every night after the end of his sermon, enjoying the silence alongside him.

This evening, Papa sat in the pew next to you like he had in your fantasies. Like he had seen himself in your fantasies. And he asked you: “Is there something you wanted to tell me?” It didn’t sound like a question, his voice didn’t raise on the last word and his left eye never let you look away.

“Yes, Your Unholiness” you confessed and watched the eye twinkle like the Evening Star. “I’ve been dreaming of you.”

“What am I doing in your dreams?”

“You’re at the pulpit. Your psalms inspire me. Your voice follows me in my sleep.”

“Is preaching all I do in your dreams?” 

The eye shot into yours, and entered the orbit like a burning comet. He had made it inside and could see what was hiding in the back of your mind. 

“No, Papa.” You couldn’t lie to him, but you couldn’t come clean about impure thoughts. He wasn’t the only one starring in them and you doubted that it would please him to hear it. And you wanted to please him. 

His arm was perched on the back of the pulpit, and you felt its heat behind you. He turned up the temperature when he slipped his gauntlet atop your clothed shoulder and slid you closer. 

“Was I doing this?”

His mouth caught yours before words could be formed on the tongue. Not that you had the words for the experience of exhaling your very soul into Papa’s hungry maw. When he breathed life back into you, he had yet to grant you back all of your senses. Or your sense. The words you tried to swallow down your throat then tumbled out of your tongue: “Yes, Frater.”

“What was that?” 

Papa peered into you, pushing through and threading to strip you to the bone. And you feared what he’d find underneath, so you slid to the edge of the pew and escaped his embrace.

“Forgive me, Papa,” you bowed, barely able to hold yourself straight. “Please forgive me.” Your head was down as you watched your feet speed out the chapel door. 

Tonight, there were two twin stars shining upon you in the office you’ve dedicated almost half of the year to. Frater Imperator welcomed you in for the first time instead of you doing it for him. He bowed down and held the door open for you. 

When he opened it, Papa V Perpetua was sitting when on the sofa you and his brother had picked the night he invited you to look at the catalogue with him while sitting in his lap. 

Tonight, Papa’s lap looked inviting, his legs spread like his twin’s had been, stretching his satin skirt and giving you a peak at his ankles. The mitre was missing, but the mask was strapped on as it always seemed to be. The sliver of skin you spotted under the loosened clerical collar got you hot under yours.

“After you, dolce.” Frater followed you to the sofa and sat on the opposite side leaving you with the spot in between him and his brother. 

“Is there something wrong, Your Dark Eminences?” You swallowed, your mouth watering with their scent surrounding you. “Is the room not to your liking?”

Papa ripped your attention away from his brother and rival. “You’ve done a great job with the place,” he smiled ever so slightly, his black lips twitching to uncover his teeth. “I saw the sad state C’s office was in—”

“We’re not here to talk about your lack of artistic eye, V,” Frater fired past you and towards Papa.

“We’re here to talk about your jealousy,” he fired back.

“I am not jealous.” With his own lips pressed together so they wouldn’t stretch into a scowl, Frater caught your attention again. And, with a hand on your thigh, he squeezed your flesh and made your skin burn like he had earlier this evening, while you were perched on his lap. 

You never wanted the fondling or the feeling to stop, but his brother’s title came out of your mouth when he made contact with your sex through your formal dress. 

“We wanted to talk about what’s been going on between the two…the three of us.”

“I apologise for any offence, Your Dark Eminences,” you started reciting the script you’ve written and rewritten in your head.

Papa placed a hand on your shoulder like he had back when it was just the two of you in the pews. “You have nothing to apologise for.” His thumb circled the cramping muscles and you surrendered to the sensation, sitting back on the sofa, into the pillows. And, when he pulled himself closer, you fell against his satin chest. 

“You want my touch, dolce, that much is obvious.” Frater’s fingers reached the intersection of your thighs for the second time tonight. And, this time, they fell wide open for him. “But you want my brother’s, too.” 

“Such a greedy little thing.” You felt Papa’s words before he spoke them into your ear and they shot like lightning down your spine. His chest moved under your head as he inhaled , his nose digging into your hair. “What are we going to do with you?”

“What do you want us to do with you?” 

They were making you beg, that’s what they were doing. You didn’t want their touch. You needed their touch. “Please,” you whined, your spine winding as your back became a bow ready to break at any second. “Please.”

If it weren’t for Papa’s metal talons around your throat and Frater’s fingers sinking into the meat of your hips, you would’ve tumbled off the couch. They saved you from falling, but they also trapped you between the two of them, stretching your body on the length of the sofa. Frater Imperator held your hips high up his leg, his knee between your own thighs, while Papa pressed his chest into your back and held you in place by your throat. 

“Thank you.” You rubbed yourself against Frater’s tailored trousers, slowly so as to not disrupt his fingers' descent into your own trousers. Papa peppered black kisses in the side of your face. Your temple was first, then came time for the cheek to be stamped. 

“You like that?” He spoke against the shell of your ear. “You like my mouth on you?” He pried an answer out of you by pulling on your lobe with his teeth. 

“Yes, Papa,” you moaned, making more room for his mouth by trying to tilt your head to the side. But that tight grip around your throat wouldn’t allow it. And you moaned again.

“Oh, dolce.” Frater unfastened your trousers and you finally had his fingers on your flesh. There was still a layer of leather saparating the two of you, but that made the slide down to your sex a torture so tender you stopped humping his thigh and held your hips high in place. “You called me Papa when I pressed the right button.”

“And you liked it, C,” Papa chuckled into the crook of your neck, teasing the tendon there with his fangs. 

“Shut up, V,” Frater barked, but you felt the weight of his crotch on your knee and it was hard and heavy. “I’m trying to hear those sinful sounds again. I’m going to make you sing, dolce.” His gloved hand was working with your hot and wet sex and you thought it was better that way. 

In your dirty dizzy thoughts, you might’ve burned yourself if it was his bare flesh against yours. 

“Sing for us, angel,” Papa smiled into the side of your neck. Hiis black lipstick was now kiss marks all over your skin, framing the love bites he left behind. “I love this song.”

“Yes. It’s my new favorite song,” Frater laughed, his lungs sounding empty after. 

Between the twins, between the tongue running over your lips and ramming itself into your moaning mouth and the hand making your thighs tremble, you sang for them. 

“Dolce, are you gonna come for us?”

“Come on my brother’s fingers, you filthy little thing!”

And you came on the last note you sang, your body slack on the new sofa and your soul leaving you for the ceiling. 

As you settled down, Papa’s mouth kissed the crown of your head while he threaded his talons through your hair. Frater Imperator used the same hand that tortured you into oblivion to soothe you. He slowly stripped your bottom half of all threads and settled himself between your shivering thighs, then offered that hand to his brother so that he could taste your come on the glove. Through the tears of relief in your eyes, you saw Papa lave the leather with his tongue, his now nude lips wrapping around the middle finger. 

“Sweet, right?” He smirked, proud to have predicted the flavour of his dolce. “I told you.” He pulled away the hand and finished cleaning the taste of you off the glove, popping each fingertip in his mouth.

“The mouth is a treat, too.” Papa grabbed your chin with his gauntlets. “Try it.” Lifting your face and resting the back of your head on his chest, he presented your purses lips to his twin.

And his twin leaned in, latching onto them, licking them, suckling them and eating up all the sounds that came out of your mouth. “Mhm,” he finished up tasting you by sucking on your tongue, and moaning in approval. “E certamente dolce.” 

He was as suffocating as his brother, but you didn’t even bother to breathe while he was sucking the air out of you. Your soul was theirs for the inhaling. Though you’d soon come to know it wasn’t your soul they were trying to own tonight. 

They do not collaborate often, or at all. So you’ve been told. Yet Frater Imperator helped Papa V Perpetua by holding you while he worked on ripping off your clothes, running his sharp-ended gauntlets up and down your torso. And they even agreed in silence to turn you on your stomach in tandem. One pushed your cheek into the soft cushions, the other pulled you up on your knees and up your ass into the air. 

Frater Imperator rose from his side of the couch, caressing the globes of your ass with his gloves still on, denying you his bare skin. And Papa was even crueler with the cold grip of his gauntlet on you. He slid the sharp tips down your spine and made it arch under his teasing touch. His other tips were threading through your hair. 

“Shit,” you squeaked like a toy the twins were squeezing between them. “Oh, shit,” you smothered yourself into the couch, nails digging into the cushions.

“Who do you want inside that dirty mouth?” Papa hooked the corner of your lips with the end of his thumb, pulling your head up and then pressing the soft leather pad of it on your tongue.

“Fra…Pa,” you drooled over his digit, delirious and drenched in your own juices. You needed to be baptised by Papa’s. And Frater Imperator’s.

“Who is this Frappa? Frappuccino? Al Pacino?” 

Papa laughed. If it was at your sorry state or his twin’s reply to the syllables you failed to string together, you didn’t know. All you knew was that the two made too good of a tag team. 

“Put that filthy mouth to use.” Papa put a gauntlet through your hair to guide you towards Frater, his own erection covered in the string of spit he used to stroke it. “Spit on it.”

Papa pulled his thumb out , a thick thread of the spit they were talking about following the tip. His other thumb latched onto his other threads, removing his robe with a button popping pull and then pushing his trousers down his thighs. The saliva wetting his thumb made the glide of his hand down his thick, throbbing shaft smoother.

Frater manifested himself in front of you, manhood in hand, mirroring his twin. 

You did as you were told and was satisfied to see all the spit that you covered his cock with. And Frater had girth, so witnessing how he made all of it shine made you proud. And it made you prouder still to see him shut his eyes against the sensation. “Satanas,” he praised the Dark Lord, and then you. “Sei davvero un angelo.”

“Un angelo caduto.” 

Papa pressed himself against his brother, and brought your head closer to their heads. They were crying for your mouth and you were rolling out your tongue to welcome them in. “You can take both of us, can’t you, dolce?” Frater looked down on you, his cheeks looking as hot as you felt on the inside. Papa’s face paints were over his mouth now, most of it in the form of markings on your own face and neck. 

“Yesh,” you panted, breathing in deep and tasting them in the air. 

Your tongue was all the way out and wet and they bumped their weeping heads on it. The truth was you couldn’t take both their cocks at once, but needed them inside you. And they knew this, petting your hair, stroking your chin and pushing in slowly, sliding against each other's shafts.

“Easy, dolce,” Frater cupped your cheek and caress it, and stroking the bulge his brother made into the side of your face. “Breathe through your nose.”

“Suck,” Papa pulled at the seams of your mouth with a talon, stretching you around their girth. “Fucking suck on it.” 

“Who’s foul mouthed…foul mouthed again?” Frater teased, his breath short while he instructed yours.

“Sssshut up,” Papa sneered, the air they shared between them running low. 

And so was yours. 

Sucking didn’t shut them up, though it did get them both to groan, grabbing onto each other as to not lose themselves inside you.You were overwhelmed, overstuffed and overjoyed to have such an effect on their Dark Eminencies. And when you sucked for a second time and moaned deep in your mouth, Papa pulled at your hair again while his twin released your face.

“Are you touching yourself?” Frater huffed, his hand now reaching behind you and smacking your bottom to stop you. “How dare you?”

You were touching yourself. How could you not? The twins enveloped you with their scent and drowned you with their taste, but neither of them could fill you up. 

“You need a cock on the other end, too,” Papa V Perpetua spit out, spraying your heated forehead with a few flying droplets. “Don’t you, you whore?” He pulled out and slapped you with the cock you’ve been slobbering on.

“All you had to do was ask,” Frater Imperator cooed, cupping your ass and soothing the spot with the same hand that hurt it. He was dripping with your drool when he pulled out, too. Settling on a knee on one end of the sofa, he prepared your entrance with the excess from his erection. 

In front of you, his twin took a knee too. You craned your head towards his cock, tongue reaching for him. Even seeing you eager to take it all didn’t satisfy him. He slapped you with his shaft again. “I want you to use your words.” He dipped his dick into the saliva pooling on your tongue and pulled it away before you could close your lips around it. “Beg for us to fuck you.” 

“Please, Papa,” you whined, nuzzling his shaft as he settled it on your cheek. “Please, Frater.” You wiggled your ass while the other shaft gilded between your ass globes. “Please fuck me.”

“Oh, V.” The man behind you had the hot tip of his dick burning at your entrance. “Wasn’t that the sweetest thing you ever heard?”

“Whenever you’re ready, C.” The man in front of you rolled precum on your lips like a balm. 

Who knew all it took for the twins to come together was you being between the two of them? You were so happy you could cry. And you did. You cried out for them with a cock in your mouth and one in your loins. You cried and the vibrations shook their Dark Eminences like an earthquake.

Frater Imperator stretched you out, slamming his hips against your ass until you collapsed into the cushions and he had to continue drilling you into the couch. 

“That’s it.” Papa petted your head like you were a good dog. And a hard-working whore. He was teaching you how to take his own cock down your throat after all. “Take his cock. Take my cock. All of it. Yes. That’s it. My filthy fallen angel. Take it all.”

His brother curled around your body from behind until the chill of his broach was right up against the small of your back. His hand came around your throat and got a hold of your jaw. “Si, dolce. Bravo, dolce. You look so sinful with a mouthful of my brother’s cock, dolce.”

You were being crushed and rebuilt between their bodies. You were being suffocated with one cock and stuffed with the other. And you are sure your soul was also being skewered by them because it exited your body and you came as it hit the ceiling. 

“There you are, angel,” Papa V Perpetua was the first to greet you back, his cool gauntlet against your burning cheek as he cupped it. 

You tasted salt and it wasn’t just your tears. His come was covering your face and he was careful to get it out of your eye as you blinked back to life. “How are you?”

“Thirsty,” you licked the tip of the talon at the edge of your mouth.

“There you go, dolce,” Frater Imperator kneeled beside his brother, he was holding a cup of water with a Ghost straw in it to drink out of while stretched out on the new sofa. Through the haze over your mind, you saw how disheveled they both were, hair sticking to Frater’s forehead as it fell on his temple while Papa’s make-up was mostly missing, the porcelain skin of his jaw peppered by a black stubble. 

“You shouldn’t move too much,” Frater cleared his voice, looking over you to your legs where the prints of his slaps still felt fresh. The cushions he settled under your ass were sure to be covered with his come. And yours.

“You should take a bath.”

“Can’t we all take a bath?” You asked before your conscious mind could even catch up with what was going on. “I…I didn’t…”

“Sure.” 

“Sure.”

They answered at the same time. And they looked at each other as if they were as surprised by the synchronicity as you and everyone else in the Ministry was.

“Why not?”

“Why not?”

[samhellebore]

“Peacefield, Just for You”

-------

You ask Copia to sing the opening choir of Peacefield

How could he ever refuse you?

-------

It was one of those evenings that carried the quiet kind of stillness only late hours knew how to cradle. The moon hung low, round and drowsy, casting its light through the half-cracked curtains of the Frater Imperator’s quarters. The soft skitters of his rats. A candle burned slowly on the nightstand, its wax pooling patiently like time had nowhere better to be.

You lay curled into Copia’s chest, your ear pressed against the soft fabric of his black shirt, heart syncing gently with the beat of his. His arm was draped around you, his fingers brushing lightly through your hair—absently, lovingly, like he’d done it a hundred times before and would do it a thousand times again.

He smelled like faint incense and his favorite cologne, and something deeper, something older—warm, like pages of a well-read book. You didn’t want to move. The world outside could do whatever it pleased. Here, everything was soft. Safe.

Copia’s voice, when he finally spoke, came like velvet—low and laced with that soft Italian accent that melted the edges of your name. “You still want to hear it?” he asked, like he wasn’t entirely sure he could do it justice.

You nodded against his chest, not wanting to lift your head, only murmuring, “Only if it’s from you.”

He chuckled, a sound like gravel and honey. “Only for you, cara mia.”

There was a pause. A breath. His fingers combed gently behind your ear, and then he began to hum, soft and slow, almost reverent. He wasn’t trying to perform—not like onstage. This was just for you, only for you, and that made it so much more.

Then, his voice wove around the room, threading its way into your heart:

“Pieces of what could have been…”

He held you a little closer as he sang, like those words were meant to keep the broken things at bay. You could feel the rumble of his chest beneath your cheek, the way the song lived in him even now.

“Pieces of a shattered dream…”

There was sorrow in it, but no bitterness. Just understanding. Empathy. A quiet kind of healing that settled into your bones like warmth from a fire after a storm.

“Child, take your dark memories…”

Copia’s hand moved slowly, stroking your hair like he was easing the weight of every memory you’d never wanted to keep. The ones that still lingered in the corners of your mind.

“Like seeds, and plant them far from here…”

He paused a moment, letting the silence echo just a little longer. Then came the part that felt like a spell—a blessing in song.

“Sow them…”

His voice was so gentle now, like wind through wheat fields.

“Feed them…”

The candle’s flame swayed faintly, like it too leaned in to listen.

“Through shine and rain…”

Copia’s voice wrapped around you like a wool blanket, every word a thread pulling you closer to something warm, something kind.

“Your love…”

His lips pressed into your hair now. You felt him smile, faint but real.

“Will be…”

The moment stretched, delicate as glass, and you closed your eyes.

“Born again.”

And just like that, the song lingered, drifting gently into the candlelight.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just rested his cheek against the top of your head, his fingers never stopping their slow, soothing path through your hair.

When you finally spoke, your voice was barely more than breath. “That was beautiful…”

“I meant every word,” he whispered into your hair. “You… You deserve to have your heart born again, amore. As many times as it takes.”

You nestled in closer, and he welcomed you without a word, just the curve of his arms and the steady rhythm of his breathing. The rest of the world didn’t matter now. Only this did—his voice still echoing softly in your soul, and the way his presence held every piece of you like they were never broken at all.

Here, in the warmth of his arms and the hush of candlelight, you believed him.

And you slept like a seed beneath spring soil—safe, still, waiting for the bloom.

------

This turned a little too emotional in the end, but hey, I think we all found our peace in Copia in some kind of way. Also, if it feels a little awkward, that might be true because I barely write 'you' type of writing anymore. A lovely thank you to @/ghostnyran on Twitter for this sweet idea, I wasn't feeling all too well, but writing this made it a bit better! So please do go check out her on Twitter, she has brilliant other things on there.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this because, uuuh, I have some more ideas as well.

[ficandkaboodle]

It’s 9:50 at night, and I’m stuck thinking about the creak of a mattress that sounds every thrust, the heaving panting as he climbs higher and higher to the peak. Copia’s not the young man he once was but by god, he refuses to let a single mountain of pleasure go unconquered.

A hint of whimper, a gulping gasp, a trembling bottom lip, and then —

How his legs straighten as best as they can, the meat of his thighs tensing so hard there’s a tremor. Feet sliding but demanding purchase as they try and hold steadfast to the mattress, even in those ridiculous yet adorable New York rat socks he insisted on wearing. The plush of his tummy clenches and unclenches in soft, appearing huffs as waves of pleasure flow through him. And his mouth wobbles empty, emitting few things louder than a whimper.

He feels everything because everything is you: It’s your warmth that grips him, your wetness that slathers him, your scent that drives, your taste that lingers on the sweet and salty parts of his tongue.

And finally…the collapse. Uncoordinated, coupled by a grunt, a soft oof on your end, his sweaty head falling into the crook of your sweatier neck. The heat of his breathing creates a well of perspiration there.

In the daze of it all, he hoarsely apologizes. Asks if. If you’re oka-AY? His words are rumbled as the aftershocks ripple through him, his body unable to stop itself from shaking against you, digging his hips further into your own to seal the already sticky mess between you. Your pubes tangle and scratch together.

And you giggle, assuring him that ye-ES (damn, just watching him like this was enough to coax a mini orgasm out of you. He truly is unholy).

You are beyond fine.

[writingjourney]

keys // frater imperator

f!reader/non-descript f!oc, 500 words

His body feels leaden, like he’s aged ten years in the span of a day. Copia drags himself along the corridor, his new keys jangling with every step. He’s not sure what weighs heavier, the responsibility that comes with them or the loss that still haunts him around every corner. He’d almost prefer if none of them fit, if he could just step back outside, don his sparkling jacket and get back on stage.

The metal has warmed between his gloved fingers and yet he can’t shake the sense of cold that permeates him ever since he picked them up off the floor. They fit into the hole, turn just like they’re supposed to. Then he hears the steps behind him.

“Copia.”

At the sound of her voice his heart shatters and puts itself together all at once. She approaches cautiously, that look on her face he’s been dreading. Commiseration. Well, he is not Papa any longer. He has no good excuse to avoid her.

“Sorella,” he says.

Her brow furrows. “Are we back to formalities, now?”

He aches all over. For her, for his Papacy, for his mother, despite her flaws, for his life to go back to the way it was. Hovering between colleagues, friends, lovers. Some emotion he never dared to name. They’re close, he can’t deny it, and yet he always used the Papacy to keep her at arm’s length, lest he had to confront all the ways in which he’d fail her.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

Her hand hovers, slightly raised, like she’s not sure whether she’s allowed to reach out or not. They’ve touched before, many times, mostly innocently, or perhaps not so innocently when he thinks about those quiet nights alone in his room. He’d almost kissed her just before he left for tour, the very thought of a long separation more than he was willing to bear, but then he’d chickened out, kissed her cheek instead. What good would it have done? He was gone for months.

“I have missed you too,” he admits, thinking about the key in the lock. He wonders, then, what other doors it might open.

She touches his arm, at last, and he can’t even feel it through the thick fabric of his new suit jacket. Fuck this, he thinks, fuck all of it. But then she steps closer and he can feel the pull, the whole world tightening around them. He caves, grabs her by the hips and pulls her into a hug. It’s crushing, he knows this, she winces a little before she returns the embrace, soft arms, gentle arms. Always so gentle for him.

“Amore,” he says. It is the only fitting name. Of course he does not want to go back to formalities.

“Copia–” Her voice trails off as she understands. He thinks he hears the tears in her next breath.

It is a brave step, to change the nature of such a secure thing. He’s never had time, that’s what he tells himself. Not the time she deserves anyway. But now–

Perhaps now.

Yes, he can turn the key on that door as well.

short fic collection // masterlist

[theunholybastard]

-Theunholybastard's Masterlist-

Hey, Lovelies! 👋 Finally, I made a proper masterlist!

Here, I provide content for The Band Ghost, including all of the Papas, Sister Imperator, and Era 3, 4, and 5 Ghouls and Ghoulettes.

Though not all of my works are NSFW, my account is strictly 18+, along with most of my works. Minors are not welcome here!

Any works that are NSFW are highlighted in red. Any works that are SFW are highlighted in purple.

-Primo

-Oneshots-

Objectification (Papa Emeritus I x GN!Reader)

Sex Toys (Papa Emeritus I x F!Reader)

Spanking (Papa Emeritus I x TransM!Reader)

Morning Sex (Papa Emeritus I x F!Reader)

Handjob (Papa Emeritus I x GN!Reader)

Collaring (Papa Emeritus I x M!Reader)

Free Use (All Papas x F!Reader)

-Full Length Fics-

None so far...

-Secondo

-Oneshots-

Angry Sex (Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader)

Deepthroating (Papa Emeritus II x M!Reader)

Sensory Deprivation (Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader)

Pregnancy (Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader)

Public Sex (Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader)

Food Play (Papa Emeritus II x TransM!Reader)

Blood (Papa Emeritus II x F!Reader)

Free Use (All Papas x F!Reader)

-Full Length Fics-

None so far...

-Terzo

-Oneshots-

Titfucking (Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader)

Somnophilia (Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader)

Breeding (Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader)

Glove Kink (Papa Emeritus III x GN!Reader)

Quickie (Papa Emeritus III x GN!Reader)

Double Penetration (Papa Emeritus III x Omega x F!Reader)

Lingerie (Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader)

Breath Play (Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader)

Free Use (All Papas x F!Reader)

Better Late Than Never (Papa Emeritus III x GN!Reader)

It Takes Three To Tango (Papa Emeritus III x Omega x F!Reader)

Stay (Papa Emeritus III x Omega)

-Full Length Fics-

None so far...

-Copia

-Oneshots-

In Sync (Era 5 Ghouls x Papa Emeritus IV)

Pegging (Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader)

Dry Humping (Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader)

Praise (Frater Imperator x F!Reader)

Voyeurism (Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader)

Virginity (Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader)

Thigh Riding (Cardinal Copia x F!Reader)

Sexting (Frater Imperator x GN!Reader)

Threesome (Papa Emeritus IV x Cumulus x F!Reader)

Shower Sex (Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader)

Free Use (All Papas x F!Reader)

Bad Day (Papa Emeritus IV x GN!Reader)

Surprise! (Papa Emeritus IV x Cirrus)

Just Five More Minutes... (Frater Imperator x Cirrus)

-Full Length Fics-

Secrets (Frater Imperator)

-Nihil

-Oneshots-

The Good Ol' Days (Old!Sister Imperator x Old!Papa Nihil)

-Full Length Fics-

None so far...

-Sister Imperator

-Oneshots-

Hotel California (Young!Sister Imperator x Young!Mr Psaltarian)

Mary On A Cross (Young!Sister Imperator x Young!Mr Psaltarian)

The Good Ol' Days (Old!Sister Imperator x Old!Papa Nihil)

-Full Length Fics-

None so far...

-Era 3 Ghouls

-Oneshots-

Double Penetration (Papa Emeritus III x Omega x F!Reader)

Era 3 Ghouls General Headcanons

It Takes Three To Tango (Papa Emeritus III x Omega x F!Reader)

Stay (Papa Emeritus III x Omega)

-Full length Fics-

None so far...

-Era 4/5 Ghouls/Ghoulettes

-Oneshots-

A Heated Encounter (Mountain x Aurora)

Era 5 Ghouls/Ghoulettes Period Comfort Headcanons

In Sync (Era 5 Ghouls x Papa Emeritus IV)

Threesome (Papa Emeritus IV x Cumulus x Reader)

Rainy Evenings (Dewdrop x Rain)

Era 4/5 Ghouls/Ghoulettes Social Structure Headcanons

A Growing Pack (Mountain x Aurora)

Surprise! (Papa Emeritus IV x Cirrus)

Scented (Mountain x The Ghoulettes)

Just Five More Minutes... (Frater Imperator x Cirrus)

-Full Length Fics-

None so far...

-

[avocado-writing]

the second most employee of the month awards

notes: this is so fucking silly. petty office bitches scenario. thank you to @grumsens who helped me plan this and came up with 80% of the funny stuff they're doing to each other. the story where reader has the first most employee of the month awards and copia hates it.

rating: m (suggestive)

words: 1.8k

pairing: copia x reader

Copia is glaring across the table at you, and if he cared more about your opinion, he would probably try and get himself to stop.

It’s your mugs, he thinks. Your mugs are the most irritating thing about you. Not the air of superiority you bring to every meeting, not the way siblings scuttle after you at your every beck and call, but the receptacle you use for your coffee whenever you’re in the same room as him.

It’s way too big for you to reasonably finish all of your drink from, but it’s that size on purpose to show off the image you have printed on it: the photo of you and Papa Nihil shaking hands at the latest employee of the month awards. You had won. Again. And now Copia has cottoned on to how you angle it towards him, always making sure to sit across the table from him, you and that fucking mug in his eyeline every single time.

He thinks about all the little digs you’ve made at each other over the years. Him making your americano so strong one day that you did a spit-take over Terzo. You emptying the stapler before you knew he had to sit down and organise some paperwork. Him unspooling all of your paper clips one day. Tiny acts of warfare across the battlefield which is upper management.

You’ve realised he’s staring. You give him a smug little smile, lifting your mug to your lips and drinking. The printed photo stares out at him and Copia worries he is going to shatter his teeth from how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

Again. 

Sister Imperator hadn’t much liked shelling out the money for him to get that crown; he probably shouldn’t allow a repeat of the situation. He also thinks that if you knew you were the cause of his recent dental distress you’d probably have a fucking field day over it.

“...and that about brings us to the end of today’s itinerary. Anything else anyone needs to raise?” Sister Imperator asks, looking around the table. It’s the usual lot: her and Nihil - though he’s barely present - the three former Papas, himself, and you. You stare at him hard as you clear your throat, quickly plastering on a sweet little smile before turning to Sister.

“I just wanted to say thank you for awarding me with the employee of the month award again, Sister. I’ve been working very hard on the plans for the monastery’s extension, and it means the world to me that it’s been noticed.”

Sister beams at you and Copia is almost sick in his mouth. Nobody else around the table actually cares about this, the Papas’ attention already wandering. No, this is aimed at him and only him.

“Of course. And we thank you for all the work you’re doing for us. It hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

“I know,” you say, softly, and wink at Copia. He tightens his fist and snaps the pen he’s holding clean in half. Luckily the meeting is being called to an end and everyone is anxious to leave the room, none of them really having the stamina for bureaucratic meetings like this. Sister turns to him.

“Copia, hang back with me a second. We need to discuss some things about the upcoming tour.”

He nods, painfully aware that you haven’t left the room yet. You’re packing up deliberately slowly, watching Copia try and mop up the ink stain he has just created. As Sister turns to grab some paperwork from the filing cupboard behind her, you speak up.

“I’m sorry you lost out on Employee of the Month again, Copia,” you say, cocking your head to the side, acting the innocent. He glares, seething.

“No, you’re not.” 

“No, I’m not! Better luck next time,” you say, flourishing that grin at him like you’re wielding a sword. 

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under. 

He’s lucky that, day-to-day, he doesn’t have to interact with you much. His time is usually eaten up with his taking over of the Ghost project. He remembers that one stung for you, especially because of what a big deal was made over him not being part of the Bloodline - how your mouth had puckered like you were sucking a lemon, glowering as Sister had congratulated him. He’d kept that picture of you in his head, returned to his room and pleasured himself to it in the shower that evening. The bitterness plastered all over your face, the intensity with which you’d stared, how your lips would feel around his cock rather than his own hand…

Admittedly the scenario had run away with him a little.

He blocks it out, instead focussing back on Sister and the things she needs to run over in anticipation of his tour. There’s a lot to discuss but he’s excited about it, nervous perhaps, but excited nonetheless. For a little while he is able to put you out of his head, until Sister brings you screeching back into it again, like some horrible yet inevitable car crash.

“Oh, and, as we’re finishing up, looks like our dear sibling left some of their papers here. Can you bring it to their office? You go that way anyway, yes?”

Copia doesn’t know how he missed that you left them. It had to have been on purpose, knowing that he would be the one asked to return them to you. He wants to be petulant, but he likes Sister - most of the time, anyway - and telling her no isn’t going to get him any closer to this month’s award.

“Eh, yes, okie dokie. I can do that, Sister.”

She smiles, passing him the papers as she sees him out. He tries not to crumple them in his fist as he makes the walk, feeling like his doom is impeding as he closes the gap to your office. It takes him a full minute to gather the effort to knock on the door with one of his leather gloves.

“Come in!”

He opens the door to find you hunched over at your computer. Your posture is bad, you shouldn’t really be arching your back like that. You’re also entirely too close to your monitor, though he tries to push any semblance of concern towards the fact you’re a human being to the back of his mind, because he has to remember you are his enemy first and a person second.

When you realise it’s him you straighten up, affecting a more formal posture, cupping your face in your hand as a predatory smile crosses your face.

“Ah, Copia, it’s you. Can’t get me out of your mind, huh?”

He gives you a withering look.

“You know you forgot your stuff. Sister asked me to bring it over… after we were done talking about the tour, hm?”

He sees your eyelid flicker in annoyance just a little and he’s pettily proud. You turn back to your computer.

“Just go and put them over there. In front of my trophy shelf.”

You nod towards the corner, and for the first time Copia’s eyes are drawn there. A towering cabinet takes up a whole section of your office, and inside it, every single certificate for Employee of the Month you’ve ever been awarded in their little frames, as well as the tchotchkes they gave you along with them. Commemorative pens, tacky plastic trophies, a fucking used Applebees gift card. It’s a completely pointless decorative display… but it’s a completely pointless decorative display designed to piss him off.

He wonders, briefly, just how much of your respective days are used up thinking about each other.

When Copia turns back from depositing your papers messily on a side table, you’re grinning. Then you take a sip out of that fucking mug again, putting it down on the edge of your desk, on top of a copy of Impera you’re using as a coaster.

Copia crosses the room, standing near enough to you that he can see the glossiness of your lips as they part. He sticks out a hand and, like a cat, knocks your mug off the side of the desk and onto the stone floor where it shatters in a mix of ceramic and coffee. You stare at him, agog.

You recover too quickly.

“I had, like, nine more of those printed,” you shrug.

That’s it.

He will do anything in that moment to silence you, stop you running your fucking mouth for five seconds. A hand falls on either arm of your chair, caging you in, and he crushes his lips against yours.

You squeak for just a second, palms coming to rest on his shoulders - he’s worried you’re going to slap him - but then you’re kissing him back. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he wraps his arms around you properly, tugging you to your feet so he can swing you round and perch you on the edge of your desk. You open your legs, allowing him to pull himself between them, changing his hold so he can grab you by the thighs and drag you in closer. You groan at the feeling of how tight your bodies are and he swallows the sound down like honey.

“Fuck, Copia…” you mutter into the kiss and he goes a little bit dizzy. Your hands are exploring, raking across his cassock, desperate to feel every inch of him as his tongue sweeps over your bottom lip. You open your mouth so he can taste you properly. You’re minty. He wonders if you’ve been chewing gum prior to this.

He wonders how many times you’ve tried to lure him to your office so he’d finally break.

“There were easier ways to get my attention, eh?” he growls, biting at your lip. You gasp. When you open your eyes, they’re blown black.

“None of the others were quite as fun,” you reply, and then your tongue is on his again and he doesn’t really care to argue.

Eventually he has to drag himself back to his work, but he can still taste your kiss on his mouth as he sits down at his computer, the shape of your body he was able to map out with his hands. He wonders if anything will change, and then considers if he wants it to. The truth of the matter is that he likes this nonsense you both perform. Maybe he wouldn’t mind it if you kept being mean to each other. It’s fun. It’s a ritual. It’s flirting.

He has an email. It’s from you.

From: employee-of-the-month@theministry.com

To: CardinalC@theministry.com

Subject: follow-up

Cardinal,

Thank you for bringing me my paperwork. It was most appreciated. I’d like to follow up about matters tomorrow, if you’re available at around 3pm. I’ve set up a calendar invite for you.

Regards,

The footer at the bottom signs off your email. Copia tries to decipher if you’ve just scheduled in another make-out session on the ministry’s internal system… and how the hell you were able to get your hands on that fucking email address.

[sweetfictionalworld]

Verus Amor ⸸ Chapter 1: Luxuria

⸸ Pairing: Vampire!Papa V Perpetua x Female Reader, Copia "Cardi"/Frater Imperator x Female Reader

⸸ Summary: A story about soulmates, true love and raw, carnal desire.

⸸ Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Vampire bites, blood.

⸸ Author's notes: Verus Amor = True Love | Luxuria = The deadly sin, Lust | Bellus = Beautiful | Amor = Love

⸸ Chapter 2 | ⸸ Chapter 3

The dark clouds loomed menacingly in the sky above you as you stood at the front door of the Clergy Ministry. Taking a deep breath, you rang the doorbell, ignoring the thickening sensations surrounding you. This was a job offer you couldn't ignore, didn't want to ignore. You'd been a fan of Ghost since you were a teenager, this was an opportunity of a lifetime. You jumped when the door opened and you stood face to face with Cardinal Copia himself. Your eyes widened and you found yourself staring at him dumbstruck.

The Cardinal looked at you with interest as he eyed you up and down. You hadn't known what to wear, so you just put on a simple, black dress that apparently peaked The Cardinal's interest. You could feel your face getting warm from his gaze as you tried to find the words to speak.

"C-Cardinal C-Copia...I...I'm..."

Copia raised his hand. "I'm afraid I'm not Cardinal anymore. I'm Frater Imperator."

"O-Oh...yes, of course. I knew that. It's just that...you'll always be Cardinal Copia to me," you blushed with an awkward smile as Copia's eyes lit up and you could swear you saw a smirk on his lips.

You cleared your throat. What the hell was wrong with you? Were you actually flirting with Cardinal Copia himself?

"Uhm...anyways...My name is y/n. I've been hired as the new assistant...for Papa Perpetua."

"Oh...I see."

He almost sounded...disappointed?

"Well, welcome then, to the Clergy," Copia said lightheartedly and let you inside.

"Thank you," you smiled and stepped inside, your eyes widening at the size of the hall inside.

"I will have one of the sisters show you to your room, then I will introduce you to Papa V. He's busy at the moment, promoting the new album."

"M-My room?" You stared at Copia. "I will live here?"

"Well, uhm...yes of course." Copia looked at you, surprise in his eyes. "Papa V needs his assistant to be by his side at all times. Didn't you...uhm...get this information?"

You shook your head and kept staring at him, hearing the beat of your heart in your ear.

"Oh...I see...well...shit...haha...this is awkward. Uhm...I...we will sort something out...get your things here...or...well, we will get you some clothes and stuff. Everything will be alright," Copia said and gave you a reassuring smile.

You could only keep staring at him as he spoke. This wasn't what you'd signed up for, to give up your entire life for Papa V. But, could you really say no? Turn this offer down?

*

V grimaced as he tugged on the collar of the cassock. Was this photo shoot done soon? He really wasn't a fan of this robe, he was more comfortable wearing his suit. And he needed to feed, he was getting hungry. He licked his lips, trying to moist them as the drumming of the humans blood pumping through their veins echoed through his longing body. He hadn't tasted a human in a long time, he had to settle for the rats at the basement of the Ministry and the occasional hunt in the forest. But, for once, he wish he could feel the thrill of hunting a human, feel the taste of their fear in their blood and hear the sweet whimper trembling on their lips as he feasted on their blood. Fuck, he got hard just thinking about it. V groaned and shifted his position when a whiff of something new, someone new, hit his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, and a low purr rumbled in his chest as the scent flooded his senses and settled in his core as a steady rhythm of aching desire. Whoever they were, he needed to find them and make them his. Now.

*

The room was nice, you had to admit that. Much nicer than your one-room apartment. And here, you would get food every day. For free. Maybe, it wouldn't be so bad living here?

There was a knock on the door and you opened, greeted by Copia's kind eyes.

"Papa V is free to see you now."

"Oh, okay," you smiled nervously and swallowed the thick lump in your throat. You'd only seen what the new Papa looked like briefly at the end of the video of their new song, but what you'd seen had been menacing, so different from the previous Papas. Copia took you to the main hall, where you saw the back of a shiny suit.

*

V knew the second you stepped inside the room, that you were the one he scented earlier. Turning around, he was struck by an invisible force that took his breath away as he met your beautiful eyes. He felt pulled, drawned to you like a moth to a flame. In that moment, he knew you were destined to be his. Forever.

The man turned around and you couldn’t help the gasp leaving your mouth as his piercing eyes met yours, feeling as though he stared into the depths of your soul. He was wearing a metal mask covering the upper half of his face, whilst the lower half was bared, lips and cheeks painted in black. His dark, curly hair was slicked back, framing his haunting face. He was daunting and enchanting looking at the same time, making it impossible for you to tear your eyes away from him.

"Miss y/n," he said and took your hand, his voice vibrating through your core like a rumble in the ground. Smirking, he raised your hand to his lips and kissed it, the touch sending a current of electrifying sparks throughout your body. You were transfixed, paralyzed as his eyes gazed up at you.

"Bellus...you are exquisite," he purred and the sound sent a jolt to your clit, making it throb and ache to have him inside you, fill you deeper than anyone had ever done before. V smelled your arousal and smirked.

"Frater, leave us," he growled and glared at Copia, who's eyes flickered between you and V, as if he felt uncertain that he should leave you alone with V. But the look V gave him was enough for him to make a decision. Still hesitant, Copia left, leaving you alone with V.

You still hadn't said a word, still spellbound by his eyes, by his dominant presence. V moved closer to you, his head moving like a snake as he seemed to smell your neck as he circled around you. You gulped, fluttering your eyes as you glanced down at him, breathlessly wondering what he was doing.

"Your scent...," V growled, his long, gloved fingers embracing your shoulders as he stood behind and leaned closer to your neck, inhaling deeply as another purr left his lips. "It's intoxicating...addicting..."

You moaned at his words, at the closeness of his body, and blushed at the embarrassing sound leaving your mouth. V only chuckled.

"P-Papa Perpetua," you finally managed to speak, though your voice was barely a whisper.

"Please, call me V," he replied, little growls leaving his lips as he continued to brush his nose against your neck, the touch as light as a feather.

You gulped and licked your lips. "V...W-What are you doing?"

V's hands moved from your shoulders to your waist, fingers digging into your hips as he whispered into your ear.

"I want to fuck you, and I know you want to fuck me too. I know you feel the same as I do. I can smell the arousal dripping from your cunt, Amor. So tell me...do you want me to fuck you?," he asked, his fingers digging deeper into your hips as his varm breath caressed your neck.

"Yes...yes, please...please fuck me, Papa," you mewled, not knowing where your words came from. Not that it mattered, because everything he said was true. You wanted him, desired him in ways no words could describe.

V growled and pushed you down on the floor, pulling your dress up and ripping your underwear apart. You gasped, everything happening so fast. V opened his trousers and pulled his fat, leaking cock out. He grabbed your hips and you instinctively pushed your ass up, cried out when he shoved his cock inside you. It was primal, animalistic lust taking over the both of you, V's snarls matching the sound of his hips slapping against your ass. He pumped his hips faster and faster, inching his cock deeper and deeper inside you until his heavy balls was pressing against the folds of your pussy and your thighs were shaking from how deeply he pressed against your cervix. Neither of you said anything, no words were needed to express the primitive craving and licentiousness taking of your bodies.

You cried out as his cock hit deeper and deeper inside you, pumping faster and faster until your orgasm hit you like a punch to the stomach and pleasure exploded to every inch of your core.

V growled when your pussy clenched around his cock, pulling him deeper inside you and pushing him over the edge. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of your neck as he came, purring as he sucked and lavished on your blood as his cock throbbed inside you, filling your womb with his seed and the sweet sensation of your pleasure-filled blood swirled on his tongue and down his throat, and pumping threw his veins.

You gasped when you felt a piercing sensation in your neck, panic rising in your body when you realized he was actually drinking your blood. Then, the panic was replaced with a warm sensation and you felt a sudden serenity spreading through your entire body, filling you with a buzzing, high sensation.

Through foggy eyes, you watched as he carried you to your room and laid you down on the bed. Looking up at the blur that was his face, his piercing eyes becoming your entire universe as you heard his soft whisper before your mind drifted off to sleep.

"I see you tomorrow, Amor, and I'll explain everything."

[cardinalcopulate]

Some Kinda Hate // Frater Imperator x Reader

Posted a new story on ao3! You can also read it below the cut.

MDNI!! 18+ ONLY!! - dividers by @/cafekitsune ♡

Summary: Copia is angry over the popularity of his twin brother. You help him release his frustrations and stress.

Tags: pwp, second-person POV, no use of y/n, blow jobs, cock worship, deepthroating, forced orgasm (kinda?), boss/employee relationship, established relationship

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's note: Please do not repost or scrape for AI (or however that works, idk. also? can't believe I have to say that)

Read it on ao3 here!

“Fucking V!” Copia hissed.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little at his childlike anger over his twin. It was almost endearing. His eyes were trained on the small TV playing “Satanized”.

“He can’t just come in here and replace me! This song,” he scoffed. “That was my song! He steals my music and my fans! What a dickhead.”

Copia’s frustration, perhaps even jealousy, with V was understandable; Change was always difficult for him but this change involved being stripped of performing around the world. He felt like his passion was being torn from his hands and he had no choice but to let it happen. He was the face of The Clergy for far longer than his predecessors which made the transition from Papa to Frater even more difficult, even if it was technically a promotion. It just didn’t feel that way to him.

“Fucking V,” Copia muttered to himself again as he stuck a paperclip into his keyboard. With a small click, the keycap for the letter ‘V’ came off. “Ha-ha!”

You smiled again. Despite the genuine pain he felt watching his twin brother from the sidelines, his antics were amusing. Did Copia really think that popping the ‘V’ key off his computer would hurt the new Papa? It was hard to say; sometimes, he seemed to lose his grip on reality.

“Love, do you want to talk about it?”

He only grumbled in response. Copia threw himself on the couch of the parlor room that he was using as his temporary office. His gloved fingers dug into the cushions with a creak.

You pursed your lips and sunk to your knees before him. “How about we try a different kind of stress relief?”

“Ah, tesoro, you always know just what I need.”

“Of course I do, Papa.” You ran your hands up his strong thighs and used one hand to palm at the crotch of his slacks.

Copia whined at your use of his former title. His cock began to fill as his body’s blood ran south.

“You’re so tense.” You leaned forward, mouthing at the tent in his pants and squeezing his thighs. The insistent touch of your hands made him shiver.

“It’s just—ugh! He’s not even a good singer! Fuck,” he panted. His hands gripped your hair at the roots. Copia ground his clothed hips into your face. His heady scent seeped through his slacks. You could almost taste the precum dripping from his erection.

“I know, baby. Go on. Just let it all out.” You looked up at him while your hands undid his pants and freed his cock. Thank the Unholy Father for Copia’s eternal aversion to underwear. It slapped against his soft, hair-covered belly. A fat bead of precum squeezed out from his slit. You were always taken aback by how thick he was and how the veins throbbed when he was hard. By the looks of it, Copia was close to cumming from your attention already. “You’re all leaky, my love,” you teased.

“Sh-shut up.”

“Oh? Am I making Papa mad?” You kissed his cock’s tip then outlined your lips with it, smearing precum along the delicate skin.

“Yes, you are and you know it, you little shit!” He groaned when you cupped his balls with one hand, using the other to exert a vice grip on the base of his cock.

“Do something about it if I piss you off so much,” You challenged.

Without hesitation, he pulled your head all the way down his dick. Your nose brushed against the coarse hair on his groin and lower stomach, at the point where the two became inseparable. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat. The feeling made your mind cloudy and pulse race. Your body’s response was immediate: drool immediately trickled from your mouth down your chin. A soreness in your jaw already began to spread from the girth of his heavy cock in your mouth. For a few, dragging moments, Copia kept your head still; he savored the velvety softness of your mouth wrapped around his erection. He didn’t ask if you were ready for him to move; He didn’t care. You were just a hole for him to fuck. At the realization, you gulped and he whimpered in response. “Shit.”

Copia settled his hands on each side of your face. He moved you up and down his cock like you were a fleshlight. Each rough thrust made you choke. Tears ran down your cheeks as you moaned around him. “Mine, mine, mine,” he grunted in time with each slide of his dick down your throat.

You hummed in affirmation. You were his: His to fuck, to objectify, to play with. You were his to own in mind and body. He didn’t doubt your loyalty, even with the rise of a new Papa. Copia knew you’d always be his. He watched you take him in your mouth over and over. The communion that bound you to him for the rest of time. You swallowed around him; Precum coated your tongue and made your head spin. Hollowing your cheeks, you pushed him impossibly further down your throat with each rut of his hips against your face.

A knock echoed through the room. “Frater?”

“Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. “I forgot that new sister is coming today.”

You released his cock with a wet pop. “You’d better cum, then, Papa.” You spread his dripping precum around and stroked him from tip to base. “First impressions are everything. What kind of impression would it leave for her to see her big, bad boss face-fucking his assistant?”

“Just a second!” Copia called out. His cock throbbed and twitched. “I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you’re going to. The way I see it, my love, you either cum now or we shove this back in your pants and deal with it later.”

“Fuck,” he whined.

Your other hand found his balls; Copia shuddered as you alternated between light squeezes and gentle tugs. You guided him back into your drooling, waiting mouth until the tip hit your throat again. He made eye contact with you. In that brief glance, he understood your message: Fuck my mouth until you fill it with cum. Now.

Copia’s hands found your hair again. He pulled you back and forth on his leaking erection, desperate to take advantage of your offer. Your throat was certainly going to be bruised in the aftermath of his rough, quick thrusts. You both moaned in tandem. There were few things either party loved more than you kneeling before him with your mouth stuffed. Copia squirmed in response to plethora of sensations centered on his cock.

“Frater?” The voice outside the door called louder.

“Just-Ah!-a second!” He grunted.

You whispered and rubbed a finger against his taint, “Last chance.” You swallowed around his erection again.

“Fuck!” Copia moaned. He bit down on his gloved hand to muffle the wanton noise as his cock kicked and flooded your throat with cum.

You watched as he screwed his eyes shut and a few drops of sweat ran down his face. Copia continued to push his cock in and out of your mouth, riding out his orgasm. You swallowed around each spurt of cum as he quivered and moaned. A few thin, sticky strings threatened to overflow from your spit-slick lips. The sight of you swallowing the evidence of his orgasm, nearly making a mess, burned into his mind. When he finished, you released his softening dick and helped him tuck it back into his pants.

A gloved thumb reached down, wiped a tear away and then a stray drop of cum on the corner of your mouth. Copia brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean, making searing eye contact with you. “What a good boy. Taking everything your Papa gives you.”

“Always, Papa,” you smirked up at him. He helped you stand and resettle on the sofa.

There was another hard knock on the door. “Frater!”

“Coming!” He huffed. Copia pressed a quick kiss to your forehead and headed to the door. He greeted your visitors and introduced you to them. They were none the wiser that you had just finished worshipping his cock like your own personal God.

Hope you enjoyed!! If you like what I write, please consider buying me a coffee. I might be opening c0mms soon, stay tuned if you're interested!! Thank you for reading :]

[anamelessfool]

Fraternized | 18+ MDNI

GN! Dom Reader x Frater Imperator

You're called to the Ministry HQ for an urgent request that you find out is not an emergency at all. Just your lover Copia being an awful brat. Luckily you know just the thing to set him straight.

Tags: Sub Copia, Hurt/Comfort, Human Furniture, Caning, Humiliation, Established relationship, safe words, Plushias lying on the floor everywhere during all this

AO3 Link Here!

Beating the crap out of a bratty Copia. It’s my favorite hobby!

Dedicated to @saintbowie for her encouragement, @ghostchems for the initial inspiration, and to all the lil freaks in my phone

[castielshunterwife]

V became papa and now that's all I see on my dash. Where's my pookie, Copia??! 😭😭😭