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honeyynymphh · 5 months ago

Text

| The Wager |

Cardinal Copia x FemReader rating: E words: 4k tags: dom copia, oral sex (m receiving), confessional sex, choking, rough sex, copia is a sneaky shit AO3

Summary: A new Sister of Sin, you feel you are not living up to the expectations of your new church and seek out confession to unburden yourself. Little do you know, that the Cardinal has something he needs to confess to you.

I started writing this ages ago and its been so close to finished for ages. Seeing the new movie made me feel motivated to complete it.

Not my best work but hey, I did some writing :)

It's a bit silly but c'est la vie!

Your hands grip the edge of the pew as you take a steadying breath. You’d been sitting here for nearly an hour, watching sibling after sibling as they entered and left the confessional box. It seemed so large and imposing in the low light of the abbey’s candelabras. You knew you needed to speak, to confess. Yet you were anxious. A new Sister of Sin, and not just any new Sister—but one that had converted from the local church.

A few months have passed since you left your old life behind you to join the strange, yet welcoming, abbey upon the hill. Everyone had accepted you without question—you were not the first to leave behind an old god and you would not be the last—yet old habits and the lingering guilt were hard to forget. Your hands tighten their grip on the pew and you watch as another sibling leaves the confessional. They give you a brief smile before they pass and you realise you are the only one left, the only sound is their fading footsteps before the chapel is silent.

It was now that you had to go before the confessional closed for the evening, it was so late already. You could wait until next week, yet you felt you couldn’t keep this bubbling away inside. You needed to speak to someone—and you had spoken with Papa Terzo before. He had been charming and kind, and very flirty, something that made you flush quite a bit. But he never made you feel silly or stupid for not knowing the customs of your new home. You were sure this would be no different, yet the anxiety still lingered.

You made yourself stand, sliding out of the pew and walking over to the confessional. Your hand hesitates before you gently knock on the side of the detailed wood.

“Enter.”

The low word is muffled but you hear it and step inside. The door shuts quietly behind you and you take your seat, glancing at the shadowy outline of Papa on the other side. It smells like chapel incense and some other scent that has you taking a deep breath as the scent comforts you in the warmth of the confessional.

With your hands clasped in your lap, you speak, “Forgive me, Papa, for I have sinned.”

“This must be your first time, Sister.”

You pause. The voice is not Papa Terzo as you had expected but Cardinal Copia. You grip the fabric of your habit in embarrassment. While you were too busy worrying, you had not noticed that Cardinal Copia was the one taking confession and not Papa.

“Forgive me, Cardinal,” you say.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he says. “And we do things a little differently here. Sinning is very much encouraged.”

“Sorry, Your Eminence, I am still stuck in my old ways,” you reply hesitantly, the knot in your stomach growing tighter.

“Does this bother you, Sister?”

You nod and then realise he can’t see you. “I’m finding it hard to adjust, it is so similar yet so different to my old life.”

“That is to be expected, change affects us all,” he says. “It will improve over time, you haven’t been with us long.”

You know that’s true. You also realise this is the first conversation you’ve ever had with the Cardinal. He always seemed to keep to himself or haunt the library. You’d only ever exchanged greetings with him before. He made you nervous, Papa Terzo was so much more approachable than Cardinal Copia. Anyone was…well, perhaps not Papa Secondo. But Cardinal Copia was so silent and quiet, he only ever really seemed to come alive during sermons or when he taught classes. His intensity was intimidating and the way he would sometimes cut down a fellow sibling during a lesson could be nerve wracking. But how his impassioned words held your attention, it was impossible not to be drawn to the Cardinal. You wanted to be noticed by him yet never have his gaze upon you. So you’re surprised at how kind his words are, though you know it is his job. It’s much easier to talk to him when you aren’t forced to look at his imposing expression.

“I know, Cardinal,” you say. “I just worry I’m not…meeting expectations.”

“How so?”

You shift in your seat. This had been much easier when you’d been imagining it in your head. And while the Cardinal words were polite, there was still an edge to his voice that made you shift on the wooden seat.

“In my worship,” you say, feeling your face flush. “I know many siblings prefer to do so, er, together.”

“Ah.”

“All forms of sin are encouraged, mia cara, not just the ones of the flesh.” His voice is low and you scoot a little closer towards it, unable to help but smile at the endearment. “You do not need to be writhing upon an altar while someone feasts upon your divine sex to please the Olde One.”

Maybe not but it’s suddenly all you can think about. It was one thing to leave your old life behind because you did not wish to live a life without pleasure, yet to have it fully thrust upon was hard to contend with. The abbey lived life to the fullest and held no shame, but you were not ready to participate in certain rituals. Though, you had certainly thought of them with the Cardinal in mind. But you knew he never attended such things.

How you wished that he did.

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” you reply, sensing it was time to leave. “Siamo con il nostro Dio Scuro,” he says and you can dimly see his gloved hand move in the darkness to make the sign of the grucfix. “Nema.”

You stand and make to leave but he speaks, making you pause.

“Sister.”

The sharp word hangs in the small space and you glance at his shadowy figure on the other side of the confessional.

“Yes, Cardinal?”

He clears his throat and his words are short, awkward. This has your brow furrowing in confusion.

“Do you have time to stay a moment? I know it is late.”

“Yes, I can.” You sit back down, apprehension knotting in your stomach.

“I feel I must confess something to you.”

Confess? To you? Cardinal Copia? The apprehension knots even further. What could he possibly confess?

“Oh?” is all that manages to escape your mouth. Your head twists so that you are facing the latticed partition. Your hands grip the edge and you lean closer without even realising your face is nearly touching it.

“I heard that Papa Terzo and Papa Secondo have a wager, in regards to you,” says the Cardinal.

“A wager?” you ask, confused.

“Si,” he says, his words still sounding oddly stilted. “There is no polite way to say it, Sister, but they’re betting on who can fuck you first.” He sighs. “They do it after every initiation of a new group of siblings.”

“What?” it comes out as a squeak.

“They pick someone and whoever fucks them first wins.”

You’re shocked but also strangely thrilled at the thought. You haven't really spoken to either Papa. Secondo was so…Secondo, you don’t think you can recall ever having spoken to him. And Terzo was always surrounded by admirers that you had only really spoken to when you first joined or after Dark Mass, since he was the reigning Papa. While he has always been so friendly to you, you did not think he even knew your name.

“Why me?” you can’t help but ask.

“You come from the village church,” says Copia with a sneer. “They think it would be quite the challenge—” he pauses and then quickly asks, “are you a virgin? Is this why you are reluctant to worship in such a fashion?”

“No!” you say quickly. You hadn’t had much as much experience as your new siblings but you had some. It had been one of the reasons for leaving your old faith behind. You feel your face colour in embarrassment.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of if you are. We are not heathens… not completely. You are not forced to do anything you do not wish to. You are not required to join the rituals if you do not wish to.”

“You don’t participate,” you say hesitantly. It’s not a question but you desperately want to know why he doesn’t join them.

“How could I compete with Papas?” he gives a short derisive laugh. “Pretty Sisters do not want a cardinal when they can have a Papa, eh?”

You say nothing but can’t help but smile. He called you pretty! How could someone not want him? Perhaps he was a little quiet and somewhat intimidating. But you can’t deny the way you have had to press your thighs together when he would sometimes speak. Your thoughts return to his earlier words of worship upon an altar. You shiver at the thoughts, feeling the warmth of arousal begin to burn low.

“Sister?”

“Sorry, Cardinal.” You take a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me this. You are wrong though, many would want you.”

“That is kind of you, mia cara. But I am well aware of my reputation.” You hear a low chuckle, you’d never really heard him laugh before. “Which you best not ruin just because I have chosen to share this with you. I’ve merely had enough. And you didn’t seem like you would be one for their stupid games.”

You sat there. You were surprised that the Papas would even have such a wager, it didn’t seem like something these people would do. But Terzo did seem to always be surrounded by fawning siblings and had such a charming air about him. And Secondo…he always seemed to have someone—or several someone’s—with him. And his gravelly voice was quite enthralling. A silly brotherly game, you supposed.

But, why you? It was true you’d come from the local church, having had your doubts for quite a while until you’d spied the strange abbey upon the hill and felt drawn to it.

The partition suddenly slid across revealing the Cardinal in his splendid red robes. He looked like the Devil himself standing there while you remain seated. He quirks an eyebrow at you in question.

“Sister?”

You stand quickly and the small booth means you are so very close to him. The spicy yet woody scent you had smelt earlier was not the chapel's incense but him. The warmth of his body seems to amplify it, along with the fresh scent of clean linen and the tang of sweat that clings to his cassock. It feels far too warm here in the confessional. Why did he open the partition?

“Are you alright, Sister?” His low voice is overwhelming when you are so close, a hand gently grabs hold of your shoulder and squeezes lightly. “I hope I have not misspoken nor upset you by telling you this.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. His hand is gloved—as always—yet the heat radiates from it. It feels so large on your shoulder and you can’t help the thought of that hand touching you elsewhere. You hastily look down as you feel the blush spread across your cheeks.

“No, Your Eminence,” you say. You steal yourself when the thought hits you. quickly leaning forward to kiss his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it. “Thank you, again.”

You risk a glance at his face and his expression hasn’t changed. But he doesn’t look disgusted so before you lose your courage, you move again and press your lips briefly against his, feeling his moustache tickle your skin before you’ve already pulled back.

He speaks, voice a low growl that makes your stomach flip. “Don’t do that, Sister.”

Oh. Instantly any hope you had is crushed. It was a stupid thing to do! You look down again and mumble an apology under your breath. You move to leave but his hand is still on your shoulder and it holds you in place, the other hand coming to your chin so his fingers can tilt your face up to meet his gaze.

“You can’t tease an old man like that,” he says, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Go kiss a Papa, mia dolce.”

“I don’t want to kiss a Papa,” you say. “I want to kiss you, Cardinal.”

Suddenly he seems different, more how he appears during sermons with that raw intensity you find so alluring. His touch is firm and sure as he pulls you into his side of the booth. Effortlessly he sits, pulling you into his lap so that you’re straddling him. His hands glide up your legs to then grip your hips so he can pull you flush against him.

“Give me a kiss then, dolce.”

Heart racing, you eagerly lean forward and press your mouth against his again. This time he responds, lips moving under yours. You can taste the bitterness of the paint on his top lip but it’s barely noticeable when his tongue is trying to slide into your mouth. You’re swept up in the taste of him and the insistent way he devours you, teeth occasionally biting and pulling at your bottom lip. It makes a thrill run down your spine and you press yourself closer to him.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless. His eyes are nearly the same, both so blown wide by lust that you can barely determine the colour of them in the dimness of the booth.

“Grazie, Sorella,” he says.

You feel like you are on fire. Your entire body is singing from one kiss. Lucifer, you want more. Without even thinking you move your hips forward, so you are sliding even closer to him, nearly falling off him in your desire to get closer. His thigh is right under your aching sex and you can’t help but grind down on it.

His moustache twitches as a small smile appears on his face. “You want more than a kiss, si?”

“Yes, Cardinal,” you say breathlessly as he pushes his thigh back against you making you pant out a moan.

“I thought you did not wish to worship this way?” he asks though he doesn’t sound concerned like he did before, his voice is edging on teasing. As if he already knows why.

“I—” your words fumble as you feel another flush suffuse your face. You are already in his lap and he just had his tongue half way down your throat—now was not the time to be the ignorant village girl. You swallow your nerves and say, “I want to worship with you, Cardinal.”

A sly grin unfurls on his face and that makes your heart race.

He brings up over his laps properly so your hips are slotted against his. The position makes you moan as you can feel the hardness of his cock through the layers of his cassock

“I worship a little differently to what you may be used to, dolce,” he purrs against your ear while a hand wraps around your neck. He squeezes, not too tightly but enough to get the point across. “You can leave now if you wish.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to leave, Cardinal.”

“Good girl.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his praise, which he clearly notices. He thrusts his hips up against yours and your hands grip at the fabric of his pelegrina. The friction feels far too good but you want more and press down against him clumsily, making him let out a low laugh.

He brings his face close to yours, his nose pressing against your temple and his breath ghosts against your ear.

“Will you get on your knees for me, dolce?”

It’s so warm in the confessional that any sane thoughts have left you. It’s like he managed to bewitch you—you’d do anything he asked. And so you nod and slowly slide off of him to the floor. There isn’t much space in the confessional and it’s all stuffy but you feel even hotter as you watch him lift the fabric of his cassock. Underneath are his usual tight pants and you can see the large bulge straining against the fabric. Dazed and body singing with lust, you can’t help but lick your lips when he unzips them, letting his cock free.

You stare at it and you feel his hand reach for your wimple and yank it off so your hair can spill free. The leather of his gloved hands is soft as a finger traces your face before a hand winds tightly in your hair to bring your head closer towards his flushed cock. Your hands grip his thighs as you lick the head, the groan that leaves Copia’s throat emboldening you so that you lick it again before gripping the base to take it into your mouth.

The hand in your hair tightens further and you lick the underside of his cock as you suck, teasing him as best you can. Every sigh and moan that comes from him feels like a prayer and you increase your movements even though your own sex demands attention. You can feel the wetness seeping through your knickers and you desperately squeeze your thighs together, the hand not pumping his cock digging into his thighs as you moan around him.

“Do you need help, dolce?” he growls from above you.

You feel him shift, forcing your mouth to leave him, as the toe of one his boots finds its way between your knees to press up against your cunt. Immediately you grind down against him, desperately trying to ride against the leather while your hand still fists his cock.

It’s not enough though and you feel he can sense your desperation in the way he laughs.

“You need more from your Cardinal, si?”

“Yes, please, Your Eminence” you breathe, grinding down against him again.

His hands move to pull you up on your feet and when he commands that you remove your panties, you do. Stepping out of them hurriedly and leaving them on the floor before he is tugging you back into lap and pushing the skirt of your habit up to bunch around your waist. He makes no effort to be gentle, gripping your hips tightly and positioning you over his slick cock before he is bringing you down. You are more than ready for him but it has been so long since the last time you had fucked anyone.

“Cazzo,” he hisses, one of his hands coming between you to circle your clit.

The jolt of pleasure has you sinking onto him further, opening you up to him so that he is fully seated within you. You moan as he continues to rub at your bundle of nerves, your hips grinding down on him as you try to take your pleasure. Your blood is boiling with a neediness you have never felt so acutely before and when you begin to ride him in earnest, he is matching your thrusts with his own.

“Good girl,” he says, the low voice making your cunt throb in response.

A gloved hand is back at your throat, holding you tightly and making your head spin. You feel lightheaded and your own movements become disjointed in the delirium surging through your veins. But it doesn’t matter, as Copia’s grip on your hips and throat have you held in place with ease as he fucks up into you.

You know you are going to come soon, you can feel the delicious tension low in your stomach and your spine tingles with anticipation. The easy slide of his cock in your cunt is addictive, and you can feel him swelling further, bringing you even closer to the edge.

When his hand leaves your throat to hold both sides of your hip and bring down against him so he can fuck you hard and fast, you come fast. Your hands grips at him, hands fistings in the fabric of his pelegrina as you lean forward to bury yourself against his neck. He keeps fucking you as your ride the wave of your release until you feel him spilling within you. You cling to him as he takes his own pleasure, muttering unintelligible Italian. Sweat is damp on your neck as his movements start to slow and the only sound left is both of your heavy breathing.

“Grazie, mia dolce,” he whispers, his moustache tickling your cheek.

You lean back to see the smirk on his face before awkwardly standing, suddenly embarrassed at what had come over you. You just fucked Cardinal Copia in the confessional!

“I—” your words falter and you look down on the floor, grabbing your wimple and trying to find your knickers. “Thank you, Your Eminence.”

You pin the wimple back on your head while the Copia is waiting, not a hair out of place, as he smooths down the front of his cassock. You notice something in his hand—your underwear. You go take it but he tuts at you and pockets them with a smirk.

“Penance, Sister,” is all he says before opening the door for you.

It is much cooler in the empty church, a welcome relief on your heated skin and you can’t wait to return to your bed, unable to look at the Cardinal while his seed drips down your thighs.

You nearly jump when you hear a voice echoing in the silence. “Buonasera, I was locking up.” It is Papa Secondo, a set of large keys in one hand as he stands at the other end of the church by the large doors. You walk with Copia towards him, holding your hands in front of you.

“I was just holding confession with our new Sister, Papa,” says Copia smoothly. “But we are finished now.”

You don’t trust yourself to look at either of them and so you hurriedly offer a goodnight to both men before scurrying down the hallway and towards your room.

The next day feels like any other, though you are sore and bruised, you can’t help the anticipation of seeing the Cardinal again in your next lesson.

“Sorella!”

The voice startles you and you turn to see Papa Terzo heading your way, a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he comes down the hallway. He stops in front of you, gives an overdramatic bow that you cannot help but smile at. He proffers the flowers with a flourish.

“For you, bella!” he says. “I saw them out in the garden and had to pick them for you.” They’re dozens of red roses all neatly wrapped. “Did you wrap and add the card yourself too, Papa?”

“Si, si,” he says seriously but then he winks, earning a small laugh from you. “Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl!”

You spy Secondo heading your way as well and try not to let any embarrassment mar your features. There is no way he could possibly know what happened last night. He's scowling but he always looks like that so it’s hard to tell if he is actually upset or not. He gives you a polite nod.

“Sorella,” he greets with a small nod at you before glaring at his brother. “Idiota.”

“Secondo,” replies Papa Terzo, “as you can see I am busy talking to the lovely Sorella, andare via.” The older Papa sighs. “Non si disturbi.”

“Eh?” “Il ratto ti ha battuto.”

Terzo’s face immediately goes from charming to enraged. “Il ratto?”

It feels like both men have suddenly forgotten you are standing there. You do not wish to simply leave and so you stand there awkwardly, wondering if you should tell them you know of their ridiculous bet.

“Si,” says Secondo as Terzo starts to go red around the ears, “quel bastardo l'ha fottuta nel confessionale ieri sera.”

“Pah! Sta mentendo. Non può farmi questo... di nuovo!”

Secondo ignores his brother’s outburst and looks at you. His voice is much softer than how he addressed Terzo when he asks, “Sorella, I trust your confession last night with the Cardinal was rewarding?”

Your face colours immediately and you stammer out a reply. “Yes, Papa, it was.”

“Vedi,” he says to Terzo with a half hearted shrug. “La ragazza sembrava completamente fottuta e lui ne era completamente compiaciuto, il bastardo. Inoltre, entrambi puzzavano di sesso, Terzo. Non userò il confessionale finché non sarà pulito.”

Terzo glares at the ground. “Cazzo.”

“Mmm. È sempre molto più bravo con quelli silenziosi di te, quella piccola merda.”

They both look at you and you stand there awkwardly. Maybe you should say something and tell them you are flattered but they should not be betting on such things. But before you can even muster the words, Terzo gives you a tight smile.

“Forgive me, bella, but it seems there is a rat problem I must deal with.”

You watch them walk away, bickering in fast Italian to each other, as you stand there utterly confused.

andare via - go away Non si disturbi - Do not bother Il ratto ti ha battuto - The rat beat you Si, quel bastardo l'ha fottuta nel confessionale ieri sera. - Yes, that bastard fucked her in the confessional last night. Sta mentendo. Non può farmi questo... di nuovo! - He’s lying. He can’t do this to me…again! Vedi - You see? La ragazza sembrava completamente fottuta e lui ne era completamente compiaciuto, il bastardo. Inoltre, entrambi puzzavano di sesso, Terzo. Non userò il confessionale finché non sarà pulito. - The girl looked thoroughly fucked and he was utterly smug about it, the bastard. Also, they both reeked of sex, Terzo. I am not using the confessional until it’s cleaned. È sempre molto più bravo con quelli silenziosi di te, quella piccola merda - He’s always much better with the quiet ones than you are, that little shit.

#my-writing #the band ghost fic #fanfic #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #fic: the wager #not my best but i did something!

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da-rulah · 1 year ago

Note

I hope you are having a wonderful day.

I humbly request some jealous cardi spice ♡

Thank you lovely! My day is going well, I've done nothing today other than write this filth.

So, listen... An idea came to me with this one... and I ran with it. I bloody love jealous tropes, as you may know if you've read Day 5 of Rituale Septem... But this one gets a little... sacrilegious.

Darling, this became feral. And I'm not sorry.

18+ MDNI! Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader.

TW/ Jealous themes (ofc), ex-boyfriend returns, mentions of past life in a christian church, violence, blood, fingering, rough sex, references to Satan and the Devil, possessiveness, breeding kink, ownership kink, creampie.

"Are. You. Mine?" artwork created by the incredibly talented @honimello!

Thank you so much, it's incredible and exactly how I pictured Copia's face in that scene...

If any artists are ever inspired by anything I write, please please do share it with me - I'd love to see what your mind's eye sees when reading my work. And this fandom is full of incredible talent. I love it here.

Frantic knocking on the door to Papa's quarters jolted you from the trance your book in hand had you in. Copia had been drifting off, his gloved fingers mindlessly playing with your hair as you read in his lap but he too startled to sit upright.

In a fumble of clumsy limbs, the two of you stood, Papa heading straight for the door to find Rain out of breath and panicked.

"Rain? What's the matter, mio amico?" Papa asked, waiting patiently for him to get his breath back. Clearly he had run as fast as he could to find Papa.

"Th-there's... a man... he's shouting about Sister ______ on the steps of the Ministry, Papa!" he explained frantically, waving his arm in the direction of the front doors.

Your eyes widened, Papa's head flinging around to look back at you. You had a sinking feeling in your gut. You know who it was... He'd found you.

"I-I'll go... I'll take care of it," you said, stepping around Copia and walking a little ways out into the hall when he grabbed your elbow, stopping you.

"What's going on?" he asked, "This sounds dangerous, why don't you let me..."

"He's not dangerous. He's just an idiot. I'll deal with it," you told him firmly. "Stay."

Copia let go of your arm and you continued to walk down the hall. He nodded in your direction at Rain, telling him to follow you and make sure you were in fact safe. Rain nodded and trotted behind you - you didn't mind him being your backup, but it was Copia you wanted to keep away from the situation.

As you got closer to the doors, you could hear the ramblings of the idiot on the Ministry steps, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"_________! Hey, I know you're in there! I know what they've done... They've stolen you away, told you lies and made you fall in love with the devil!"

You groaned to yourself, turning to Rain with an eye roll.

"Ex-boyfriends, eh?" you scoffed, before wrenching the door open and standing on the top step.

"Elijah, you sound like an idiot," you said, monotonous and feigning boredom.

"Oh, see? I knew you were here! Cavorting with heathens and the Devil! I need to take you home, _______. To bring you back to God!"

You knew your past in a Christian community would come back to bite you on the ass someday, but you'd hoped to be a little more prepared for it.

But no, here was your ex-boyfriend, now more religious than you'd ever known him when you were together, trying to... win you back? That was laughable.

"God only knows what you do within those walls... Filthy fornication, sacrifices to Satan..."

"That's rich, Elijah. I seem to remember you had no problem with fornication when we were together. But hey, one rule for you, another for the rest isn't it?" you laughed. Elijah saw read, stomping up the steps and standing on the one beneath you.

"I have seen the error of my ways, and I'm repenting every day for them, whore! You must do the same, come with me. Now!" he grabbed your arm, attempting to drag you down the steps and go back to the life you'd left behind many moons ago.

No way in hell were you going back there again.

You began kicking and yelling at him, flailing your arms as you panicked - he was strong, but Rain was behind you. No doubt he'd be jolted into action as he saw you being dragged away by this lunatic.

"I think you'd better let her go," a thickly-accented voice behind you stopped Elijah in his tracks, his head snapping around to look behind where you both were halfway down the steps.

Papa stood at the top, his hands behind his back and surrounded by three of his beefiest Ghouls - and Sodo. But Sodo was growling like the feral little raccoon he was.

"Or what, old man? You gonna take her from me?" Elijah challenged, pulling you against him with you back against his chest. He was scared, using you as a human shield. Pathetic. "She doesn't belong here, in this... this... vile place."

Copia laughed, stepping down the steps and holding a hand out to his side to keep his Ghouls at bay. He pried Elijah's hands off you, taking your hands in his and checking you were okay.

"Go wait up there with Rain, amore mio," he told you, his voice soft and his palm caressing your cheek to calm you. You nodded under his touch and headed back up to the top of the stairs, the Ghouls parting to let you stand behind them for safety. Rain came to your side, holding your hand.

Copia squared up to Elijah then, in a way you'd never seen him square up to anybody. He scared you, with how silent and yet, clearly livid he was.

"You're not taking her anywhere, stronzo." His voice was dark and commanding.

"Oh, I get it now..." Elijah began to laugh, cackling to himself as he doubled over at something so hilariously amusing to only him. "Are you... are you fucking him?" he asked you, pointing at Copia and dismissing him. "This weird, old guy? Really?"

You wanted to defend Copia, but the way he looked over his shoulder at you had you staying put and squeezing on Rain's hand.

"She's found her place here, able to live a life where she's not judged and vilified for living her fucking life. You people are all the same.. damning souls to Hell for the things you wish you allowed yourself to do. But oh no, they're sins, eh? You couldn't possibly..." Copia scoffed.

"I have sinned in the past, but I repented. I sinned plenty," Elijah's voice dropped so only Papa could hear, "I sinned with her..."

Copia's hands balled into fists at his side. Jealousy, no matter how warranted, flooded his veins like poison.

"I remember, too... I know what she likes, what she's into. Have you found that spot on her collarbone yet? She likes that..." Elijah was smirking, and you didn't like the look on his face as he whispered in Copia's ear. Copia remained still, fists clenched and staring straight ahead.

"I was her first, you know... Gave her her first orgasm, made her cum over and over... Can you do that, old man? One night with me again, and she'd forget your name if it was tattooed on her arm. She'll always be mine..."

A green mist descended in Copia's mind, and he couldn't help himself. He swung for Elijah, his fist connecting with his cheek with a sickening crack.

The Ghouls sprang into action when Elijah pounced on Copia, shoving him to the floor and trying to get a few punches in himself, but Copia was too strong for him. A man you thought would never hurt a fly, wouldn't be able to hold his own in a fight on account of his own awkwardness and his tender nature and yet... you were seeing a whole new, angry side to him. And it made your chest tighten, knowing he was fighting for you...

The Ghouls sprang into action, quickly restraining Elijah and dragging him to the parking lot around the side of the front building to the Ministry. You saw them throw him into the back of a van, two of them and Sodo joining him in the back whilst the remaining Ghoul got in the driver's seat.

You ran to Copia's side where he stood up, dusting himself off.

"Copia! Fucking hell, are you alright?" you asked, your hands pulling his face to look at you but he couldn't look you in the eye. Instead, he gripped your wrists in his and pulled you back up the steps, marching you back to his quarter's and ignoring Rain's protests he should go to the infirmary for the blood dripping from his forehead and lip.

You tried to slow him down, to tell him to stop and breathe but he ignored everything you said to him until he had you back in his living room, slamming the door behind him. He let you go, practically throwing you into the middle of the room as he stalked towards you with dark, hungry eyes.

'C-Copia... what did he say to you?" you asked him, terrified he was now angry at you for some lies Elijah may have told.

"You're mine, sí?" he asked, his voice deep and forced through grit teeth.

"W-what?" you asked; how could he ask that of you. He knew you were, body and soul.

"Are. You. Mine?" he asked, slowly. You took a step back.

"Of course I am!" you yelled, "Copia your head, your lip... Let me clean you up, okay? Just... Just take a breath, calm down," you told him, taking another step back as he took one towards you.

He ignored you, backing you up until your legs hit the couch behind you. He was in your space now, glowering down at you. The look in his eyes both terrified and excited you. With such a dark expression, the blood from his lip and forehead only served to add a menacing and yet, enticing air of danger to your predicament.

"Calm down? I am calm, amore mio. Why wouldn't I be calm, eh?" Sarcasm dripped from every word.

"Copia, please..." you lift your hand to caress his cheek, trying to check the damage to his lip and head but he catches your wrist in a tight grip, earning a gasp from you.

"I am a better man than him, sí?" he asked. You creased your brow in confusion for a minute, before remembering to answer him. Every millisecond of silence his grip on your wrist tightened.

"Y-yes, of course you are. Copia, you're scaring me..." Only half true, of course. He was absolutely a better man than Elijah ever was, and you were only... slightly scared in that moment.

"I love you more than he ever could, sí?" he asked.

"Y-you do, yes. And I love you, so much..." you told him, trying desperately to get him to just calm down, to snap out of whatever hex he was under.

"And..." he steps forward again, his foot between both yours as he presses his thigh between your legs. You can feel his hip against you, his groin pressing into your own hip bone. Was he... hard? "I fuck you better than he ever could, sí?"

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you stuttered an incoherent response. You hate to admit it but his anger was having an effect on you; his jealousy. Whatever Elijah had said to him, it must have riled him up enough to make him jealous in some way. And honestly, the thought of Copia being jealous should have had you angry at him, because how could he be jealous of that asshole?

But instead, it lit a furnace inside you. This incredibly powerful, wonderful man, who would rearrange the nine circles of Hell for you if only you asked, was jealous for you.

"Answer me," he growled, and you stammered again, unable to form a two words to string together. He took your silence as a no; severely misinterpreting the situation.

"Perhaps you need reminding, amore mio?" Copia grabbed your other arm and twisted you to the side, pushing you down to the couch with your back shoved into the corner. He knelt between your spread thighs, hands on the arm and backs of the couch and hovering above you.

"Ti scoperò finché non dimenticherai che quel tuo dio infernale ha mai fatto parte della tua vita, (I'll fuck you until you forget that that infernal God of yours was ever a part of your life)," he growled, his jealousy and anger at your past life bubbling away inside him. You didn't know enough Italian to know what he'd sad, but you recognised enough to know he was growling about God in your life? Whatever it was, it sent a flood of arousal to your core.

Before you knew it, his lips were pushed bruisingly hard against your own. You could taste the metallic pang of blood on your lips, but you had no room to care at that point. You let him consume you, his tongue working against your own with no contest as your gripped onto the lapels of his tattered jacket.

Copia's hands came to grip onto your habit either side of the buttons, and with one sharp tug he ripped it open, the buttons pinging off in different directions. he pulled again, lower, exposing your body to him where you lay.

You felt so desperate already, needy beneath him as you scrambled to push his jacket off him, then pulling on the knot of his blue neck tie and lifting that over his head with a brief separation of his punishing kiss.

Like he had to you, you pulled on either side of his shirt to try and rip it open, but you simply weren't strong enough. Copia chuckled, sitting up between your legs.

"My poor toppolina, let me help, hm?" he mocked, before ripping into his own shirt in one fell swoop. You ran your hands over his chest, marvelling at the structure of a well exercised man, his chest covered in an expanse of salt and pepper speckled chest hair. You traced the '666' over his heart, earning you a low growl from him.

"His mark, toppolina... You pledged yourself to Him now, sí? And to me..." You had, yes. Completely.

Before you could reply his lips were on yours again, licking and sucking at your bottom lip, biting down and earning a whimper from you. You bucked your hips against his thigh, already beginning to soak through the panties on display to him.

He noticed the damp patch, and his head twitched with a smirk. Without hesitation he was ripping them down your thighs and pulling them off your legs, exposing your glistening folds to him.

He swirled his gloved fingers through the mess a few times, before immediately sliding his ring and middle finger inside you. You took him with pleasure, back arching from the couch and a moan ripping from your throat.

"Tell me, amore mio, who makes you see stars every time he touches you, eh?" he taunted, hovering above you as you writhed, his fingers pumping and curling inside you bringing you so much bliss already.

"Y-you do, Copia... Fuck," you gasped when his thumb came to draw circles over your clit. "Don't stop, please..." you begged.

He had no intention of stopping, dragging you further and further towards a climax until finally, the gasp rising in your chest got stuck, and your orgasm burst inside you.

"C-Copia!" you stuttered a scream, hands flying to grip onto his wrist while his hand continued it's onslaught on your core until he was satisfied he'd got every ounce of pleasure from your orgasm as possible.

Your grip on him loosened as you came back down, and he took this as his chance to manhandle you, flipping you over onto your knees and bent over the corner of the couch lazily. When you gazed dreamily behind you, still hazy from your orgasm, you saw him unlacing the front of his tattered pants, pushing them down just enough to release his cock. He leant forward, gripping onto your hip with one hand and lining his length up with your folds with the other. He dragged the tip of his cock - an angry shade of red and leaking precum - through your juices.

"You're mine, amore mio," he growled through grit teeth, his bare chest pressed against the habit he'd bunched up around your hips, "I claim you as such."

In one swift motion, he slid home, filling you to the brim as his hips came into contact with your ass. He grunted when he bottomed out, the warmth of your inner walls sending a pleasurable shiver through his body.

Before long his hips were smacking into your ass over and over, his cock filling you deliciously while he angled himself to hit your g-spot over and over again. The slew of nonsense tumbling from your lips had him chuckling to himself between deep breaths as he exerted himself.

"So good you can't even talk, amore mio? Sí, no one can fuck you like I can, eh?" he taunted. "Say it. Say 'no one can fuck me like you can, Papa'!" he ordered.

"No one... can... fuck me... like you... Papa!" you cried, his titled coming out as a scream at a particularly hard thrust.

"Mine... you're all mine," he claimed, "Gonna fill you up, amore mio... Give you my seed to carry, make sure everyone sees you and knows you're claimed."

If his thrusts weren't already enough, his words were turning you on above and beyond anything he'd ever said to you before. Whilst you were your own person, and proudly so, you couldn't help the way hearing how possessive he was in this moment made you clench on his length.

"G-gonna... cum... Papa!" you yelled again, dangling on the edge, just a little too far from where you needed to be. He sensed you needed a nudge, his hand snaking around between the both of you and his fingertips rubbing over your sensitive clit once again.

"You'd like that hm? If Papa fucked you so hard, filled you so much with his seed everyone could see it? Everyone would know... They'd know I'd bred you so good, amore mio..." He was spewing utter filth, and it was having the desired effect on you...

"Papa..." you cried.

"Papa's here, amore... Papa's fucking you so good, eh? Fucking the damn antichrist into you!" he growled.

You lost control then, your cunt spasmed around him as you violently came around his length. He wrapped his arms around your chest, heaving you back against him with a hand gripping your chin. His hips continued to rut into you, fucking you through your orgasm as you gasped and reached for something, anything...

"That's it, eh? So good for me, cumming on Papa's cock like that... Just for me, hm?"

All you could do was whimper weakly as your body spasmed in his grasp. He held you so tightly against him, owning you, fucking into you over and over as he whispered filth into your ear you could barely pay attention to in your haze.

Before long, he was moaning wantonly in your ear and stuttering in his pace, a sure fire sign he was about to finish. With a little more clarity now, you figured you'd help him along.

"I-I'm yours, Papa..." you told him, "Devoted to you... Cum inside me, Papa. M-mark me... as yours..."

A fierce growl erupted from his chest, his fingers digging into your flesh as he tightened his grip, hips slowing but remaining powerful in a final few thrusts to prolong his climax. He filled you with his spend, so much you could hear the way it leaked from you with every last thrust he gave.

When he stilled, he buried himself deep and stayed put, tumbling onto the couch with you in his arms and holding you still so close to him. You stayed like that for a while, content being full of him and wrapped up in him all at the same time. Both of you needed a moment, just to catch your breath and come down from the immense high you'd experienced together.

After a while, Copia began to press kisses to your neck, little hisses in pain each time he did where his lip was bust and swollen. The blood on his head had dried but now the ache of the wound was starting to set in.

You turned your head back to him, assessing the damage finally and sighing.

"You should let me help with that," you told him softly. He nodded quietly, both of you now moving and separating from each other. Killing two birds with one stone, you decided a shower for the pair of you was the best idea, and so you both removed the remaining clothes you had on and stepped under the hot water together.

In a comfortable silence, you washed the blood and paints from his face, dabbing at the wounds while he took care of washing you too. You felt the stark contrast between the way he'd taken you earlier and the tenderness of this moment; in their own ways both made you feel wanted, loved, needed.

"Copia..." you whispered to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and stepping into him. "You know I'm yours, don't you?"

You hoped he really did, part of you was terrified he doubted your loyalty to him in any way at all.

"Of course, amore mio... And I'm yours," he told you, wrapping his arms around you too and enjoying the warmth of the water cascading over both of you. "Perdonami, I fear I was too rough, eh?" he chuckled insecurely.

"Not at all... I can't pretend it wasn't hot as hell to see a side of you so angry at the idea of me being with anyone else..." you smirked up at him, resting your chin on his chest, just above his '666' mark.

"That stronzo... I can't believe you dated that fucker," he scoffed, pushing your wet hair from your forehead.

"A past life, my love. I was under a spell back then..." you sighed. He hummed in thought.

"And now, you're under mine..." he smirked. You giggled happily as he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a far sweeter, tender kiss.

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ghuleh-witch · 7 months ago

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Fandom: Ghost Rating: Mature Warnings: Dry humping, blood and blood-drinking Relationships: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia/Dracopia x GN Reader Characters: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia/Dracopia, GN Reader Additional Tags: Coming in pants, no beta Chapter Word Count: 1360 Summary: You allow Copia to bite you for the first time. Author's Note: I tried to keep this as gender-neutral as possible. Please let me know if I missed anything. AO3

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You look up into his mismatched eyes surrounded by coal black paint. Even in the dim candle-lit room, you could see the tenderness his eyes held. It caused your heart to melt into a puddle inside your chest. Despite being a predator of the night, Copia was too sweet for his own good at times.

“You won’t,” you responded. “I trust you. I know you won’t do anything to hurt me. I want to do this for you.” A few days have gone by since Copia last fed, and from what he told you, he only got his hands on some pig’s blood that was supposed to be used in a ritual Terzo was planning. “I’ll replace it before he knows it’s missing,” he told you. The Siblings trained to be donors for the vampires in the ministry were either scheduled off or busy with others, leaving Copia to either hunt for animal blood or find another willing donor.

And you wanted to play the part of willing donor.

“Let me do this for you,” you said, cupping his cheek and bringing his gaze to yours. You could see how tired he was. The hunger was there just floating under the surface. He looked ready to snap at any given moment, but you weren’t afraid.

Copia sighed, and his hand came to rest over the one you held to his cheek. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm. “Are you sure, amore ?” He asked.

You nod. “Very sure.”

He looked unconvinced, his frown lines deepening. “It will hurt at first. You will feel like your skin is on fire…”

“I trust you. And besides, I know that feeling goes away. You told me yourself.”

“Eh, si , I did. The pain fades and you’ll become calm and pleasure.” You could have sworn there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks when he said that.

“Well, we’ll just have to see where that takes us,” you replied with a hint of a smirk. “So, let’s do this. How do you usually do this with the donors?”

“They sit next to me and give me their wrist,” Copia said. “But they are trained and used to the pain the bite brings. You are not. It would be best if you sat in my lap so I can hold onto you so you don’t fall over.”

You straddle his lap as he sits on the sofa. “Like this?” You all but purr.

“Hmmm, si ,” Copia responded, his hands came to rest on your hips. “And then I’ll take your wrist and bite into the vein.” His hand came to lift one of your hands and his lips ghosted a kiss over your knuckles.

“Why not drink from my neck?” You suggested. You remembered him telling you how drinking from the neck was very intimate and intense. You craved to know what it felt like; to be held so close on the edge of life and death.

“I—I shouldn’t,” Copia stammered, his eyes glued to your neck, just below your jaw where your pulse thudded. “Not for your first time.”

“I want to,” you responded quickly. “I want to feel it all.”

Copia’s eyes slipped closed as a sigh escaped his lips. He was silent for a second, probably debating whether to give in to your request. You could see the battle he was warring with himself. After a moment his eyes opened and looked into yours. His hand came to cup your check as he nodded. “Alright, amore , but you must tell me if you feel lightheaded or sick. I cannot live with myself if I hurt you.”

“I promise,” you pledged. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Well, we’re trying to avoid that last bit, eh?” Copia said, his lips coming to yours in a gentle kiss. “I’m going to kiss you for a bit and then I’ll bite.”

You nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”

His lips were on yours once more as his hands tightened around your waist, holding you close. The kiss started chaste and soft and quickly deepened. You could feel his cock harden beneath the laces of his pants. You gasped as his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw, stopping to nip your earlobe, before continuing the path down your neck.

“Copia,” you moaned breathily as you felt his fangs graze the delicate skin over your jugular.

“Try to be still for this part. I don’t want to make it worse,” he murmured against your skin.

It felt like a pinch at first, and you wondered what the big deal was. It didn’t hurt. You spoke too soon though because then it felt like lava was flooding your veins as his fangs sank deeper into your neck. You let out a pained whimper as you tried to pull away, but his arms held you steadfastly in place. Something that sounded like a muffled apology came from Copia as the hot pain flooded your entire body. Tears sprang to your eyes and for a moment you really thought you might die.

Then just like Copia said, a calm fell over you and the pain began to ebb away. Endorphins surged through your bloodstream and you became lost in the feeling of peace and pleasure. “Oh,” you breathed as your fingers curled into the black fabric of his shirt. You could have sworn you felt Copia smile against your neck as warm rivulets of blood trickled down your skin.

“Feels nice now,” you said, rolling your hips against him without even realizing it.

That is until he groaned.

You were fully aware of the hard bulge beneath you; fully aware that he was just as aroused as you. Unable to help yourself, you rolled your hips again, grinding down against him causing you both to groan. Pleasure filled you as the friction of your jeans rubbed against you just right. “Fuck, Copia,” you moaned as his hands slipped from your hips, into the waistband of your pants, and to your ass. He squeezed your ass and pulled you impossibly closer. He wanted you to keep going and you had no intention of stopping. Your fingers grip his shirt so tight that your knuckles turn white as you grind against him, pushing yourself to your peak. You felt the coil in your lower abdomen grow tighter and tighter before suddenly it snapped. “Oh, fuck,” you panted. Dizziness caused your head to swim as you came, Copia's name fell from your lips in breathy moans. You felt his cock kick beneath the layers of clothes separating you and you smirked knowing he came as well.

His head fell back from your neck as he looked into your face with half-lidded eyes. His pupils were blown and crimson stained his lips and chin. With a quick swipe of his tongue, he cleaned his bloodied lips. His eyes fell closed as he savored the flavor.

“Amore,” he panted as his hands gripped you tight to him. “You are absolutely delicious. And I don’t mean just your blood.” His eyes opened and looked over your face, searching for any signs of distress or discomfort. “How do you feel? Did I take too much?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “A little dizzy, but that could be from how hard I came.”

He frowned. “Maybe I did take too much.”

“Copia, I’m fine. It’s nothing a juice box and a cookie couldn’t fix,” you said, cupping his cheek as your thumb stroked over his paintless skin. “I promise I’m okay.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, eh? You got blood all down your neck and shoulder.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the spot he bit. The sensitivity of the wound made you wince. He pulled back and gave you an apologetic smile. “It’ll be a little uncomfortable for a day, but I have a balm we can put on it and it’ll heal right up.” He adjusted his grip and stood, carrying you to the bathroom. You knew after tonight, you’d always be his willing donor.

#ghost #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #copia #cardinal copia #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus fanfic #cardinal copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #gn reader #dracopia x reader #dracopia #my fanfic #copia x reader

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cowboyemeritus · 1 month ago

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Day 9

Prompt: Voice Kink

Pairing: Copia/Reader

Tags: also pretty self explanatory

Notes: this one's pretty mild - just lovin' on copia after a show, with a little twist

“Spectacular as always, dear.” Copia gives you an appreciative nod as he crosses the threshold of the dressing room and flops himself down on the couch next to you, clearly exhausted. You’ll have to start getting packed up soon, but for now he deserves a moment to decompress.

“Grazie.” He cringes at the scratchiness in his voice, already so severe just minutes after taking his final bow. You perk up a little at the sound. It stirs something inside you can’t quite place. All you know is that you’re intrigued by it.

“Rest day tomorrow,” you point out. It’s actually a travel day, but what you really mean is the he won’t have to exert himself like he does on stage. That’s the closest thing he gets to a rest while on tour, anyway. Poor thing; being a rockstar is hard work.

Copia nods. You can see he’s looking over at the vanity, where a bag of lozenges is resting against a tumbler of water. He’s got an expectant look in his eyes, silently begging you to have mercy and not make him get up just yet. You oblige, rising to your feet to retrieve the provisions. If he wants them, however, he’ll have to humor you first.

“Are we stopping anywhere? Phantom’s obsessed with the idea of seeing the World’s Largest… Anything.” He just shrugs. Bruh. “Or we could cuddle up and watch a movie. Anything in particular you’ve been wanting to see?” You’re careful to ask an open-ended question this time.

“I will have to think about it.” You must be making some sort of face because he raises an eyebrow. “You are giving me the bedroom eyes, amore.”

“What?” You pump as much fake surprise as you can muster into it. “No. I’m just talking to my Papa.” Putting the pieces together, Copia laughs through his nose.

“This?” He asks, a hand coming to his throat. “Really? I need to be resting.” You give him a sly smile, kicking the ground a little. Your hand worms its way into the bag of lozenges, grabbing a small handful.

“I know, but…” You giggle. “I don’t know! It’s sexy. Like how you sound after we fuck all night.” You pause, grabbing the tumbler. “There’s another idea for tomorrow.” The memory of your last marathon, a last hurrah before months on the cramped tour bus, appears in your mind’s eye, setting off a pounding between your legs. Returning to the couch, you hand Copia his water, but elect to withhold the lozenges for now. He looks so tired, probably too tired for your games, but if he has one mortal weakness, it’s you. He takes a sip, letting his head fall back against the couch. With a relived groan he swallows, the life-giving water helping revive him just a little.

“You can turn even the most innocent conversation into something dirty, mia diavoletta.” He spies the medicinal candies still clasped in your hand and gives you a look. It’s not quite pleading, more of a firm request.

“It’s not my fault. You could read out of Leviticus and it would be hot right now.” Copia chuckles.

“Oh yeah?” The expression on his face says get a load of this. “Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God.” Sitting up, he reaches for your hand, hoping to snatch up the lozenges, but you’re too quick, whipping it behind your back.

“I’ll honor you all you want,” you say, kneeling between his parted legs. Your free hand finds his perfectly-sculpted thigh, giving the firm muscle a squeeze. Copia grunts, already half-hard. “Just keep talking.”

#my writing #the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #the verse he quotes is Lev 19:32 btw #i have thoughts about why he can quote leviticus by heart... you should ask me about them

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dolceterzo · 5 months ago

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The Empire That Little Cardi Built (ficlet)

Fandom: Ghost (The Band Ghost)

Pairing: None

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 685

Summary: In the aftermath of the night at the Forum, Copia is being watched.

A/N: Big thank you to @angellayercake for always championing me and my writing, I cannot tell you how much it means. ♡♡♡

BIG SPOILERS FOR RITE HERE RITE NOW UNDER THE CUT

Terzo fiddles with the clasps on his robe, the translucent black and purple fabric rippling as he sits in one of the now empty seats, his feet are propped up on the seat in front of him, looking down at all the strewn confetti and Mummy Dust notes - a sigh escapes him, a pang of nostalgic longing for a time since passed.

"Do you think we should..." He trails off, looking up into the nothingness. He’s not sure what he's suggesting.

"Ah, Saltarian is already with him, he'll have plenty to tend to without us showing up right this moment." Secondo muses, yet his eyes are sombre. His heart was never as cold as some might have thought, he too wanted to go to the man they were watching so diligently.

The man who was once a boy they used to treat with such weariness and disdain like brothers sometimes did.

The Second Emeritus shifts on his seat, scratching at his head in wistful thought."It would have been nice to play somewhere like this, hm?" He understood the order of things, and always knew his tenure was merely a custodial passing of the torch, but he wasn’t beyond having dreams.

The last of three watchful figures hums in agreement, the one who missed out on the most, yet gave everything in other ways. He’s standing instead of sitting, his frail and almost glowing hands gripping the rail in front of him, he's a few rows further down than the other two.

Primo watches over the scene with indescribable emotions, watches as Saltarian lifts a shaking Copia to his feet, his red sparkling jacket such a jarring contrast to the sorrow that emanates from their half-brother's soul.

"He fought hard," The eldest says matter-of-factly.

"So did I..." Terzo grumbles, but Primo dismisses him with a gentle chastising tsk.

"Fratellino, they had made their minds up about us. It was never going to be enough. The old man still does not see this-" He gestures to the now empty Forum. "-as enough."

The two seated brothers nod in resigned understanding. If this place filled with life and love for their reigning Papa, mere hours ago, could not be enough to let Copia keep going, then what would?

Two grunts of agreement come from behind the eldest, they continue watching from the shadows no longer illuminated by the spotlights or pyrotechnics. Hushed words are exchanged between the two men in the pit, after a few moments three noises of surprise come from the stands as they hear Copia say two words, "Frater Imperator."

Stunned for a beat, they look at each other. Terzo throws his hands up in the air.

"At least he made it out with his life." It's not a scornful statement from the Third, one of relief really, he didn't wish death upon the man who had already endured so much and worked himself silly - the same man who had to hold Terzo's head and pretend that he was okay with it before throwing up and crying in his room later that night.

"We'll show ourselves when he's not so fraught with such fresh news. He may not take well to us suddenly showing up when we had years to do it." Primo adds.

They look at each other, deciding that is what they'll do, they'll say hello when Copia's had time to adjust.

Then, without fanfare, the three brothers begin to fade - deciding to return to their plexiglass coffins ready for the ride home.

Just as Copia begins to leave the quiet of the pit, slowly pushing his mother toward the concourse where the private ambulance is waiting, he gets the urge to look around - his eyes are drawn to the first few rows of seating.

Copia knows he must be going a little mad with all that had occurred tonight because for a second he thinks he sees flashes of red, green and purple, flashes that send goosebumps rippling through his body.

Yet, just as quickly as the vision was noticed, it's now gone, leaving the hairs on Copia's neck standing rigidly.

Fin.

#papa emeritus iv #ghost fanfiction #rite here rite now spoilers #dolceterzo writing

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molly-ghuleh · 11 months ago

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Ungrumpify Your Papa: Papa Emeritus II x afab!reader

Summary: It's your first holiday season with Secondo and you're determined to make him less of a grump.

Words: 6.9k (nice)

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI!!, reader is AFAB but there are no gendered words/pronouns, smut, fluff, lingerie, light dom!Secondo, teasing, brief mentions of overstimulation, holiday feelings, discussions of religion

AO3

A/N: Happy day 2 of the XXXMas at the Ministry series! Check out day 1 with Primo by @copias-sewer-rat in the links below, and stay tuned for day 3 with Terzo by @ghulehunknown and day 4 with Copia by @bupia (who also put together these incredible graphics)!!

Day 1 (Dec 20th): Naughty Presents (AO3)

Day 2 (Dec 21st): Ungrumpify Your Papa (you are here!)

Day 3 (Dec 22nd): Mistletoe'd (AO3)

Day 4 (Dec 23rd): Treasure Hunt (AO3)

Secondo is very particular about how he curates his living quarters. His taste is distinct and refined, but not to the point of tackiness. It’s obvious that he’d spent a non-trivial amount of time picking out his furniture after he became Papa, and even more time reorganizing his space to ensure you felt welcome after he’d asked you to move in with him. Every book, every pillow, every little trinket or decoration or memory has a dedicated place somewhere, and each piece is treasured and respected like it has belonged there for all of eternity.

So, you weren’t surprised when Secondo grumbled when you pulled out a red and gold plaid throw blanket for the holidays, but he’s gracious enough to allow it to live on the couch (so long as it is neatly folded after every use, of course). And you had to stifle your laugh when he’d come home to find a little mistletoe hanging from the threshold of his bedroom and had jumped nearly ten feet in the air thinking it was a spider.

He came to terms with the mistletoe, though, after realizing that every time he jumped when seeing it from his periphery, you’d come over and kiss him and remind him it was only temporary. He didn’t tell you that he’d let you keep the mistletoe up all year round if it gave him an excuse to kiss you more.

The tree you want, though… that’s another battle.

“Please?” You ask sweetly, snuggling with him under the aforementioned red and gold blanket.

“No, amore,” Secondo says.

You’re tracing gentle patterns into his bare chest and can feel his heartbeat under your fingertips. You watch as the soft, dark hair dusting his skin catches on your finger. “Explain to me your reasoning.”

Secondo chuckles—a low, deep sound that you can feel more than hear. “Must I explain myself past the fact that I simply do not want a tree?”

“But why?” You ask him. You lift yourself up onto an elbow and look down at him. The two of you had built a little nest of sorts in front of the fireplace in his sitting room. It’s the first night that the two of you, as well as the entire Abbey, are absolved from duties in a week-long observance of the solstice and Yule, and you had decided to spend it together, alone, and very naked.

Secondo sighs but there’s still a little smile on his face. He can’t help but adore you and your insistence. It seems to him that you’re determined to uproot his entire life. He would gladly shed his roots and the soil of comfort and routine they grow in if it meant seeing you happy, but where is the fun in that? He enjoys making you ask for what you want. He enjoys seeing you work for it. And, in some (most) instances, he enjoys pushing you until you resort to begging.

“Because,” Secondo begins, drawing you back down to lay your head on his warm chest, “there is no room for one. And we have nothing to put on it.”

You laugh. “This room alone is bigger than my old Sibling quarters. There’s plenty of space.”

“It could catch on fire.”

“Secondo, you don’t put a tree directly in front of the fireplace.”

“Well. Suppose there is an ember—“

“And,” you playfully cut him off. “We can find things to decorate it with. Warm lights, those red, wooden beads for a garland, little glass ornaments… It can be classy. We can make it match your taste.”

Your lover is silent for a moment, considering. “There would be pine needles everywhere.”

You laugh again. His tone of voice tells you that you’re close to cracking him. Oh, you’re well aware of the games he plays with you and take full part in them. The push and pull, the give and take of him letting you believe you’re in control and then showing you that this was his plan all along… even with something as mundane as a holiday tree, your heart speeds up and your face heats just slightly.

You’re still tired from the evening’s activities, after all.

“We can get a fake one,” you offer. “Small, too. Nothing unmanageable. And I’ll string the lights on it because it’s a pain in the ass.”

Secondo traces lines back and forth over your shoulder, tickling your skin. “You speak like the decision is already made, amore.”

“You haven’t given me a good enough reason to back down yet.”

He chuckles again. “Sto solo scherzando. Will it make you happy?”

You prop yourself up again and press a kiss to his lips. “It will,” you say softly. “But I don’t need a tree to make me happy. If you really don’t want one, we won’t have one.”

“You said it yourself,” Secondo says against your mouth, “that it is temporary. I will survive.”

You feel his mouth curl into a small smile against your own when you kiss him again. You’re sure yours must feel the same.

~~~

You and Secondo stroll leisurely through the rows of trees. The display is pretty, and nostalgic—it’s been staged to look like a small grove of real trees, with the stands cleverly hidden by piles of snow at the bases. Some of the trees are fully decorated, and some have only lights, but most are completely bare to emulate a tree farm. Somehow the staff had managed to make the display smell like pine and a hint of cinnamon, and if you close your eyes and listen to the winter breeze and the jingling of bells on the storefront door, it feels like a real tree farm.

“You know,” you say to Secondo as you stop in front of a tree with fake snow on it, “you never told me why you didn’t want a tree.”

Secondo regards the tree for a moment and, seeing how easily the fake snow flakes off of the limbs with just a slight breeze, gently tugs you towards the next one. “It is not necessarily the tree that I am opposed to,” he says. “But the commercialization of what is supposed to be a holiday.”

You’re silent for a moment as you think about his words. He does have a point. There are a fair few seasonal decorations that you find to be unbearably tacky, but the ones you do enjoy carry a warm nostalgia. “I see,” you muse. “For a while after I converted, it was hard to rationalize the holiday because it’s so ingrained in our culture to be a Jesus thing.”

“Esattamente,” Secondo nods. “Even though most of it is taken straight from Pagan traditions.”

You stop in front of a plain tree, not any taller than Secondo, with simple, warm white lights. “That helped me rationalize it,” you tell him. “To know that modern Christmas is an amalgam of different things, and that there’s no right way to celebrate it. It doesn’t make us bad Satanists because we have a tree, or bake cookies, or wrap gifts. There doesn’t have to be any religious undertone.”

“You are right,” Secondo says after a brief silence. “What is that term… when people use a word incorrectly enough times that the meaning changes.”

“Colloquialism?” you offer.

“SÌ. Christmas has become a colloquialism. Yule, Solstice, Saturnalia, Christmas, whatever you wish to call it.”

“Is that why you never celebrated?”

Secondo looks at you, and he nearly loses his breath. The sun is going down so the sky is a deep blue, leaving your face to be illuminated only by the warm white lights of the tree in front of you. You look so cozy in your hat and scarf and coat. And you’re trying to understand him, understand why he is not a ‘holiday’ person. How he adores you.

“To a degree,” he says, looking away because he’s dangerously close to swooping you into his arms and kissing you silly. “The holiday has lost all its meaning beyond materialism. That is the way it seems. Why should I need a holiday to tell me when to gift things to the people who matter?”

“You don’t, I suppose,” you shrug. “But it’s not completely about that. It’s the thought, the warmth, the togetherness. This time of year is when people want to feel cozy and comfortable and happy. To surround themselves with the people and things they love. It’s cold, and dark, and the holiday allows us to indulge in the things we might feel guilty about at any other time of year.”

Secondo listens to your voice, and he understands. “I feel a bit like Scrooge,” he says softly. And he does—a bitter old man, learning the true meaning of Christmas… or something.

“Which ghost am I?” You ask, laughing.

“You are Tiny Tim,” he replies without having to think. “Not a ghost, but I think the wisest character in the whole story.”

“Satan bless us,” you say in your best impression of a small child. “Every one.”

In the end, Secondo chooses the tree you’d been standing in front of. He tells you that it was because he likes that it’s small and simple (which is true), but he’d seen how your eyes reflected the small bulbs and decided he couldn’t let that evening be the last time he sees that.

You also purchase simple glass bulbs, a modest tree skirt, and a silver garland to match Secondo’s green and silver color scheme in his chambers. When you arrive back at the Abbey excited to decorate, however, you remember that you’d forgotten to choose a topper. While he has his back turned to pour the two of you some hot chocolate, you sneak to the closet which houses his papal robes, and when he turns around, he finds his mitre situated crookedly atop the tree and your smug face pretending you don’t know how it got there.

“It is lopsided,” Secondo hums, handing you your mug.

“It has character,” you counter. You hide your smile behind the steaming hot chocolate.

Secondo smiles, too.

~~~

After the tree debacle, you wonder how far into the holiday spirit you can drag Secondo. You aren’t determined to make him the embodiment of Santa Claus, but you hope to ease his grumpiness. And honestly, it isn’t just the holiday that you want him to enjoy, it’s the whole season. Winter is cold and dark and oftentimes miserable, yes, but it doesn’t have to be. Not when you have someone to come home to after years of spending it alone.

So you suggest cookies. Because I love sugar cookies, you explain when Secondo asks. And Copia has a sweet tooth. And we need something to bring to dinner with your family.

Not at all because watching Secondo in the kitchen gets you going like nothing else.

You sit at the small table in his kitchen, watching him move. He’d shooed you out of the way after scolding you for suggesting you use a premade mixture of Betty Crocker sugar cookies, insisting that if you must make cookies, you will at least do it right. But how can you stay away from him when he looks like that?

He’s wearing his apron (which is, in and of itself, an incredible turn-on). The sleeves of his button-up shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showcasing his muscular forearms. And his hands, oh, his hands, are bare and flexing, kneading the dough as he mixes flour in pinch by pinch. The veins in his arms are highlighted in the overhead kitchen lights. His shoulders stretch and move, pulling the fabric of his shirt tight against his back again and again.

Sweet Satan, give me strength, you think. And Satan, ever the purveyor of sin and temptation, strips all the strength from your mind and whispers in your ear to go to him.

So you do. You quietly slip out of your chair and approach Secondo, taking in his perfect form. His broad shoulders, the slight pooch to his sides, his ass which is hugged so perfectly in his trousers, his hands kneading the dough ball like they knead the flesh of your thighs, your chest, your belly, your rear. Your hands slip around his middle and you press yourself against his back. You feel him pause.

“Amore,” Secondo says softly and you’re not exactly convinced that he’s chiding you. “You are a terrible distraction. Come faccio a cuocere questi biscotti con te che mi tenta?”

You trace your hands up his stomach to his chest, relishing in his warmth. There’s probably flour on your hands and forearms and all over his apron, but you don’t care. “Can you blame me? You know very well what watching you in the kitchen does.”

“SÌ, I do, my dove,” Secondo hums. His hands are still now. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of your palms brushing up and down his body. Yes, he knows quite well what he’s doing to you. He’d be a liar if he said his insistence to bake the cookies from scratch was entirely innocent. But he supposes you know that. “Tell me, amore. If I were to turn around and lift you up onto this counter and spread your legs, what would I find, hm?”

Instead of answering him, you trail your hands back down from his chest, over his tummy, and down to the crux between his legs and pelvis, resting your palms there and squeezing lightly. You can already feel the stretching fabric of his trousers and know that if he turned around to make good on his promise, you would find him hard and aching. He heaves a trembling breath at your movements. It’s likely that he will punish you for this later, but is it really a punishment if it’s what you desire most?

It’s not often that Secondo allows you to take control like this. Even if it’s just a small movement, a little caress of his arousal, he’s quick to pull your hands away and make sure you find your pleasure first. But slowly, his hands begin to work into the dough once more, and he makes no further comment. Your own hands find the button of his trousers and tug it open.

“Amore,” Secondo hums in warning when your fingers brush along the length of him over the fabric of his pants.

In a stroke of confidence (and maybe a touch of curiosity as to what might happen if you poke the sleeping bear), you reach down his front to grasp him over his briefs. It’s only for a moment before you’re withdrawing your hand and fumbling his button closed again. You press a kiss between his shoulder blades and step away. “Sorry, love. Cookies take precedence.”

Then, you’re pressed against the kitchen table, your wrists pinned beside your head as Secondo looms over you and presses his hips to your own. His breath is hot and his voice is low in your ear as he speaks. “You know very well that I would ravish you right now,” he growls, rutting his hips forward to spread your thighs even further. You can feel just how honest he’s being and you sigh with the contact. “If it were not for this dinner… this cena maledetta…”

There’s flour all over your clothes from his apron pressing against your front. The tip of his nose traces a path up from the sensitive skin below your ear, across your cheekbone, to rest against yours. His lips brush your own as he speaks. “Do not think I do not know what you are doing.”

“I know you know,” you say, your voice sultry. You arch your back up off the tabletop and press your chest into his. “That’s why I do it.”

“Sei una tentazione,” Secondo whispers. “Perché devi essere così allettante quando non posso averti?”

Your jaw slacks open when he presses his hips even harder against yours. He takes the opportunity to lean in and nip at your lower lip, tracing his tongue along it and tugging. “One day,” you gasp when he pulls away, “I will understand when you say such filthy things to me in Italian.”

“You tell me that not knowing is a thrill.”

“Oh, it is. But sometimes I wish I could understand what depraved things you’ll do.”

“Let me put it plainly, then,” Secondo says. He takes the shell of your ear between his teeth and squeezes your wrists just a bit tighter. Your thighs lift as he presses himself against you completely. “We are going to make these cookies. We are going to Terzo’s dinner party. And we are going to stay for however long is acceptable before I take you back here and punish you for teasing me.”

“Yes, Papa.”

~~~

Oh, you hate him.

Not for last night when he’d punished you, no. You very much do not hate him for that. You’d gone to bed with trembling legs after he had to help you to the shower. He compared you to a newborn deer but held you steady as you wobbled, and then gave you one last orgasm in the warm water before the two of you retired to bed.

Rather, you hate him because he’d been waiting for a reason to punish you last night. He’d been searching for an excuse to make you fall off the edge of the world, more than a few times over, because he’d planned to take you and your wobbly legs surprise ice skating the next morning and thought it would be funny to watch you scramble.

“I hate you,” you grumble as you cling to his hand with a vice-like grip. “I hate you and your stupid memory.”

Secondo laughs quietly and supports your weight. You almost lose balance when he leans down to speak lowly in your ear, but he keeps you upright. “I did not hear you saying that last night when I remembered where to touch to make you–”

“Alright, alright,” you interrupt, your face heating. “But last night I didn’t think I had to tell you to take it easy so I could stand upright today.”

“That is the fun of it, amore. Seeing you wobble, knowing I did this.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “How is your ass? Sore?”

“From you spanking it or from falling on it four times?” You ask.

“Either way,” Secondo stands up straight again, “I suppose the answer is the same.”

You huff. “I used to be able to do spins as a kid,” you tell him. “And now I can barely stand on skates because of you and your fingers and your tongue and your little Secondino.”

“He is not very little though, is he?” Secondo asks, and you could smack him if he wasn’t completely right. You’re wobbly because he’s not little in the slightest.

You’re grateful, though. You’d mentioned how you used to go ice skating as a child, and how you haven’t in a very long time. In previous relationships, that was that. You would mention something you miss, or an activity you used to love, and that would be the end of it. But with Secondo, dear, attentive, lovely, grumpy Secondo, it’s different. You feel heard for the first time in your life. And that might be terribly cheesy, but it’s true. He does more for you than the absolute bare minimum you’d grown to expect from partners and you feel positively spoiled. If you can give him even half of the happiness he gives you, you’re happy. You would give him the world and the sun and the moon if you could.

Secondo notices your silence and squeezes your hand, warm and cozy in the gloves Terzo had gifted you at his dinner last night. “Where did you go, dove?”

“Sorry,” you shake yourself from your reverie and blink away the sudden tears of gratitude and affection. “I just love you. Thank you for taking me skating.”

“You’re welcome. Anch’io ti amo.”

Eventually you find your sea legs and show him the (very basic) spins you know how to do. You manage not to fall on your ass a fifth time. And then you begin to seethe because, of course, Secondo is perfectly balanced and graceful and can skate like he was born on the ice. Your poised Papa is always so composed and you feel like, as he’d said, a newborn deer perpetually falling.

You hate him, but that doesn’t stop the heat from building in your lower belly. Again.

~~~

The next day is the Ministry’s observed holiday. Most of the Abbey’s residents choose to spend it honoring the Olde One in sin with loved ones—eating, drinking, laughing, fucking. You and Secondo are no different, having celebrated the holiday with family and friends at Terzo’s dinner two days prior.

That was the intention of hosting a dinner two days before the holiday. So that one might be able to honor Satan and the unholy observance without having to worry about family coming.

You are absolutely not complaining. You spend the morning sleeping in, held in Secondo’s strong, warm embrace. When you wake, there’s no rush to get out of bed. He apologizes for your sore (and slightly fall-bruised) ass by rubbing and kneading it with gentle hands, pressing kisses down your spine with no sense of urgency or implication of more. You want there to be more, but you have something planned for later.

You aren’t sure how long you’ll be able to wait for later to arrive.

In the weeks leading up to the holiday, he’d told you not to worry about finding a gift for him. He said that you are enough, that spending time with you and just seeing you is enough of a gift. That you’d somehow managed to soothe the harshness in his soul. In his Secondo way of saying those things, which is less sappy. But you know that the sap was there, so you found a gift for him anyway.

The gift, of course, is something practical and utilitarian. Fit for Secondo’s taste but not something he already has. Something you know for a fact he’ll enjoy.

That’s the list of things you’d written in your head when debating whether or not to buy the expensive, green satin lingerie with silver buckles. And of course, you needed a robe to hide it with so he can unwrap his gift.

Although neither of you want to get up from the cozy cocoon of bedsheets you’re tangled in, your stomach begins to growl for breakfast.

“Hungry?” Secondo asks from where his face is nestled against your neck.

“Very,” you say, and make no move to get up. Neither does he.

Your stomach growls again.

“Hush,” Secondo says softly. “I am comfortable.”

After the third growl, you laugh, and Secondo pushes himself off of you to sit upright. “Coffee?”

“Please,” you nod.

When Secondo stands to walk into the kitchen, shirtless and practically glowing in the morning sun coming through the windows, you decide that later can come whenever you like. He can spend all day and night unwrapping his gift over and over and over if he wishes to. You can’t bear to wait.

You slip away with the box containing your robe and underthings and lock yourself in the bathroom. It takes you a few tries to align the straps correctly so you can slip your head and arms through where they’re supposed to go, but the lower portion is more straightforward. The set is simple once it’s situated correctly. There’s a strip of fabric leading up the middle of your chest and around your neck, clasped at the front with a silver buckle, not entirely unlike a collar. The thin straps accentuate your chest and shoulders while still leaving most of your skin exposed for Secondo to leave marks on. The bottoms are strappy as well, with an attached garter belt secured with two silver buckles matching the one on your neck. Observing yourself in the mirror, you feel powerful. You know exactly what this will do to Secondo, and do for him. You feel powerful in the knowledge that you are about to allow him to overpower you.

You only hope the lingerie doesn’t get ripped in the process.

You slip the robe over your shoulders and close it, offering only a peek of the fabric around your neck, and fix your bedhead before exiting the bathroom. You stride into the kitchen like absolutely nothing has changed and find Secondo, gathering ingredients for breakfast and still shirtless. If you hadn’t changed into the set you’re wearing already then you would turn tail and do it now.

But, you steel yourself and enter the kitchen, making a beeline for your favorite mug which he’d filled with coffee. “Thank you, love,” you say softly. You lean against the counter and take a sip. It’s delicious but you couldn’t care less about the coffee right now.

“Amore,” Secondo says lowly once he catches a glimpse of your new robe and the fabric peeking out underneath. “What is this?”

He raises his finger to trace along the strip of fabric running down your chest until it disappears under the robe. “You said not to get anything for you,” you tell him, trying to act like the simple touch isn’t burning your skin. “But, did you really expect me not to?”

“Sathanas, you are sent to me by the Devil himself,” Secondo groans. He takes your mug of coffee from you and places it on the counter. “How must I wait until we have eaten when you…”

You gently take his other hand and intertwine your fingers. It’s not often that Secondo has no words. Your heart pounds in your chest and you’re sure he can feel it beneath his fingertips. “Don’t wait, then,” you say.

Slowly, Secondo traces his hand down your chest, over your sternum and towards your navel where your robe is tied closed. He pulls on the end and the robe falls open, revealing the set of lingerie adorning your skin. You feel his hot, shaky breath fan across your face as he takes in the sight of you. As if in reverence, he gently pushes the robe off your shoulders. It falls at your heels and you’re left bare in front of him, skin hot yet somehow covered in goosebumps. “Sathanas,” he curses again, thanking his maker for you.

Secondo places his hands on your waist and draws you towards him. Your own hands rise to his chest and you find that his heart is beating just as quickly as yours. Your lips meet somewhere in the middle, warm and desperate and passionate. He kisses you like it’s the last time, but also like you’re made of glass. Like he wants to ravage you and worship you at the same time but can’t decide. His tongue licks into your mouth, tracing your bottom lip. He tastes like coffee and Secondo.

You nearly stumble when he begins to push you but you quickly understand his mission. His hands guide you out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom, walking you backwards while his lips never leave your own. “Sathanas,” he groans a third time. He can’t think of anything but you, the feel of you, the taste of you, the sight of you. The only word from his mouth is a prayer at your altar.

Secondo guides you until the backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he lifts you onto the bed, crawling over you like a predator taunting his prey. Your thighs part on instinct to welcome his body between them. The cool air of the room reaches your aching arousal and you realize that you’re already embarrassingly wet.

His hands slide up and down your sides, to your hips, the tops of your thighs. He traces his fingers over the fabric of the garter belt, snapping the strap against your skin and smirking at the sound. “You are sin,” he growls as he leans down to latch his lips to your neck. “I need you.”

“Take me,” you moan, and your voice comes out more desperate than you intend for it to, but you’re past the point of caring. You want him to know that you need him, too. “Please, Papa. I’m yours.”

Secondo’s mouth trails down your chest, leaving wet kisses and little marks as you’d predicted (and hoped). He finds the hard peak of your nipple through the thin satin and lathes his tongue over it, eliciting another moan from your lips. “Say it again for me, amore. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Papa,” you breathe as his teeth gently bite down on your covered nipple. “I belong to you. Only you.”

“Guisto. You are mine and mine alone.”

His mouth moves to your other nipple and, as if to accentuate his statement, he gives it a harder nip. You gasp at the sensation and arch your back into his mouth. “Papa…”

“Hm?” Secondo hums, and the vibrations make you moan once more. “What is it, tesoro?”

You know very well that he knows what you want, but you also know that he wants to hear you say it. “Please, your mouth,” you gasp. Your hands clutch at his shoulders and give an almost imperceptible push downwards. “I want your mouth, Papa, please.”

Secondo licks a path down your midsection. “Già così disperato per me,” he mumbles against the skin just above the garter belt. His lips blaze a path along the strip of fabric, and for the first time you wish it was gone. You’ve had your fill, he’s seen it all, and seen you in it. It can go away now. But, he takes mercy on you, and kisses his way to your pubic mound, also covered by the cursed fabric.

“Oh, amore, you are already dripping for me. I wonder if I can make you cum without taking these off, sì? They are already ruined, what is a little more?”

Secondo places a light kiss over your wetness through the fabric and your hips twitch upwards. Immediately his hands wrap around your thighs and grasp your hips, stilling you. “None of that,” he chides you, and repeats the kiss. You bite your lip to stifle your noises. That earns you a light slap on the outside of your thigh, and you gasp. “None of that either. I want to hear you.”

He licks a broad stripe up the entire length of your slit, humming as he does. Your hips twitch again but they can’t move in his firm grip. Your hands grip the bedsheets as you gasp. “Papa!”

You’re already so worked up that you feel your orgasm beginning to build in your lower belly. His tongue traces slow circles around your clit, sometimes dipping to press at your entrance but never straying for long. The fabric is practically plastered to the form of your core, but it’s not quite enough. It’s thin but it dampens the sensations of his mouth against your flesh just enough for your orgasm to elude you.

“P-Papa, please,” you pant. Your hand finds the back of his head to press him harder to you, but it’s still not enough. “Please, I need more. I’m so close, please…”

“Look at me, dove,” Secondo commands, and you obey. His cheeks are flushed and you can just barely see the shine of your wetness on the tip of his nose. “Look at me as I help you cum.”

He snakes one hand back towards your entrance and lightly presses there, then slowly works his middle finger under the fabric to dip into you. It’s frustratingly shallow, just to the first knuckle, but he knows you’re most sensitive there. His tongue flicks faster on your clit, still covered by the satin yet completely drenched, and you cum. “Papa!”

Your entrance clenches rhythmically around the tip of his finger. He growls and shoves the crotch of your panties to the side, latching his lips around your clit and sucking just as he pushes his finger deep into you. He finds the spot only he knows exists and you see stars as your first orgasm gives way to another, more powerful climax. You tumble down the side of a mountain of pleasure on his tongue and scream.

Secondo works you through the intense pleasure until the aftershocks roll pleasantly up and down your limbs, and your hips twitch up from oversensitivity. He pulls away and licks his lips. “Perfezione,” he says softly, crawling back up your body until he can kiss you properly. “Così perfetto per me. Così forte quando mi vieni sulla lingua.”

You can taste yourself on his tongue. His hands softly stroke up and down your thighs, easing the trembling there. You sling your arms around his shoulders and pull him down so that his chest rests against yours. “Do you like your gift?” you ask when you’ve finally caught your breath again.

“Sempre,” Secondo hums. “Every time I touch you is a gift, amore.”

You lean up to kiss him again, because you don’t want to sully the heat and passion between you by crying at his sudden tenderness. “Let me make you feel good, too,” you whisper against his mouth.

When your hands begin to wander downwards, Secondo rises onto his knees and grasps your wrists firmly. The position mirrors the one you’d found yourself in two days prior, after the cookie incident, and your core clenches around nothing. “All I want is to be inside you,” Secondo growls. The tenderness is replaced by a fiery passion behind his eyes, and his grip on your wrists leaves no room for debate on who is in charge now. You’ve ensnared him with your gift, now he gets to unwrap it.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Papa.”

Secondo hastily pulls his sleep pants off and his cock bounces up against his lower stomach. You wish so desperately that you could touch him, trace the trail of dark hair from his chest all the way down to the base of him, but he still has your hands beside your head. “Stay just like this for me, sì?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question and you nod. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your ruined underwear and tugs. “Up.”

You lift your hips and he slides the soaked fabric down your legs and tosses it aside. Your hands, now unrestrained, itch to touch him. “Can I touch you?” you ask, your voice breathy and desperate. You’re hoping he allows it, because if he really didn’t want you to move, there are cuffs in his bedside table that he could have easily used to hold your arms above your head.

“Not yet, amore. You are doing so well for me.”

You whine, but stay still. Secondo parts your thighs again and slots himself between them. The tip of his cock brushes against your swollen clit and you gasp, rutting your hips upward to seek more. But he doesn’t enter you, not yet. You know what he’s waiting for.

“Please, Papa,” you say, canting your hips upward once more to accentuate your words. “I want to feel you, please.”

“Bene,” Secondo hums. “Così buono per me.”

Secondo positions the head of his cock at your entrance, and pushes in slowly. Your back bows off the mattress and you sigh. “Oh, thank you, thank you…”

Inch by thick, delicious inch, Secondo enters you until your hips press together and you can feel the tip of him nudging at your cervix. When he’s fully inside you, he pauses, giving you time to breathe and adjust to his size. You hold his gaze as he strokes your thighs, soothing you, urging you to relax around him. “You may touch me,” he says.

You bring your hands to the skin below his navel to trace along the strip of hair. Usually you like to kiss your way down, leaving little love bites along his happy trail, but both of you had been so desperate for this closeness that you couldn’t prolong the process. His muscles jump and twitch under your light touches. Slowly, you slide your palms up to rest on the sides of his neck and draw him down to kiss you. The shift in angle makes his cock move inside you and he brushes against the spot his middle finger had found just minutes ago, making you clench around him. He groans into your mouth at the sensation.

“Are we going ice skating again tomorrow?” You ask.

Secondo huffs a laugh. “No, amore. I plan to make your legs wobble without having to worry about a sore ass.”

You laugh with him and kiss him once more, then roll your hips against his. “Good.”

He grips you by the hips and begins to thrust shallowly in and out of you. The drag of his cock is divine inside you, and yes, your legs will very much be wobbling tomorrow because you intend to spend all day like this and it is barely breakfast. Your head falls down against the mattress and exposes your neck, yet devoid of marks, to Secondo. And who is he to pass up an opportunity like that?

His lips descend on your pulse point just as he increases his pace. This angle again makes his cock brush against the tender spot on your inner walls and it rips a moan from your throat.

“Sì, amore, let me hear you. Let me hear how I make you feel.”

“Ah, it’s so—so good, Papa, you feel so good inside me—”

Secondo increases his speed again. His teeth gently dig into the skin of your neck and you clench around him, making him growl into your ear. “My little devil,” he rasps. “Who do you belong to? Tell me again.”

“You, Papa! I’m yours!”

“Yes—ah, yes, you are mine. Only mine. Only I can take you like this, capisci? O-only I can make you feel this pleasure.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you register that Secondo is being particularly vocal this time. His eyes never stray from yours, but his hands are everywhere—your hips, your thighs, your stomach, your chest. His fingers briefly dip into your mouth and you willingly accept them, lathing your tongue over them and tasting the remnants of your juices on his skin. His hips snap against your own, over and over and over, increasing in pace until you bounce back and forth on his cock in time with his thrusts.

With the fingers now covered in your saliva, Secondo brings his fingers directly to your oversensitive clit. Your hands clench onto any part of him you can reach, your fingernails scratching his skin and leaving red trails raised in their wake. You aren’t sure if you’re screaming or completely silent with the overwhelming pleasure. But your eyes feel magnetized to his own, like if you were to look away, the spell would break and the pleasure that’s building between you would dissipate entirely.

“P-Papa,” You gasp, breathless. “I–I’m—”

“Sì, amore mio. Cum around my cock. Cum for me.”

His desperate, almost animalistic command, paired with his fingers abusing your clit and his cock splitting you open so perfectly, send you hurtling over the edge of your climax and your vision goes white. Your entire being, your entire consciousness is centered between your legs and wherever he touches. The rest of you falls away into bliss as Secondo thrusts into you through your orgasm.

You’re still riding the tidal waves of pleasure when Secondo finds his own release, spilling inside you and slowing his thrusts until eventually he stills against you. As your awareness fades back in and your orgasm ebbs away, you realize that your legs are trembling, but so are his. Your chests heave together as you catch your breath. You relish in the warm weight of him on top of you and inside of you, tracing your fingertips up and down his spine.

When he manages to steady himself enough to hold his weight on his arms, Secondo pushes himself up just enough so he can plant soft, tender kisses against your lips. “Amore mio,” he mumbles reverently, “Sei la luce della mia vita.”

“I love you,” you respond just as softly. Though you don’t (yet) understand what he said, you can feel the weight of his words in your heart. He isn’t the type to deliver flowery speeches or long-winded declarations of love, but you know he feels it for you, as you do for him. The two of you don’t need words. It shines through the string lights on the tree in the living room. It wafts through the air on the scent of freshly baked sugar cookies. It follows you in the sound of skates sliding in tandem atop the frozen lake, and in the pleasured cries echoing in the walls of the bedroom.

Your stomach growls, and you feel the rumble of Secondo’s laugh deep in your chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translations:

Amore - love

Sto solo scherzando - I'm only joking

Esattamente - exactly

Come faccio a cuocere questi biscotti con te che mi tenta? - How am I supposed to bake these cookies with you tempting me?

cena maledetta - cursed dinner

Sei una tentazione...Perché devi essere così allettante quando non posso averti? - You are a temptation...why must you be so tempting when I cannot have you?

Anch’io ti amo - I love you too

Giusto - Right

Tesoro - treasure, sweetheart

Già così disperato per me - Always so desperate for me

Perfezione - Perfection

Così perfetto per me. Così forte quando mi vieni sulla lingua - So perfect for me. So loud when you cum on my tongue

Sempre - always

Così buono per me - So good for me

Capisci - Understood

Sei la luce della mia vita - You are the light of my life

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist (from my Camellia fic, I hope that's okay!): @bonelessghoul @gbatesx @the-did-i-ask @leah-halliwell92 @archive-obsess @rosacrose @sodoswitchimage @portaltothevoid @lightbluuestars @thesoundresoundsecho @stephnthangss @enchantedbunny @jackson5611-blog @copiasprincipessa @kadedoesthings @justheretoreadleavemealone @tiedyedghoulette @honimello @deetz-ghuleh @da-rulah @nijiru

#xxxmasattheministry #merryghostmas #merryghostmas2023 #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus ii #secondo #secondo emeritus #papa secondo #secondo smut #secondo x reader #papa emeritus smut #papa secondo x reader #secondo x afab!reader #ghost band smut

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her-satanic-wiles · 4 months ago

Text

Dawn Chorus - V

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 7.2k.

Reading Time: 29 min.

Warnings: brief mentions of the past trauma the angel went through, including the harrassment and torture, but other than that this chapter is pretty chill.

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @dolceterzo @whitepawfics

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

The Sister’s voice echoed through the room, laced with anger and accusation as she confronted the Cardinal about his inexplicable actions. “Why would you drain her when you knew we were going to perform the second ritual the next day?” Her words dripped with venom, each syllable heavy with indignation and fury.

You listened intently, your confusion deepening with each passing moment. The revelation only served to deepen the mystery surrounding the Cardinal’s betrayal, leaving you grappling for answers in the midst of the chaos unfolding in the next room, both of them oblivious to your consciousness and your eavesdropping. Why would he sabotage their plans at such a critical juncture? What could possibly drive him to act against his own interests in such a shocking manner?

“The second ritual didn’t fall on the right day, and you know it,” the Cardinal retorted, his voice tinged with frustration and defiance. Despite his anger, he made a planned effort to rein in his emotions, attempting to maintain a semblance of composure in the face of the Sister’s accusations. “Turning her into a demon won’t solve our problems.”

His words hung in the air, a sobering reminder of the gravity of their situation. The Cardinal’s admission hinted at deeper complexities beneath the surface, implying that their plans had encountered unexpected challenges and complications. It was a rare display of vulnerability from the normally stoic and resolute Cardinal, revealing the inner turmoil and conflict that plagued him.

“Oh,” she said with realization, her voice laced with a mixture of understanding and accusation. “I see what this is. You wanted to keep your little blood bank.”

Her remarks sliced through the tension like a knife, exposing the Cardinal’s hidden motives and the real reason of his actions. It was a damning revelation, a stark reminder of the Cardinal’s selfishness and lack of regard for the consequences of his decisions. In her assertion, the Sister captured the core of their unstable relationship, emphasising the power dynamics at work as well as the simmering problems beneath the surface.

The Cardinal’s response was measured yet weighted with underlying stress, his tone betraying a hint of defensiveness mingled with a touch of resignation. “It’s not about that, Sister,” he replied, his words carrying the weight of truth and conviction. “We both know the risks involved in the second ritual. We can’t afford to gamble with her life.”

“We need to control her!” The Sister exclaimed.

“And we will, I just need more time.”

“We’re running out of it, Copia! Our window of opportunity is closing, and if we don’t act soon, we risk losing everything we’ve worked for for the Dark One!” The Sister’s voice crackled with urgency, her words echoing the gravity of their situation.

“He doesn’t need another angel, He’s received plenty over the years.”

“No, but he needs information!” Something smashed in the other room which caused you to jump in surprise. “How many times must I remind you that Lord Lucifer gave us eternal life to do His bidding and give Him an advantage for the centuries to come? We are indebted to Him, and we could lose our lives because of your idiocy!”

The Cardinal protested, “He wouldn’t do that. He’s not Yhwh.”

There was a noticeable tension in the room as the Sister and the Cardinal argued angrily, both standing up for their own fears and motivations. You listened closely, your pulse thumping in your chest as you realised the magnitude of the situation. They were playing a dangerous game that may have serious ramifications for both you and them.

As the dispute progressed, you couldn’t help but feel a sensation of unease sweep over you. You were caught in the centre of their power battle, a pawn in their ultimate plan to serve Satan. But deep down, you knew you were more than just a tool to be used for their benefit. You were an angel with individual thoughts, feelings, and wants. And even though the Cardinal was in there defending what you believed to be your honour, he still seemed to forget that.

“You have until the next full moon, Cardinal!” The Sister shouted, her voice getting quieter. “If you’ve not gained control over her then, we’re doing things my way.”

The Cardinal huffed, and in a high-pitched, mocking tone, he repeated, “If you’ve not gained control of her then, we’re doing things my way.” This sentence was punctuated by a string of expletives in his native tongue, no doubt cussing her out angrily for the outcome of the argument. He continued to mumble to himself as he moved about the living room, no doubt beginning to clean what had broken.

You were unsure whether to move, or to stay where you were. As of now, you were on his bed, lavishing in the comfort and enjoying some freedom - if you were to leave, he might put you back in your cage. And so, you stayed put, your mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. The weight of the Cardinal and the Sister’s ultimatum hung heavy in the air, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a precarious situation. You even went as far to close your eyes as though you were still sleeping when the Cardinal came back into the room, gently closing the door so as not to disturb you. You felt the bed dip where he sat on it beside you, and though you couldn’t see them, you knew his eyes were on you, trained on your face and burning into your mind as if he were trying to read it.

You remained still, feigning sleep as the Cardinal’s presence loomed over you. Every fiber of your being was on high alert, your senses attuned to the slightest movement or sound. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent battle of wills unfolding between you and the Cardinal.

You could feel his gaze boring into you, probing for any sign of wakefulness or vulnerability. Despite your best efforts to maintain the facade of slumber, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that washed over you in his presence.

Minutes passed like hours as you lay there, locked in a silent standoff with the Cardinal. Each passing moment only served to heighten your apprehension, amplifying the sense of confinement and helplessness that enveloped you like a suffocating shroud.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you sensed the Cardinal’s presence recede. The bed shifted as he rose from his seat, his footsteps fading into the distance as he left the room.

Alone once more, you allowed yourself a moment of respite, exhaling a sigh of relief as the tension slowly dissipated. But even as you closed your eyes and attempted to find solace in the darkness, the weight of the Cardinal’s gaze lingered in your mind, and the memory of the Cardinal’s touch lingered like a ghostly imprint on your skin, haunting you even in his absence. Each sensation, from the prick of the needles to the gentle strokes of his hands, replayed in your mind with vivid clarity.

There was something about his gaze when you were at his feet, and the gentility of his touches as of late, that had you deeply questioning both the Cardinal’s intentions, and your own resolve. How this strange attention from him was awakening you in a way you never thought was possible. And though you tried to drive away the sin, you still couldn’t forget how your body responded under his scrutiny. You shuddered involuntarily as the phantom sensations danced across your flesh, a chilling reminder of the violation you had endured at his hands. Despite your best efforts to push the memories aside, they clung to you like a stubborn shadow, refusing to be banished from your thoughts.

You didn’t know how long you were out for this time, but when you woke up you felt almost entirely healed… and you were still on the Cardinal’s bed. You felt a fresh surge of energy entering your veins as you awoke from your sleep. The old aching that had tormented your body appeared to have vanished, replaced by a renewed life that left you feeling almost perky.

With cautious optimism, you forced yourself out of bed, appreciating the lack of agony that had plagued you for so long. As you climbed to your feet, you couldn’t help but wonder at the sense of liberation that swept over you, like a bird freed from its cage after a long imprisonment.

Stepping out of the Cardinal’s bedchamber, you entered the living room with anxiety, unsure of what lay beyond the doorway. The space was bathed in a warm glow of flickering candles, which created dancing shadows against the walls and gave the place a peaceful atmosphere.

Your attention was pulled to the figure sitting on the love seat, bathed in warm amber light that streamed through the room. The Cardinal was dressed in pyjamas and a robe, his usual powerful demeanour minimised by the informal garments and a tousled appearance indicating a recent bout of sleep.

He sat with a book in hand, the pages lit by the warm glow of the candles, his gaze seemingly immersed in the words on the page. His features were relaxed, with a tiny furrow of concentration on his brow as he read deeper into the text.

As you arrived, the Cardinal looked up from his reading, his mismatched eyes meeting yours with a flash of surprise before a faint smile formed on his lips. “Come here,” he ordered, returning his eyes back to the pages of his book. His voice was deep and gravelly, like it was the first time it was used that night.

For some reason, your body responded and did as you were told without the need for the halo, and you found yourself once again at the feet of the Cardinal, on your knees at his request. He moved his book and patted his thigh, inviting you to rest your head there, which you obliged, draping your upper body over him and pushing your cheek into the warmth of his robe. His hand found its way to your hair, and he gently stroked it, like a human would with their dog who was asking for attention.

Despite the internal turmoil that churned within you, there was an undeniable sense of warmth and comfort that enveloped you as you nestled against the Cardinal’s side. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers threading through your hair with a tenderness that belied the darkness that lurked beneath the surface.

As you rested your head upon his thigh, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of security wash over you, like a weary traveller finding refuge in the shelter of a friendly inn after a long and arduous journey. The rhythmic motion of his hand stroking your hair was oddly soothing, lulling you into a state of peaceful resignation despite the turmoil that raged within your heart.

In that moment, as you lay entwined with the Cardinal, you couldn’t deny the conflicting emotions that warred within you. There was a part of you that recoiled at the thought of finding solace in the arms of your captor, a deep-seated instinct that screamed for you to break free from his grasp and reclaim your autonomy.

And yet, there was another part of you that yearned for the comfort and reassurance that his presence offered, a primal longing for companionship and connection in a world that seemed so cold and unforgiving. It was a paradoxical dance of desire and revulsion, a tangled web of conflicting emotions that left you feeling simultaneously adrift and anchored in the Cardinal’s embrace.

But as you lay there, enveloped in the warmth of his robe and the gentle caress of his hand, you couldn’t help but surrender to the moment, if only for a fleeting instant. For in the midst of chaos and uncertainty, there was a fleeting sense of peace to be found in the arms of the one who held you captive, a fragile sanctuary amidst the storm that raged within your soul.

“You’ve been asleep for ten days, Angel,” he commented absentmindedly. Double the time of your last recovery. No wonder you felt rejuvenated.

““I am disheartened to see thou hast not yet choked on my blood, Cardinal.” You told him, your voice more teasing than resentful.

The Cardinal heard this and chuckled, “I held on until you woke up, so you could watch it happen yourself.”

You tittered, “Now that I am alert, there is naught preventing me from enacting it myself.”

“You can try,” the Cardinal challenged.

“I shall indeed. However, it would happen when thou least expect it.” You sat up and looked at him. “I would mend more swiftly if thou did return to me my halo, even if it were but for a brief span.”

“Out of the question,” the Cardinal said moving his hand from your hair to your cheek.

“I shall perish if I do not retrieve it anon.”

“You’ll be grateful you’re not going back in your cage. Keep this up, and you’ll be back in there.”

You hesitated but still decided to ask, “Why didst thou set me free?”

“Don’t ask me questions I don’t want to answer.”

“How shall I discern to refrain from posing such queries if I am unaware of thy reluctance to provide answers?”

The Cardinal chuckled, “By the look on my face.”

“But if thy countenance be ever thus, then I shall never discern the difference.”

“You better not be calling me ugly.”

You giggled, “Not ugly, Cardinal. Yet I envision it proved troublesome for thy mother to tender affection towards thee.”

He slapped your cheek for your impertinence, not hard at all, in fact it was more like a tap. “Do you want to go back in your cage?”

You shook your head and draped yourself back over him as he wanted you to do in the first place. “I am exceeding content in this place, I thank thee.”

The Cardinal laughed. “I thought as much.”

You didn’t go back in your cage that night, or the night after. In fact, the Cardinal didn’t expect you to go in your cage at all except if and when the Sister would come and visit unannounced. But it was made very clear to you that the door would be locked at all times, and there would be at least two ghouls standing guard outside.

The days stretched into weeks, and still, you remained free from the confines of your cage. It was a strange and unsettling shift in dynamics, one that left you feeling both grateful for the newfound freedom and wary of the Cardinal’s intentions.

Without the familiar bars of your cage to contain you, you found yourself wandering the Cardinal’s chambers with a sense of cautious curiosity, exploring every nook and cranny as if searching for hidden answers amidst the shadows that lurked within the room.

In the Cardinal’s apartment, you uncovered a plethora of objects and trinkets that provided insight into his mysterious personality and the depths of his depravity. Ancient tomes and grimoires were scattered across the room, containing occult rites, incantations, and forbidden information. These books, bound in leather and covered with intricate sigils, contained intriguing symbols and metaphysical teachings that alluded to the Cardinal’s fascination with the occult.

You found an assortment of foreboding artifacts filled with dark power and nefarious purpose, hidden away in shadowy nooks and secluded alcoves. From ceremonial daggers and ritualistic equipment to elegant talismans and cursed relics, every piece exuded a malevolent aura that sent shivers down your spine.

Subtle sigils and symbols of unknown provenance were woven into the fabric of draperies and tapestries, and etched into the walls. These mysterious marks pulsed with ghastly energy, their meanings hidden by layers of mysticism and old legends.

Locked chests and coffers littered the room, concealing untold treasures and forbidden secrets. These perplexing containers were ornamented with sophisticated locks and enchantments, their contents shrouded in ambiguity, and protected by powerful wards and incantations.

As you began to examine the Cardinal’s chambers, your keen eyes noticed a little, intricately carved wooden box nestled away on a shelf in the corner of the room. Unlike the other artifacts in the room, this box appeared to exude a sense of hidden charm rather than obvious malevolence.

Intrigued, you approached the shelf and cautiously raised the box’s lid to see its contents. A collection of exquisite treasures and keepsakes were snuggled inside, surrounded by layers of smooth velvet lining.

A little bundle of velvety, mousey-colored hair, comparable to the Cardinal’s sat inside the box, held together with a beautiful, black ribbon. Despite its unassuming appearance, this keepsake exuded solemnity and veneration.

A beautifully drawn miniature portrait of a solemn-faced woman with piercing eyes and a soft, yet forced smile sat underneath the hair. The craftsmanship was exceptional, catching every detail with astonishing precision. After careful examination, you recognised it was a younger image of the Sister.

A little sachet containing fragrant herbs and spices released a delicate yet seductive perfume of lavender and rosemary into the air. Its purpose and significance remained unknown, adding to the collection’s uniqueness.

And an old pocket watch, its numerous gears and mechanisms glimmering softly in the chamber’s faint lighting. Despite its antiquity, the watch appeared to be properly kept, indicating that it held sentimental worth for the Cardinal.

Some of the books around the place, you’d come to learn only hours after being left alone and free for the first time, were novels rather than entirely non-fictional, educational works. Novels from romances, to horrors, to contemporary works and classical, you found them all among his private collection. And that was how he found you when he came home that evening, curled up on his love seat with a book in your hands and your nose buried deep into it.

“Having fun?” He asked, removing his hat and placing it on the dresser in front of the door.

You didn’t hear him at first, too occupied with the world in front of you to realise he had even returned home. When he repeated himself, you finally acknowledged his presence. “It is wondrous what you mortals would engage in during thy leisure hours.” you remarked, closing the book but trapping your finger between the pages. “Truly, this is a marvel. I find myself transported to another realm, yet anchored to this very seat!”

He smiled. “If you like that, then you should watch a movie. Or play a video game.”

“I am content with these works, I thank thee.” You replied. “Though, I must declare, it will not be long until I complete thy collection.”

“Well,” he moved your legs and sat down beside you, removing the book from your hands, “let me know when you do. I’ll get one of the ghouls to bring you up a selection from the library.”

“Hath this place a library?” Your eyes widened.

“Yeah, of course. The Vatican has one, why wouldn’t we?”

Come to think of it, it did make sense that the Satanic Ministry would have its own library filled with untold knowledge, given that was why Lucifer was expelled from Heaven in the first place. “How many of these tomes doth it possess?” You asked, curiously.

“So many questions.” He said, tapping his belly.

“Inquiries thou art disinclined to respond to?”

He nodded.

You sighed, “Then shall I remain forever ignorant.” You sat back to your original position and opened the book again, choosing to read over conversing with him.

That night, he worked at his desk by candlelight, with you at his feet, a book in your hand and head in his lap. Every now and then, he’d reach down to stroke your hair, but in the meantime, your presence was simply enough for him. Sometimes, when you were alone in the apartments, your mind would drift off to the Cardinal and his sudden change in behaviour. How his guilt at violating you was enough to change him almost completely.

As you reflected on the Cardinal’s change, a ray of hope flickered within you. His sudden concern for your well-being and sympathetic gestures, however fleeting, provided a glimmer of redemption amid the darkness of your incarceration. With each stroke of your hair and soft touch, the Cardinal appeared to silently atone for his past wrongdoings finding solace in the calm companionship you offered.

Even while you basked in the warmth of his devotion, a niggling worry lingered in the back of your mind. Could this sudden friendliness be genuine, or was it only a ruse to conceal deeper intentions? Perhaps he’d realised that getting information out of you through torturous means wasn’t getting him anywhere, and so he was trying to trick you with falsities to get what he wanted. Despite your worries, you couldn’t resist the pull of his presence, the way his touch sparked a desire within you for connection and understanding in an uncertain world.

As the light flickered and cast swirling shadows across the room, you found yourself slipping into a state of calm, nestled on the Cardinal’s lap, the weight of the book in your hand a reassuring reminder of the brief moments of tranquility you enjoyed in his presence. And at that moment, surrounded by the lovely glow of candlelight and the quiet whisper of turning pages, you allowed yourself to imagine that escape was possible if you simply bade your time and waited long enough.

As expected, you’d gotten through all of the books in his possession and found yourself craving more. It didn’t take you long to get through the entire library situated on his shelves, and you found yourself igniting with boredom. Now that you’d had the privilege of freedom (or rather, freedom adjacent), you found yourself crawling the walls itching to be released unto the mortal realm like a bird.

The Cardinal was out for a lot of the night, meaning you had nothing to entertain you, until you noticed the box large rectangular box, its glossy surface reflecting the dim light in an almost mesmerizing manner and hanging on the wall opposite the love seat. You’d spent so much time with your nose in a book, you’d hardly noticed anything else.

You took hesitant steps towards the curious object, your fingers running down its smooth exterior. You saw your own reflection in the black mirror, and pulled some faces before your fingers continued their journey across the cold box. You observed a row of buttons organised neatly on one side, each with enigmatic symbols and marks. Intrigued, you tapped one of the buttons, your mind racing with possibilities.

To your surprise, nothing happened at first. Determined, you continued to investigate the thing, prying and poking at its many parts in search of any clues as to its purpose. Your efforts were met with quiet until, finally, your fingers brushed against a small switch buried between the buttons.

With a slight click, the frame sprang to life, its surface flashing to reveal a brilliant display of colours and images. Your eyes widened in amazement, watching as it began presenting sights from faraway countries and odd faces unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

Intrigued by this novel display, you reached out to touch the images dancing across the screen, only to discover that they were just beyond your reach. You were fascinated as the scenes altered and transformed before your eyes, each one providing a glimpse into a world beyond your own.

You reached down and pressed a different button, and the image cut out, replaced by something else. A purple door came into view that was opened by a woman, so angry, her arms were flailing as she stormed into the room. “I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me that we are still married!” She exclaimed.

Following her, a man entered, equally as frustrated and more guilty. “Look I was going to tell you!” He argued back, somehow much calmer than her.

“When?! After the birth of our first secret child?!” Laughter from a crowd of people sounded through the speakers, making you turn around thinking that they were in the room with you. They weren’t. “Ross didn’t get the annulment; we are still married.”

Their friends sounded disgusted and surprised, the blonde one more so than the rest.

The man called Ross sighed, “Okay, maybe it wasn’t my best decision. But I just couldn’t face another failed marriage.”

Another man spoke up, his tone flat. “Okay, let me just jump in and ask, at what point did you think this was a successful marriage?” The people laughed again.

Ross spoke again, awkwardly laughing, “Rach, come on, if you think about it, it’s actually kinda funny.” He laughed alone in the room, but the crowd laughed again. Even though you didn’t understand entirely what was happening, the laughter made you chuckle, too. “Okay, maybe it’s best not to think about it.” More laughter.

A woman spoke this time, long blonde hair and a lilt to her voice, “Okay, this is inexcusable. I am shocked to my very core!” She sounded like she was exaggerating.

“Phoebe, I told her you already knew.”

Everyone looked at Phoebe for a moment, and she processed her next words: “Another lie. You have a sickness!” So many sins, such little time.

The other man from before spoke again, in the same jovial tone as before, “Ross, just for my own piece of mind, you’re not married to anymore of us are ya?”

The clip ended and was replaced with a yellow couch sat in a field in front of a fountain, so large, it couldn’t be hidden behind the seat. A lamp sat beside it, as though it were the one lighting the field despite its dull brightness. No, not a field… a park? There were lights behind it that resembled buildings. Text appeared on the screen, each letter separated by a different coloured dot; red, yellow, blue, red, yellow, blue.

A song began to play from the device, an enthusiastic and engaging song, with energetic guitar riffs and rhythmic percussion. As the tune filled the room, you found yourself tapping your foot to the beat, enthralled by the music’s captivating vitality. Although, when it first sounded, you startled, and screamed out your surprise.

“So no one told you life was gonna be this way,” the song sung, followed by four, sharp claps.

A joyful group of voices sang the upbeat, playful words, which almost appeared to invite you into their world. They spoke of friendship and connection, laughing and love, building a story of shared experiences and memories that struck a chord deep within you.

As the song reached its peak, the visuals on the screen began to alter once more, revealing a group of individuals gathering on the yellow couch you had previously seen. Their features were strange… new - with each one smiling as they laughed and joked together.

You sat transfixed as the image unfolded in front of you, drawn in by the warmth and excitement emanating from the television. And when the final chords of the theme song died away, you couldn’t help but feel a connection to these strangers, as if they were old friends welcoming you into their group.

“Having fun?” The Cardinal’s voice sounded behind you, causing you to jump out of your skin. You turned to face him, eyes wide and fearful, and you noticed a dark glint in his eye as though he enjoyed making you squirm.

You stuttered, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the Cardinal. “I… I was just… I found this… thing… and…”

He chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. “It’s called a television,” he explained, walking over to stand beside you. “It’s a device that plays moving pictures and sound.”

You blinked, trying to process this new information. “Moving pictures and sound?” you repeated, your curiosity piqued.

“Yes, exactly,” the Cardinal replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “It’s a form of entertainment. People watch television shows and movies on it.”

You tilted your head, still not entirely understanding. “What is… a television show?” you asked tentatively.

“It’s like a play, but recorded and shown on the screen,” he explained. “It tells a story, with characters and plots, just like the stories you read in books.”

You nodded slowly, beginning to grasp the concept. “And this…” you gestured towards the television, “is one of these… television shows?”

The Cardinal nodded, his smirk widening. “Yeah. And it seems you’ve stumbled upon one of the most popular shows.”

“What’s it called?” you asked, curiosity burning brightly in your eyes.

“It’s called Friends,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And trust me, you’re in for a treat.”

He sat on the seat and gestured for you to sit at his feet, and place your head in his lap like you usually did. The show continued with the two of you sitting like that, his hand in your hair and your eyes mesmerised by the show.

As the show progressed, you grew more immersed in the plot, your eyes glued to the screen as the characters moved through numerous comic scenarios. You couldn’t help but be fascinated and amazed by this new type of entertainment, which was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You took a few glances up at the Cardinal, examining his expression as he watched the show with amusement and focus. It was unusual to see him in this light, relaxed and almost… human. For a minute, you nearly forgot about the evil underlying his facade, the control he wielded over you.

In that moment, you realised you’d become too comfortable there; his pet in his Satanic temple, and you were too happy with it. For far too long, you had allowed yourself to be lulled into a false sense of security, seeking sanctuary in the Cardinal’s rare acts of tenderness and compassion. But now, as you sat at his feet, head in his lap, you couldn’t avoid the fact any longer.

You were nothing but a pawn in his sick game, subject to his whims and ambitions. And, while you may have experienced brief moments of happiness in his presence, they were nothing more than illusions that masked the terrible reality of your situation.

With a heavy heart, you promised to break free from the ties that held you, to restore your independence, and to oppose the Cardinal’s authority over you. But you knew deep down that the journey to freedom would be difficult, and that the Cardinal would not give up his grasp on you without a fight.

As you looked up at him, a fire kindled within you, a desire to break away from his grip and make your own path forward. You may have been his pet for a while, but you refused to remain a prisoner forever.

“I have Saturday night free,” The Cardinal told you, eyes still fixed on the television, “did you want to see the library?”

His nonchalant question caught you off guard, prompting you to lift your head from his lap and stare up at him, surprised and hesitant. The possibility of visiting the library with the Cardinal was both exciting and unnerving, considering the power dynamics at work between you.

“I…I suppose,” you said cautiously, uncertain how to answer to his surprise invitation. The chance to explore the library, with its limitless volumes of knowledge and secrets, was obviously appealing, but you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of unease in the back of your mind.

The Cardinal nodded in answer, his gaze still set on the television screen, as if he were only half-listening to the exchanges. “Good,” he noted simply, before returning his focus to the show.

You couldn’t help but feel nervous about spending Saturday night alone with the Cardinal in the library. But, deep down, you were fascinated about the library’s secrets and the hidden truths it may hold. What a Satanic library would look like, and what precisely they had hidden away on their shelves.

When Saturday night rolled around, the Cardinal woke and begun getting ready for the excursion, before he turned to you. From beneath his bed, he pulled out a hefty chain. It wasn’t forged with hellfire, he told you, it was just a regular metal. But he understood that your strength wasn’t fully back to how it was when he first met you, after being without your halo for so long, so he was confident you wouldn’t break free of those chains.

You sighed and presented your wrists to him, grateful that it wasn’t going to hurt you but annoyed that you were still to be treated as a prisoner, despite that being what you were. But, he shook his head in response. “That’s not what I’m going to restrain, Angel.” He informed you, gesturing you to turn around.

He tied your wings together with that chain, making sure you couldn’t fly away. Your wrists remained unbound.

As you walked down the corridors of the Ministry, the eyes of the Satanic nuns and monks followed your every move, their gazes filled with a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and perhaps even a hint of envy. You couldn’t fathom why they’d envy you - chained and restrained as you were paraded through the hallways like a prize. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy beneath their attention, knowing of the muttered rumours and speculation that would undoubtedly surround your appearance among them.

The Cardinal led the way, his steps confident and purposeful as he escorted you through the Ministry’s dimly illuminated corridors. You kept your attention fixed straight ahead, attempting to avoid the looks and whispers that seemed to follow you everywhere you went.

Despite the weight of the chains that bound your wings, you moved with dignity and grace, refusing to let your imprisonment shatter your spirit. You were determined to be strong, to face whatever trials lay ahead, in the hopes of one day breaking free from the chains of your imprisonment. Every now and then, you’d turn to find eight ghouls following behind you, and though you couldn’t see them, you were sure their eyes were firmly fixed on you beneath their masks.

As you entered the ancient library, the massive wooden door groaned behind you, trapping you inside the unhallowed halls of knowledge that had stood for generations. The air was dense with the perfume of worn parchment and the faint mustiness of time, a fragrance that enveloped you like a veil as you walked through the maze of high shelves.

Dim, flickering lighting produced lengthy, dancing shadows on the walls, showing the building’s solemn design that dated back millennia. The roof soared high above, covered with exquisite, time-worn frescoes that appeared to guard the numerous tomes below. The air was still, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of pages or distant echo of footfall.

The shelves, built of dark, polished wood, stretched eternally in all directions, each bearing the weight of centuries-old books and forbidden knowledge. Some volumes appeared to sag under the weight of their age, while others stood straight and proud, their leather-bound spines broken and matured.

In the dead centre of the library, atop a reversed pentagram, stood a statue of a snake made from white marble, sat upon and winding around a black, marble pedestal. The snake’s jaw was unhinged enough to comfortably hold an apple between its sharp fangs, the apple itself had been painted the most delectable shade of richly dark red, and polished as though it were a real apple, so shiny you could see yourself in it. It represented the most famous of Lucifer’s triumphs: presenting “God’s children” with the knowledge they’d need to withstand his criminal behaviour. Standing in front of the snake, you very much felt how Eve would have: curious, enraptured and tempted, and you felt your stomach churn at the celebration of such a pivotal point of their ancestral history.

The pentagram the snake lived upon was also a marvel to behold, though you hated to admit it. The pentagram itself was carved into the pentagonal shaped stage, each of the corners of the star lining up perfectly with the points of the pentagon. Each straight side leveled out the different heights of the flooring using two, wooden staircases separated by a thick ramp - the ramps themselves covered in artistic portraits of all animals associated with Him, showing goats, cats, bats, owls and crows - all animals that became associated with Satan. All incredibly intelligent animals, no wonder the Catholics feared them. In a circle surrounding the pentagram were intricately carved atropa belladonna flowers and vines, floral representation of his existence. The petals of the belladonna were subtly stained a purple hue to replicate their natural colours.

The statue made you uncomfortable, especially as the snake’s eyes seemed to follow you around the room. And so, you ducked into one of the shelves and hid from its gaze, though you could still feel its sight burning on your skin. The Cardinal laughed at your discomfort, but followed you wherever you went, his ghouls immediately in tow. You had considered making a run for it, now that you knew the size of the library. And, there was a brief moment where you were about to enact your spontaneous plan. But the chain was still tied around your wings, and you wouldn’t get very far on your feet.

You cautiously reached out, your fingers tracing the spines of the ancient tomes that lined the shelves. Each book seemed to pulsate with a dark energy, whispering secrets and promises of forbidden knowledge. Despite your trepidation, you couldn’t resist the allure of the mysteries that lay within.

Your gaze fell upon a weathered volume bound in cracked leather, its title obscured by time and wear. As you pulled it from the shelf, a shiver ran down your spine, as if the book itself were alive and watching you with malevolent intent.

Next, your eyes were drawn to a tome adorned with intricate sigils and symbols, its pages yellowed with age and filled with cryptic incantations. You could feel the power emanating from the ancient text, calling out to you with a seductive whisper.

You spent what felt like an eternity wandering the shadowy aisles of the ancient library, your senses overwhelmed by the weight of the centuries-old knowledge that surrounded you. Time seemed to warp and distort within the confines of the unhallowed halls, leaving you disoriented and uncertain of how long you had been there.

In reality, it was difficult to say exactly how much time had passed. Minutes stretched into hours as you pored over the dark tomes, each page revealing new secrets and mysteries. The Cardinal’s presence loomed nearby, a constant reminder of your captivity and the precariousness of your situation.

You finally chose a book, despite the weariness of your bones after contemplating the tomes for so long. You were surprised to see such a wide variety of works, anywhere from fantastical fiction, to non-fiction books based on history and language. You had settled in the religions section, morbid curiosity getting the better of you and finding yourself wanting to know what the mortals truly thought of the Almighty and His grace. There were numerous texts debunking the existence of the Almighty, which you cackled at. You couldn’t understand how people wouldn’t choose to believe that at least one creator existed - even if it wasn’t the Creator. And, so, you picked up a Bible, the King James’ Version, to be precise, and made your way back to the Cardinal.

When he saw the book you were holding, he raised his eyebrow, but chose to say nothing. Instead, he watched you walk over to one of the desks and situate yourself there, ignoring the Satanic followers on the chairs nearby gawking at you with open mouths and pale faces.

The Cardinal approached just as you opened the book and cleared his throat, “Angel, what are you doing?”

“I am reading, Cardinal.” You responded, matter-of-factly, as though he were stupid. “I had not deemed your ancient eyes would falter in perception, albeit they bear the weight of eternity. Flaws in sight are unsurprising.”

“You do realise you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to?” He asked, staring at you warily.

You laughed, “To appropriate a tome from a library? Cardinal, ‘tis thievery. ‘Tis a sin.”

“You’ve been in libraries before, right?”

You sighed and closed the book. “Indeed, I have ventured into libraries. I have graced some of the grandest ones. The Library of Ashurbanipal, the Library of Pergamum, the Library of Alexandria… that last one was my cherished abode. Such splendor, such vibrancy. Delving into scrolls within was always a delight to my soul.”

The Cardinal flinched, “Maybe we should get you a history textbook on Ancient Egypt.”

“Thou possess a copy?”

“Several… was that the last time you went into a library, circa 100 AD?”

“Ah, yes. Mortal years tethered to the birth of Christ. Naturally, thou dost adhere to those. It was nearer to 100 BCE. It was my ultimate sojourn to the mortal realm before I ascended eternally to Heaven.”

“Great, so times have changed. Most books within libraries you can take home with you, and you can take home multiple at a time.”

You sat and listened intently to the Cardinal’s explanation on how modern libraries worked, and though you could feel he was holding information back from you, you were sure this wasn’t a malicious act. He was thinking before he spoke, making sure all of his words were simple and easy to understand. And so, with this newfound knowledge, you chose multiple books, most of them historical and linguistic based, allowing you to properly study the Almighty’s creations and what they’d done in your time between visits. Playing catch-up was always your favourite thing to do before your Heavenly missions began, and so it excited you to learn 2,000 years had passed and a lot had changed. Upon the Cardinal’s recommendation, you grabbed a historical textbook on Ancient Egypt, though you couldn’t fathom what new information you would learn, given you’d already spent so much time there.

Approaching the front desk of the library, you were met by a stern-looking Satanic nun who regarded you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Despite the discomfort of her gaze, you remained composed, knowing that any sign of weakness could be exploited by your captors.

With a sense of trepidation, you placed the stack of books on the desk, each one heavy with the weight of forbidden knowledge. The nun’s eyes flickered over the titles, her expression inscrutable as she scanned each one. After a moment of silence, she reached out with a bony hand and began to process the books, checking them out in silence.

As she worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud. The library, with its ancient tomes and whispered secrets, seemed to hold you in its thrall, trapping you in its shadowy embrace.

Finally, the nun finished checking out the books and handed them back to you with a curt nod. You accepted them with a sense of relief, eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the library behind you. With one last glance at the forbidding shelves, you turned and made your way out of the building, the weight of the knowledge you carried heavier than ever before.

Prev. / Next

Find the artwork for this chapter by @piaart here!

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leezlelatch · 5 months ago

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sick little freak thought incoming!

just thinking about any one of the papas soft wrinkles, small signs they’re getting old. they’re all getting older, just different stages of aging. primo has the softest skin on his inner thighs, only just now stretching and pulling together with delicate wrinkles, but they feel oh so nice to lay your cheek on whenever he’s praising you and your mouth. he’s still sensitive despite the way his body has changed

and secondo? oh buddy, his crows feet are oh so sensitive, they get deeper every day. you delight in seeing them pull together even tighter when he’s bending you over his desk, he can’t keep his hands off of you despite his doctor telling him to stop tensing his back muscles so much

terzo! he is reluctant to admit that he feels the need to dye his hair whenever he see a grey hair pop up, but he’s DEFINITELY not complaining whenever you’re gripping his hair when he’s between your thighs. and if you see his roots coming in silver? you neglect to tell him for just a week or two

COPIA!!! rigatoni belly, my love. his sweet love handles, he loathes the silvery stretch marks that have begun to lace around his hips, the red and pink of how his suspenders dig into his hips and stomach during his shows. but he always blushes so beautifully whenever you wrap your legs around his hips, whenever your nails dig into his slight muffin top. you never say a word when he grabs an extra muffin at breakfast and shoots you a wink

this was long… my apologies, i just want old men to wreck me and feel good about their aging bods

Who are you, we must be friends.

Listen, I was caught up at Primo’s soft wrinkly thighs, but then you cracked me over the head with COPIA. THE INDENTS FROM HIS SUSPENDERS? RUBBING A LITTLE VASELINE ON THE RED MARKS CAUSE THEY’RE SORE???

Oh my god.

Also I live for silver hair Terzo supremacy. I always imagine that like…once you’re with him, and he begins to regain some love for himself, he lets his hair come in. And then you got a silver fox on your hands.

Also with Terzo like…I’ve always said his face paint is like one big contour. Chiseling his cheek bones, narrowing his nose. And from the reactions of some folks with Chapter 3, he is probably pretty self conscious of how he looks. Imagine the first time you see his paintless face - the heaviness of his brow, his wide nose, wrinkles dragging down his mouth. The sag of his neck. All things he thinks he should hide, but that you find beautiful. Because they’re him. Because they’re the life he’s lived, and you’re in awe over it. It’s such a journey of self healing for him.

And Secondo. Secondo who can’t stay up as late anymore, Secondo who has to use his reading glasses more and more. You delight in washing the paint from the divots of his face. The intimacy of putting a little pain relieving cream on his lower back before bed.

These men deserve to age and be loved for it.

Beautiful, you sick little freak. 💦

#asks #ghost asks

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earthry · 1 year ago

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Mafia Boss Copia x Reader (Headcanons)

i cant find where i saw it but someone commented on one of my posts several days ago with 'evil copia' or smth and it's been stuck in my head. but also its me so he's evil but also a sweetheart so. here's evil copia and then i make him not-evil.

tw: implied/assumed infidelity, kidnapping (not by copia), violence/murder, copia makes a few oopsies and then does his best to make up for it, gn!reader

He would never raise his voice at you let alone a hand— could never in his life imagine doing such a thing to you. Others however? He almost relishes the way their bodies go slack when he’s had a hand around their throats for just the right amount of time.

He’s not a full on sadist, but he does enjoy causing pain to those he seems deserving. He has a strong (albeit a little twisted) sense of right and wrong and isn’t afraid to put down his believes.

The first time he meets you, he thinks that you’re such an angel that it has to be an act, there has to be something, a catch, anything. Humans are inherently folly, there’s no way someone as sweet and gentle as you exists.

You’re immediately charmed by him and he’s intrigued by you so he gives you a chance. He takes you out on a nice date and steals your heart without remorse, not knowing that you were giving it to him freely.

Things seem happy in paradise, he’s the perfect boyfriend, the most thoughtful partner.

Except he tests you, and each time you surprise him with patience and understanding. So he keeps on testing and testing, begins to go out with others and flirt around. He’s waiting for the jealousy, the rage, the pettiness— your true colors. He’s so sure he has it in the bag when one day he comes back with lipstick smudges on his neck and the look on your face is of pure horror.

Instead of the satisfaction and smugness of finally causing a reaction however, he only feels sudden waves of guilt, especially when your look of horror melts into a heartbroken despair instead of jealousy.

You don’t yell or scream or shout. You don’t accuse him of anything, you don’t ask him about the lipstick. Instead, you sink to your knees with a soft sob, hiding your face in your hands and trying to stifle your cries.

He doesn’t know what to do— not this scenario. This was not what he had expected and each sniffle you try to muffle before standing up and apologizing for making a scene makes him hate himself even more.

—

It hurts. Watching him with others, listening to him talk so sweetly and playfully while you’re only a few feet away. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the way he is, that’s his personality and you can hardly fault him for that, right?

You’re afraid of confrontation, of facing the truth when he’s everything you never thought you could have. When it’s just the two of you, he’s so silly and sweet. He treats you like royalty and holds you so gently. You’re so loved.

It must be you that’s the issue then, right?

The night he comes home with lipstick stains and hickies decorating his neck it’s lIke your world is ending.

He looks smug as all hell and you wonder to yourself— why?

Is it because he wasn’t satisfied with you? Was it your inexperience that he’s either bored or disgusted with? Was it because you weren’t good enough? Weren’t lovable enough?

Or was it that you were blind the entire time, that you ignored all the signs because you were just so desperate to be loved, so desperate to finally have this one good thing?

You’re too busy facing your biggest fears to see the look of regret and guilt on Copia’s face, too busy trying not to drown to see him reel in his own emotions, to watch his expressions flash from smug to uncertainty to guilt and regret, and finally to a resolve. A decision.

He pulls you into his arms and you want to fight him but you also can’t help but cling. Your sobs get louder and his arms tighten around you, beginning to rock you back and forth soothingly.

You eventually collapse against him, and still you don’t ask the unimaginable.

His words feel sugary as he comforts you— you’re not sure what to believe anymore— murmuring reassurances and promises that there’s only you, just you. No one else. He was a fool, he tells you, he was a stupid, stupid fool and it was just a dumb joke and he loves you wholeheartedly, adores you dearly. He’s not going anywhere.

But still. It doesn’t change the fact that those are another’s lipstick staining his neck, his collar. Another’s lips that bit and sucked those hickies into his skin. That marked him as theirs and not yours.

He manages to calm you down, until you’re only soft little sniffles and the occasional hiccup. That night he makes you something light for dinner; a comfort food with your favorite tea. He puts on one of your favorite shows and kisses your forehead before leaving to wash up. To shower and get rid of all the evidence of another’s claim on him.

He stands alone in the bathroom and stares at his reflection in his mirror. He wonders who he is now, if he’d fallen under your spell. But then he thinks about everything that is you— your laugh, your smile, your quirks. Your kindness, your patience, the sound of your voice.

He’s haunted by the look on your face when you realized he’d been marked by another and was unapologetic about it. He certainly is apologetic now. Regretful. Guilty.

He knows he’s a horrible man, a cruel one. He knows he’s done awful things. Learned from his father, his brothers. He decides that this is something he’ll never do again.

Never. Not to you.

When he’s fresh and clean, he dresses himself in comfortable sweats and seeks you out— you’re in the living room with your food that you’ve barely had much of. You’re not paying attention to the TV. You’re curled up on the couch.

Copia clenches jaw. He really is a bastard.

Gingerly, he coaxes you up and pulls you onto his lap so he can feed you. You’re reluctant but he manages to feed you at least half of dinner. Each bite you take is met with praise and words of love.

They don’t sink in, they don’t mean anything to you. Not anymore. You try to hang onto them, though. Try to relish the temporary affection you’re receiving while he’s still here. You’d be naive and foolish for thinking he’d stay, for thinking he’d love you unconditionally.

When you’re fed, he helps you change into comfortable pajamas; not protesting or commenting like he usually does when you pick out one of his oversized shirts for comfort. It’s the one that says ‘VVLGAR’ and you hope maybe when he finally leaves, maybe he’ll at the very least let you keep this one. A consolation prize.

He tucks you into bed and holds you close. Whispers his good night and love for you. You know it’s a lie but it’s nice to hear, to pretend it’s not.

Things change after that. He’s gentle with you, as if you’re spun from glass.

He never looks at another again, never touches or flirts again. Not in front of you, not behind your back either.

He could never do that to you again. He treasures you, loves you. He never wants to hurt you again.

Good things never last however, and you know it’s only a matter of time until he goes out to seek another’s warmth and company again. You spend months steeling yourself, letting yourself get used to the idea. It’s not healthy or good for you, but you’re so desperate to hold onto him that you think to yourself— if letting him sleep around and see others will keep him around longer, then why not?

Sure, the mere thought of it feels like a stab to the heart. Sure, you know that it won’t last forever and anyone you asked would tell you that it’s a bad idea.

But fuck— when he smiles at you and takes your hand in his, raising them to kiss your palm, to nuzzle with his cheek as he tells you how much he missed you while he was out, when he sits you in his lap and plays with your hair and teases you with light laughter and smothers you with kisses while you dissolve into giggles— you don’t want to give that up.

And you don’t have to, but you don’t realize that. Not yet.

Copia can see it in your eyes, when you’re having a good time and then suddenly you’re quiet and there’s a sadness in the way you cuddle close and tell him that you love him dearly. He always makes sure to squeeze you a little extra tight for comfort, telling you that he’s not going anywhere, never again.

It takes a while for you to finally realize that he’s telling the truth— it takes you getting kidnapped as leverage against him to convince you that maybe, just maybe, he’s not going anywhere. Not now, not soon, not ever.

It’s a bloodbath, the amount of carnage he sheds to find you. He takes down several of his competitors in the process— burning them completely to the ground without survivors. It terrifies the remaining rival groups into hiding for years after.

He finds you eventually, and oh the way he holds you, the way he almost collapses with relief to see you alive and breathing. You’re a little worse for wear but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay. He cuts the ropes binding you to the chair and sweeps you off your feet, refusing to let you walk even a single step. He carries you back to his house and calls for Aether, not trusting anyone else to be close to you.

Aether does an excellent job of healing your injuries before he dips, knowing that Copia is a little beyond bordering feral at this point. The entire time he’s been holding you in his lap, clutching you to him as if you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

He promises you that he’ll make sure that this never happens again, that you’ll be safe. He apologies to you, for putting you in danger just by being with him. He’s gentle with you for months and months to come— even more gentler than he usually is.

And throughout all of this, you know that you’re so completely and ardently loved and the next time he tells you, promises you, that he’s not going anywhere, that he loves you so so much— you believe him.

#the band ghost #copia #ghost band #ghost bc #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #headcanons

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sentientgolfball · 8 months ago

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Burn Yourself Out

Happy Mountain March to those who celebrate, but especially to @hypnoneghoul

Third installment of this and this

Read here or on Ao3

Word Count: 2693

Tags: mean Mountain, blood, Mounty has complicated emotions, tiny bit of objectification if you squint

Summary: Mountain has a different reaction to the video from Sunshine and Aether. Swiss is there to help

Mountain stands and storms off to the bunks, growl low in his throat. Swiss’ eyes follow.

“Come on Mounty don’t you wanna see the rest?”

Mountain pauses in the doorway of the bunks. He slowly turns his head, throwing a look at Swiss. There’s an intensity in his green eyes that’s hardly ever seen. He disappears. Once he’s gone from view he slumps against the nearest bed, fighting to keep his glamour up.

“You’re so fucked when we get to the hotel” he hears Cumulus laugh.

Logically he knows it’s only one sleep and a flight that separates him from seeing Aether and Sunshine again but after seeing that no logical part of his brain is working. He was tired. He was pissed. He was hard. He couldn’t believe Aether would go along with something that was obviously a Sunshine plan. He couldn’t believe this is really what Aether thought was a good idea.

Maybe he could though. Aether was just as filthy as the rest of them, he just had more patience. Mountain couldn’t fucking stand it.

He was always said to be as immovable as his namesake, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Sure it took him awhile to get there, but oh when he did he was deadly and this had been building for months. Everyone seemed to forget Mountain knew Aether just as long as Dew, including Aether himself. Of course it was slightly different since the two were mated, but Mountain watched Aether get pulled from the Pits. Mountain was there when Aether made himself sick during Dew’s transition. Mountain was always there.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe if he had screamed and cried like Dew then Aether would’ve noticed the betrayal Mountain felt when he announced his retirement. Maybe if Mountain had appeared in his room the night before tour, sobbing and pleading it would be different. Instead Mountain had to comfort Dew. He had to watch as the two star crossed lovers ruined their sleep schedules to talk on the phone every night while Mountain was left in the dust.

So when Mountain's name cracked through the phone speaker, falling so softly from Aether’s lips he couldn’t take it. He hated how hard it got him. He wanted to be pissed at Aether, wanted for once in his infernal life to not be the strong one, yet his body betrayed him. Now he wanted nothing more than to have Aether under him, writhing and begging him to stop. He closed his eyes and he could practically hear it.

‘S too much Mount fuck…

If Aether forgot that Mountain missed him too, then he’d simply have to remind him. Part of him felt guilty for this, knowing everything Dew has been through but a more primal part of him couldn’t care less. For once he wanted his packmate all to himself. Greed was a sin Mountain rarely indulged in.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears Copia’s voice ring out.

“My ghouls we’ve arrived at the…”

He was so distracted he hadn’t even noticed the bus had stopped moving. He growls, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms as he forces his glamour back into place. His head snaps up when he hears someone approaching.

“Hey Mount we’re at the…” the words die on Swiss’ tongue when he sees the state of the earth ghoul.

Mountain has no idea what he looks like, but he knows it must be rough by the way Swiss immediately drops to kneel between his legs. Mountain can’t seem to find the strength to slap on a neutral expression.

“What’s wrong clover?”

Curse Swiss and his caring nature. Even when he’s so aroused Mountain can taste it on the air, he still has to care. Care is not what he needs right. What he needs is an outlet before he either disappears into the wild or finds a way to get his hands on Aether from a different continent. Or worse, get his hands on Dew. Dew is the last person he wants to be alone with right now. He would never intentionally hurt him, but with his patience crumbling he’s not sure what would come out of his mouth. Not sure what he’d do to him.

Mountain regards Swiss for a moment. His Swiss. His eager, pliant, caring Swiss. He knows Swiss would do anything for him almost to a fault. He knows Swiss can take anything. He’s listened in on Swiss’ nights with the girls enough times. He knows he could break Swiss and the multi ghoul would just look at him and thank him. Mountain could just grab him by the throat and go whatever he wants.

So he does.

Mountain wraps his hand around his neck, squeezing slightly. Swiss lets out an involuntary groan, tilting his head back to look up at Mountain.

“You’re mine to use tonight. However I want.”

Swiss nods the best he can, a small grin pulling at his mouth “However you want baby.”

Mountain throws him back so he can stand. Swiss lands on his back, staring up at his earth ghoul as he quickly stuffs some things into a bag for the night. When Mountain’s finished he yanks Swiss off the floor by the collar of his shirt, practically dragging him along as he leaves the bunk area.

“Wait clover I need to grab my stuff.”

“No. You don’t.”

Mountain hauls him through the lounge and out of the bus. Swiss notices Dew and Rain make eye contact and nod as the fire ghoul and Phantom walk with hands intertwined. He briefly wonders who’s gonna have it worse, him or Phantom, before Mountain roughly yanks him out the door. Probably him.

Once everyone is gathered in the lobby Copia returns with the keycards. He tries to give them to Mountain to dish out, but the moment he sees the look in his eyes he immediately turns to Cirrus. She keeps one for herself, not even giving the other ghoulettes the chance to discuss placement. She smirks at Aurora causing her to blush violently. Cumulus hits her on the arm mumbling a ‘play nice’. Mountain takes his key and grabs Swiss’ wrist, dragging him to the elevator with little resistance. Swiss is both concerned and incredibly turned on by this shift in Mountain’s attitude.

When Dew and Phantom weasel their way into the elevator alongside them Mountain fights everything in him to not acknowledge the two. Swiss bounces from one foot to the other as it rises, trying to anticipate what Mountain is going to do to him. Phantom shoots Mountain a curious glance. For a brief moment Mountain feels guilt for letting the little new summon see him like this, but the moment the door opens it dissipates. He pushes past the two smaller ghouls, Swiss in tow. Dew stays hot on their heels forcing Phantom to speed up to stay together.

They get to the end of the hallway and stop. Their rooms are right across from each other. Phantom stares at the way Mountain opens the door and shoves Swiss inside. The door barely has time to close before Mountain roughly shoves Swiss into it. His glamour melts instantly as he crashes his lips into the multi ghoul’s.

It’s immediately vicious. Mountain bites his lip, shoving his tongue down his throat when he gasps at the feeling of fang breaking skin. Swiss tries to thread his fingers through Mountain’s hair, but the moment he moves he’s grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the door. He hisses against Mountain’s lips when he feels his claws digging into his skin. Mountain sucks Swiss’ lip into his mouth, greedily drinking down the blood until it stops flowing.

Mountain drops his wrists and pulls back. His eyes rake over Swiss and groans at the sight. His lips are shiny and kiss swollen, there’s a mix of drool and blood dribbling down his chin, his eyes are half lidded and hazy already.

“Strip” Mountain’s voice rumbles low, eyes narrowing.

Swiss scrambles to comply, ripping his muscle tee and sweatpants off as fast as he physically can.

“What now big guy?” He grins, unable to help the teasing tilt to his voice.

Mountain grabs him by the horn and pulls him to the bed. He throws Swiss back onto it before ripping his own clothes off and crawling between his legs. He presses a hand to his chest, holding him down. He presses bruising kisses along his jaw and down his neck, adding more pressure to Swiss’ chest when he starts to twitch and writhe beneath him.

“Sit still” Mountain growls before biting at his neck.

Swiss’ wince turns into a moan when Mountain drags his tongue up the little line of blood to suck at the wound. He savors the electrifying taste of his multi ghoul, letting it wash down his throat to calm the quake in his head. He presses more of his body onto Swiss, breathing heavily through his nose when he feels his dick pressing against his stomach. He closed his eyes as he wrapped his massive hand around Swiss’ cock, giving it a squeeze before stroking.

“Mountain” Swiss huffed, hips fruitlessly twitching under the weight of the earth ghoul.

He knew it was his multi ghoul under him, but in that moment all he heard was Aether. All he could hear and see was that fucking video. He felt the last of his patience, the last of his control, split. He needed his brain to be turned off. To hell with getting banned from another hotel.

Mountain was usually so careful, never fucking the way he wanted. He never wanted to hurt anyone even if they asked for it, even if they insisted they could take it. Aether was the only one he had ever tested those waters with. It’s amazing what a little bit of quintessence can do to the body and mind.

But Aether wasn’t here.

Aether.

Mountain couldn’t hear Swiss’ pleas over the sound of Aether’s breathy call of his name. Mountain couldn’t see the way Swiss was shaking through the hazy memory of the clip of Sunny fucking into Aether.

Mountain pulls away from Swiss’ neck, a dribble of blood adorning his mouth. He flips him over with ease, like repositioning a toy rather than a living being. He growls low in his throat as he positions the head of his cock at Swiss’ waiting hole.

“Wait wait wait you know I love your dick as much as the next ghoul but Mounty I think you’re forgetting something” Swiss stammers “lube Mounty. Lube.”

Mountain doesn’t respond. He starts to push the tip in.

“Mount I’m serious. We have a 12 hour flight tomorrow. I kinda need my ass in one piece.”

The only warning Swiss gets before Mountain shoves his cock into him is a low growl of “You’re taking it” followed by the feeling of spit hitting his asshole. Swiss is coherent enough to will his quintessence to the surface before Mountain snaps his hips forward, burying himself inside.

It’s not enough though. Swiss screams, unglamoured claws tearing through the hotel sheets at the painful stretch. Mountain is gracious enough to give him a moment to adjust before pulling back out. He roughly pulls Swiss’ hips up with one hand, shoving his face into the pillows with the other before slamming back into him. He sets a fast, rhythmic pace, one he’s only ever been able to chase with toys.

Swiss is limp underneath him. He’s trying to focus more quint into his body, trying to focus on the feeling of Mountain’s cock hitting his prostate rather than the burn of his hole. He can’t do anything but lay there and take it with tears streaming down his face. He’s barely aware of the taste of blood coating his tongue from where the wound on his lip reopened. It’s moments like these he wishes he paid more attention when he was being taught about his different elements, maybe then he’d be able to produce his own slick like a full fledged water ghoul.

Swiss’ prayers are slowly answered though, the amount of pre dribbling out of Mountain’s cock starts to coat both of them. The burning starts to fade and Swiss finally feels like he’s coming back into his body. He can hear Mountain grunting over his own whimpers.

Mountain falls to his forearms, draping himself on Swiss’ back. He buries his face into his necks breathing in his mixed elemental scent. Swiss can feel him drooling against his skin as his thrusts turn into a grind. He’s not even pulling out anymore, resolute to keep his cock as deep as he can inside of him. Every movement from him forces the air from Swiss’ lungs. He feels like he can’t breathe with Mountain’s whole weight pressing him into the mattress but he couldn’t care less. The feeling of Mountain taking what he needs the way he needs it is too good.

“Mount…” Swiss whines.

“Take it. Take all of me.

“Gonna cum.”

“Then fucking cum I don’t care” he bites his shoulder, grinding deeper.

Swiss moans and shutters as his orgasm hits him, wet warmth coating the sheets and his belly. Mountain grunts feeling Swiss clench around him. He tries to hold off, tries to hold everything in, but he can’t. Not with Swiss pulsing, trying to buck back against him and panting his name. He pushes in as deep as he possibly can and spills, hips twitching with every wave that washes over him.

He goes boneless on top of Swiss, panting heavily trying to catch his breath. He stays buried in Swiss until his cock softens and slips out, dribbles of cum following. After a moment of silence Swiss makes a noise.

“Mount I love you but I can’t breathe.”

Mountain rolls off of him with a groan. Swiss turns his head to look at him with a loopy grin.

“Feel better now, clover?”

Mountain doesn’t say anything as he stands, crossing to the other side of the bed and scooping Swiss up. He hisses, aches taking over his entire body. Mountain already has the feeling they won’t be invited back to this hotel so he decides running up the hot water isn’t a concern. Mountain leans against the wall of the shower, holding Swiss while the water sprays them. Swiss is practically asleep in his arms by the time he turns the water off. Mountain dries both of them, carrying Swiss back to bed. He doesn’t bother with getting dressed.

They lay in silence, Mountain rubbing Swiss’ back and pressing soft kisses between his horns.

Mountain coughs “thank you.”

“Huh?” Swiss looks at him with sleepy eyes.

“Thank you for letting me get that out of my system.”

“Fuck Mounty I’d let you rip my throat out if that’s what you wanted. You don’t have to thank me love. Plus it was really fucking hot.”

Mountain blushes and shrugs, burying his face in Swiss’ hair.

Swiss yawns “But promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You’re telling me what the fuck got into you tomorrow. I don’t wanna have my favorite flower wilting.”

Mountain chuffs low in his chest “Alright. Fair is fair. Get some sleep spark.”

Swiss is out before Mountain can even finish his sentence. He pulls the covers up over them, repositioning Swiss so his nose is buried in his neck. Mountain holds him close, slowly drifting off.

Until his phone pings.

He sighs, using his tail to grab it off the nightstand. He’s prepared to see a text from Copia telling them they need to leave. What he’s not prepared for is a text from Cirrus in the groupchat with a photo of Aurora attached. He contemplates opening for a moment but ultimately decides he does not have the brain space for ghoulette shenanigans right now. He puts his back and down and closes his eyes, pretending to be blissfully unaware of the sound of whimpers from the next room.

Well, at least he wouldn’t be the only reason they’re getting banned.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #swiss x mountain #swissalps <3 #the band ghost fic #golfball writes

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the-curator1 · 9 months ago

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Even in Hades | Copia x Witch!Fem!Reader - Chapter 1

Author's note: English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out to me.

Summary: Copia is gone. But he is not meant to remain in the realm of the dead. The Clergy asks you to bring him back to life as part of their grand plan for the future. You think your mission is over, but you find yourself dealing with a pope haunted by trauma, clinging to you like a lifeline. You can't leave him behind, can you? And after all, maybe you need someone to help you fight your own demons too. This whole situation leaves you with a haunting question: Who is the savior and who is the saved?

Tags and TW for the story: necromancy, heavy angst, mention of blood rituals, witchcraft, eventual romance, smut, fluff, the reader is a witch, betrayal, grief, manipulation, dealing with trauma, religious trauma

Chapter Summary: You bring back Papa Emeritus IV to the light.

Chapter 1: Moth to a Flame

You were kneeling on the cold floor, your face turned toward the ceiling of the chilling crypt like a wolf howling at the moon. Your hands pressed against the stone floor bore the stains of blood you had drawn from your own veins. The flickering flames of the black candles cast an eerie glow upon the floor, enveloping your face in their mysterious light.

“You need to bring him back.”

“If you wanted him to live, maybe you should not have killed him in the first place!”

The pain clawed its way through your body, a relentless torment that threatened to consume you from within. It twisted and writhed like a serpent, coiling around your insides with a merciless grip, gnawing at your insides like a greedy monster. It started slow, but you knew it was a matter of minutes until you felt like the pain was tearing your body and your soul apart.

“Watch your tongue, girl. You don’t know anything. He needs to come back. That’s part of the plan.”

You turned your head toward the cold floor again. Laying there among the candles and the ritualistic tools was the body of Papa Emeritus IV. You looked at him for a moment as the pain in your chest grew and grew. His body was naked apart from a white sheet you carefully placed upon his lower body when you prepared him. Your eyes fell upon the large stitched wound in his chest once again.

Did he ever know they were going to…

No time for thinking about that again.

“I’ll do it, but I’ll need to be alone.”

“Fair enough. Just don’t disappoint us.”

Ignoring the gnawing ache in your gut, you placed your bloodied shaky hands on his bare torso. His skin was cold as ice. Your fingers brushed at the 666 tattoo on his chest.

He needs to come back. You can't fail.

Your mouth fell open, and your lips started moving on their own accord. You began to chant an ancient melody. Your voice echoed through the chamber in a language long forgotten by mortal tongues. You made all the efforts in the world to keep your voice steady, fighting to drown out the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. The flames of the candles around you danced wildly, casting shifting shadows upon the walls as if they, too, sensed the gravity of the moment.

“It must be done tonight. Or he will be gone forever.”

The pain was more awful than ever. You felt your eyes rolling back in your head. You wanted to scream. To tear your hair out.

Hear me, Papa… Come to the light. you silently implored, your thoughts a fervent prayer echoing through the depths of your mind.

I’m not sure I can take it any longer…

In this liminal space between life and death, not quite in hell, not quite in the living realm, Copia lingered, suspended in the darkness that enveloped him like a heavy, dark cloak. Time seemed to lose all meaning in this strange realm, where the echoes of his past deeds reverberated in the silence, haunting him with their weight.

He had died only days ago, yet it felt like an eternity had passed since he last drew breath. Memories flickered through his mind like fragmented shards of glass, painful reminders of the life he had lived and the choices he had made.

Memories of his last moments too.

Their knives.

“Swiss, what are you…?”

The thundering pain in his body.

Terror.

Confusion.

"We're sorry Papa..."

Pain.

The feeling of hot blood running on his skin.

The scream of the audience.

PAIN.

And then nothing. Nothing but despair and loneliness.

As he reflected on the terror of his last moments, Copia saw it. It danced like a solitary star in the blackened void, casting its radiant glow upon the darkness.

A candle?

A gentle warmth blossomed within Copia’s chest. Without hesitation, he gravitated toward the light. As he drew near, a voice reached him, a soft murmur like a gentle stream in the woods.

“Come, Papa, come to the light…”

Hope bloomed in Copia’s chest. Someone was there. Someone was there for him.

With each passing moment, the light grew brighter and the voice grew more distinct. Eventually, Copia emerged from the shadows. There, bathed in the candle's warm glow, stood a woman. A soft smile spread upon her sweet face when she saw him. She looked calm and serene.

Slowly, as if not to scare him, she held her hand out to him.

He reached out almost immediately, his fingers trembling as they brushed against hers. It was as if a current passed between them, a surge of energy that pulsed with a life of its own. Suddenly, the darkness around them seemed to shift and warp, swirling like a tempest as reality itself began to unravel. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the shroud of darkness opened in a blinding flash of light. Copia felt himself being pulled back forcefully—back to the realm of the living.

The transition was jarring, his senses assaulted by a cacophony of sounds as he emerged from the depths. He gasped for air, his chest heaving with effort as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. Copia opened his eyes.

Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the bright darkness of the crypt he was in. The stone walls loomed large around him, their rough-hewn surfaces casting long shadows that danced in the flickering candlelight. Despite the initial assault of noise and confusion, he found the crypt surprisingly quiet. The only sounds that reached his ears were the rustle of his breathing and the faint crackling of the candles.

He found himself lying on a cold, stone floor, the chill seeping into his bones. But then, despite the frigid surroundings, he felt a sense of warmth emanating from the soft hands resting upon his chest.

Then he heard it: the voice that guided him toward the light. Soft, like a melody despite the weariness that emanated from it.

“Welcome back...Papa."

#the band ghost #copia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #fan fic writing #copia x female reader #papa emeritus iv x female reader #ghost band fic

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da-rulah · 4 months ago

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Could you please do fan fic where Copia is gay or/and with a ftm(female to male) trans guy?

This has been on my mind since you requested it, and I apologise it's taken so long. Can you believe I missed out on writing this during PRIDE MONTH!? What a twat. I apologise. Usual stuff; work/life balance, writing for my big fics etc. etc but you had me at 'gay copia'. I hope you enjoy...

18+, MDNI! CW/ MxM, soft smut, comfort, gay sex, anal fingering, anal penetration, hand job, cumming inside, this is soppy as shit and I love it fight me.

OH MY GOD there's art to go with this now... Thank you so much to my incredibly talented bestie, @delulluart for this stunning pencil drawing. (Warning, it's NSFW... of course.)

Tagging my usual tag list, but if this kind of thing isn't for you, then that's absolutely fine. 💕

Do you know how tiring it is to always be in command? To always be the figure of authority? Copia does. There's no escape from it... He has no choice but to be the figurehead of the ministry, the one everybody turns to for help, for advice, for relief...

How was he ever supposed to feel relief? Who would take care of his stresses? Who would allow him the space to just let go?

Today, he practically crawls back into his chambers, just grateful to be in a place he can call his own again. No disturbances or expectations; just peace to unwind. Except, he wasn't alone. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

As soon as he shuts the door behind him, there he is; his lover, Brother Adan, stepping from the bedroom to greet him in his living space.

"Hello handsome," he smirks, his eyes soft with adoration. "I saw your schedule today, figured you may want to see me?"

He was correct; Copia very much wanted to see him.

"You always know what I want before I do, eh?" Copia chuckles, slumping back against the door. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long..."

"You know I wouldn't mind if you did," he shrugs, walking over to Copia and wrapping his arms around his soft waist. "What do you need tonight, Papa? Cuddles and computer games, or do you need to uh... release your frustrations?"

Copia thought for a moment. He wasn't sure he had the energy, and frankly, he'd been commanding his clergy around all damn day. The last thing he wanted to do was come home and be the picture of dominance again. He wanted to be taken care of, to be reminded what it was like to let someone else take control. But in the arrangement Copia had with his Adan, they had never reversed the roles like that.

He was sure that he was capable, no doubt about that, but it just so happened that the natural roles of their situationship had made Copia the giver, and Adan the receiver. He hesitated, wondering if it might sound silly to request he give up his Papa authority for the night.

"Papa, what is it?" Adan asked, concerned. He could clearly see the inner battle going on behind his bewitching eyes.

"I... was wondering if..." Copia stutters, stumbling over his words like a fool. "If you would... maybe, eh... take control, tonight?" Adan tilts his head in question, the request sinking in.

"You mean... take care of you?" he smiles, running his fingertips through Copia's greying and overgrown hair. Copia nods meekly, unable to look him in the eye. "Oh, Copia... Don't feel any shame for that. Of course I can. You must be so tired of being in command all the time, hm?"

Copia meets his eyes, full of understanding and compassion. "Sí..."

"I'm sorry I never offered this before. You must have thought I was only happy to bottom, hm?" Adan chuckled. "I just thought that's what you wanted, but I can do both, my love." Adan moves the hand still around Copia's waist to his gloved hand, lacing his fingers with his own. "Come on, come and lay down with me."

Adan slowly leads Copia into the bedroom, gently as if guiding an exhausted gazelle to a watering hole. Copia could already feel himself sinking into a role of submission, tension beginning to drain from his shoulders from the relief of being allowed the space to fall.

Without a word, Adan sat him at the end of the bed, crouching down at his feet to remove his shoes and socks one at a time. Copia sat and watched, dumbfounded, as Adan meticulously and slowly undressed him layer by layer, until he was sat completely nude and vulnerable. Then as Adan stood upright and stepped back, he held eye contact with Copia, sweet and playful, as he too undressed himself.

"Lay back, Copia," he instructed, crawling onto the bed beside him and following until they both lay on the pillows, Copia on his back and staring innocently into Adan's eyes who lay on his side, propped up by his elbow.

Adan began to trace his fingertips over Copia's bare chest, running through the salt and pepper chest hair over his pecks and down across his stomach, only to tease as he got lower by retreating back up. Copia gulped, his bare hands balling into fists at his sides to refrain from moving. Adan didn't miss the way his cock, laying heavy and soft against his hip, had begun to fill out just from the lightest of touches.

Adan's hand travelled down the length of Copia's torso one more time, before retreating and coming to cradle his cheek and pull him towards him for a deep, slow kiss. Copia moaned immediately, gripping the sheets below him. His mind went blank, any and all stress from the day clearing out only to be replaced by fog.

As they lost themselves in their slow kiss, tongues marrying together deliciously, Adan reached his hand down one more time, finally reaching for Copia's length and palming him against his thigh. It hadn't taken long, but both men were completely erect, enjoying the sensual nature of their embrace.

As soon as Adan's hand finally wrapped around Copia's shaft, his jaw went slack, a moan rumbling from within. Adan kept kissing him, unbothered that Copia had stopped and only wanting to continue to please his Papa.

"Is this enough, my love? Or do you wish for more tonight?" he asked, wanting to give Copia the experience he needed tonight, utterly selflessly.

"Per favore, amore... will you fill me? I-It's been so long since I've felt that," he gasped, stuttering while Adan's hand worked him in long, languid strokes.

"Of course, sweet thing. Let me prep you first, hm? We can't rush this..."

"Sí, sí," Copia babbled, allowing Adan to roll him over onto his front and spread his knees just enough. Copia kept supplies in his bedside cabinet for convenience since Adan began staying the night a lot more often, and so Adan reached for the bottle of lubrication he knew he'd need.

He still lay beside Copia, wanting him to feel secure, loved and comforted by his body pressing into his, still able to deliver kisses and praises directly to Copia's ear.

He began with one finger, allowing the slick digit to circle Copia's already fluttering rim before he attempted to dip inside. Copia felt incredibly relaxed already, but with the stimulation to his hole he was struggling all the more to keep his hips still against the bed, rutting his erection into the mattress. Adan just smiled at his responsive partner, knowing he was already feeling the pleasure he'd intended.

With an extra drizzle of lubrication, Adan began to press his fingertip into Copia, slowly to accommodate the stretch that he certainly wasn't used to these days. Copia groaned in pleasure, his eyes squeezing shut as he buried half his face in the pillow below him. His paints were going to transfer to the sheets, but that was a problem for later. He needed grounding in that moment.

Adan did his best to work Copia open with just the one finger at first, eventually adding two. All the while, Copia was losing his mind at the sensation. So close to his prostate, and yet, not enough for stimulation; it was winding him up, building a knot of dull tension in his abdomen.

With some time, Adan was able to use three fingers, widening the gap for himself to fit neatly inside when the time came. Copia's groans and whines were muffled by his pillow, and yet each one travelled straight down to Adan's cock, which Copia could feel against his hip while he toyed with his hole.

"A-Adan, please..." Copia begged, professing that he was ready without having to say the words.

"Shhh, it's okay Copia. I've got you," he soothed, retracting his fingers and rolling Copia onto his side so he faced away from him. He reached for the lube again, this time coating his own length generously, before dribbling more where Copia would need him. "We'll take it slow, hm?"

"Yes, yes, just please... I need you, Adan..." Adan chuckled a little at that, sliding his palm between Copia's thighs so he could lift one and allow him the room to line his tip up with Copia's hole.

The initial stretch was uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant thanks to Adan's careful preparation. And still, he was gentle, giving Copia plenty of time to get used to him inch by inch. Already, Adan was becoming drunk on the gasps and moans that spilled from Copia's lips, and he couldn't help but press kisses to his neck, nipping gently at the skin whil his hands squeezed Copia's thigh in an attempt to control his own pleasures. It had been a while for Adan too, to feel the tightness of another man around him. Fuck, how he missed it...

Copia gained some confidence, rocking his hips back into Adan's and reaching his arm back to hold his hips in place to bounce against. Adan groaned against Copia's shoulder, losing himself to the passion of the moment too.

After a little while, he could take it no longer, rolling Copia to have his back pressed to his chest and sitting himself up enough to grip tightly onto the back of Copia's neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss as he pistoned his hips deep into him. Copia lifted his leg for a better angle, wrapping his own arm around Adan's bicep and holding on tightly as he groaned into the kiss, each thrust audibly stuttering his moans.

The pair were completely wrapped up in each other, losing themselves together. Adan's grip on Copia's neck tightened, before dropping down to press into Copia's stomach and digging his fingertips into the softness of his belly. Fucking hell, Adan loved his body, soft and warm in his grip. He could feel the way his stomach turned into rolls each time he thrusted into him, Copia curling up tightly each time.

With every upward thrust, Copia's prostate was throbbing with pleasure, his cock bouncing from the force of Adan's movements and aching from the lack of contact. He could only whine at the feeling of being so close, so fucking close, that he thought his entire body was about to burst.

He wanted to beg, to plead, to tell Adan how much he adored him, how much he needed this but just the thought of parting their heated kiss as he fucked into him was regretful. but it was Adan who parted first, grunting and growling in a way Copia rarely heard from him. He was about to cum deep inside his Papa, unable to stop himself and so his pace picked up, determined to finish Copia off before himself.

He reached his hand down to wrap his deft fingers around Copia's shaft, beginning to pump him to completion while he hammered into his prostate. Copia cried out, his nails digging into Adan's arm as his eyes rolled back into his head and his body lost it's fight to stay composed. Copia's cock jerked in Adan's hand, thick ropes of warm cum erupting onto his own stomach with the last remnants dribbling down Adan's fist. The sight and sound alone was enough to finish Adan off, his rhythm falling off as he shot his own load deep inside Copia.

Adan stilled, enjoying the last few minutes of connection sheathed inside Copia's warmth as the two of them came down from their highs, heavy breaths and gentle whimpers filling the silence. Copia's eyes fluttered open, searching Adan's who seemed to be doing the same - asking a silent question, or confessing a silent thought.

"I think... I think I am I love with you, Adan..." Copia whispered, losing his confidence the moment he uttered a syllable. Neither of them had expected something quite this serious when their arrangement began, but there was no denying the electricity between them.

Adan just grinned, once again holding Copia close to him by the back of his neck, his fingers playing with the sweat dampened locks of hair at the nape.

"And it would seem, Papa, I'm in love with you too," he admitted, not a moment of hesitation now he knew where Copia was too. The two men shared a soft kiss, longing for one another as if they weren't as close as could possibly be right then.

"I suggest a nice, soothing, hot bath to recover, hm? Let the stress just melt away, together?" Adan proposed, stroking the hair from Copia's forehead. He could only nod in response, too tired and drunk on him to form words. "I'll be right back, my love."

With a kiss to the tip of Copia's barely painted nose, Adan gently removed himself from his side and made his way into the bathroom to run a hot bath filled with salts and essential oils to soothe his poor Papa's body and mind.

The two of them spent the evening in the bath together, Copia enveloped in the warmth of the water and his lover behind him. He'd never been so cared for, so loved by another than he was with Adan around. Suddenly, the burden of being Papa didn't feel quite so heavy anymore...

#ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band #the band ghost fanfic #ghost #cardinal copia #ghost the band #papa emeritus iv #da rulah writes #copia #cardinal copia x reader smut #cardinal copia smut #copia smut #papa emeritus iv smut #papa copia smut

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ghuleh-recs · 6 months ago

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It was @forlorn-crows birthday like a month ago!! And I fuckin missed it! Jail for Liss. Jail for 1000 years. Better late than never, I guess. Crow is easily one of my favorite ghoul writers and I threw together a greatest hits rec list for the occasion! They are the mastermind behind Mushy May and the verrrry iconic Lake Wife™. On top of being incredibly talented, Crow is always so lovely and kind and supportive of their fellow creatives. Wouldn't it be a lovely (belated) bday gift if you left some comments/kudos on some of these? Maybe even stop by Crow's ko-fi while you're at it!

Lady of the Lake - Rain/Lake Wife™ - E, 11.6k

With all the dark magick flowing through the abbey, he wouldn’t be surprised if some of it leached into the surrounding area. Mountain’s told him all about the various creatures he’s seen on the edges of the forest: dark, shadowy things that live in the corners of one’s vision, flitting between downed trees and swaying ferns. They’re relatively peaceful entities that don’t seem to bother ghouls, humans, or other animals much. But their presence certainly hasn’t gone unnoticed. That same looming magick resides at the bottom of the lake. Something deep and ominous. Something big. Rain can’t make head nor tail of the sentient something that must live down there. He’s felt it most recently in the new beginnings of spring: big waves of living energy reaching out to him, calling to something buried deep in his ribcage. A creature reaching out to their kin. He supposes it could be a byproduct of the changing seasons, the rush of life seeping through the cracks in the thawing ice. But the feeling in his gut tells him it’s something more than that.

First and Fierce Affirming Sight - Mountain & Copia - G, 1.1k

Once in a blue moon he’ll retreat deep into the forest beyond the abbey to give himself a break from his mortal-like form, let that great maw of elemental power unleash and drain itself into the ether. Just once in a great while, to be fully released. Other times, it sneaks up on him like a cloud of darkness, pulling him under slowly. It gives him enough time to stifle it or manage it. If there’s warning signs, there’s time to keep it at bay. But times like these, it comes in the blink of an eye—like a flash of lightning in the middle of the inky-black sky.

Quicksilver - Dewdrop/Rain - T, 1.8k

Sunshine finally gets to braid Dewdrop's hair, but it gives him and Rain ~feelings~. (you have to read the sequel, too.)

And You Know That It Takes Two - Copia/Dewdrop - E, 3.7k

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?” When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

and so it goes - Mountain/Rain - E, 1.6k

Rain hums the melody where the piano would play, glancing down at the ghoul curled around him. His shoulders start to shake, and he sniffles into the water ghoul’s shirt—attempting, but failing, to be silent about his tears. Rain stops. “Mountain, love, what’s wrong?” Immediately he shakes his head at the question, whining quietly. “Hey,” Rain urges, petting back his hair. “I’m here for you, can you try to tell me?” Hurts, Mountain pushes into his mind. “Where does it hurt?” Rain asks gently. The earth ghoul pulls back an arm from around his waist, gesturing to his own chest. Rain can see his face screw up, a silent prayer to stop the oncoming sob that threatens to work its way out of his throat. In here, he says. He points weakly to the side of his head too. And here.

Pull Me In Your Waters - Dewdrop/Mist - E, 4.8k

He’s such an innocent, carefree creature—one that has Mist’s fingers itching to touch, to ruin, to defile. Like he’s a mere mortal waiting to be drawn in by her hellish siren’s call. But there’s a budding affection underneath that, too. Call it kin, call it an elemental draw to each other, call it even a mentor-like protection over the fledgling ghoul. Beyond the lust there’s respect, admiration. An urge to simply get to know and raise the ghoul who’s set to take her place. She can’t deny there’s some weird, mothering nature buried deep within the confines of her stoney nature. But it is deep, and right now it’s very much shrouded behind a curtain of curiosity, of hunger.

Compromise - Aeon/Mountain - E, 2.9k

He and Aeon haven’t talked, not really, about where they stand with each other. There hasn’t been time, especially not when he’s constantly plastered to Rain and Swiss’ sides instead. Mountain understands. He does. But the longing for familiarity was too hard to ignore tonight, tugging him to Aeon’s room after a sour night at a local dive bar. or Mountain misses Aether. Who he has is Aeon.

Weigh Your Powers, Tempt The Hours - Aether/Ifrit - E, 2.3k

“You’re so pretty like this, you know that?” Ifrit blushes under his adoring gaze. His shaggy hair falls across his face as he ducks to hide. But Aether’s having none of it, reaching out to guide his head back up with a gentle hand on his chin. “You trust me, right?” “Of course I do. I want—” Ifrit pauses and takes a shaky breath. “Want to be good for you,” he finishes in a small voice, just barely above a whisper. “You’re always good for me, Fritter.” The quintessence ghoul runs the pad of his thumb across the point of his jaw. His voice slips to a lower timbre, slow and rhythmic. “You want to feel good too, don’t you?” Ifrit’s eyes slip closed, body relaxing ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he answers simply, forming the word on his exhale like an unholy confession. “You will. I’ll make sure of it.”

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

Did I forget your favorite? You've got a standing invitation from me to add your own rec and reblog ♡

#hot damn it was hard to whittle this list down #sorry it's so late ♡#my fic recs #birthday mixtape #the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fanfic #nameless ghouls fic #mountain ghoul #nameless ghouls

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cowboyemeritus · 4 months ago

Text

Il Suo Campione (Copia/Reader)

Chapter Two

Series Masterlist

Summary: Copia, for some reason, decides to pamper you a bit. (18+)

Content Warning: smut, graphic violence, minor character death

Read on AO3

Notes: Alright, we’re doing this. I’m taking the plunge and making this into a series. There definitely won’t be a set schedule for updates because of how my life works, so we’ll just have to see where this goes. I might also want to do oneshots/drabbles between chapters so I don’t get burnt out (*wink wink*). Feedback is always welcome!

Darkness. Boots thumping like your tiny heart. Through the slats in the closet door, you can just barely see them; four pairs of legs surrounding Daddy, who’s on his knees.

“Please, man,” he begs. “I can get the money, but you gotta give me more ti-“ One of the figures kicks him hard in the chest and he falls back, slamming into the wall. Someone scoffs as he sputters and wheezes. Your eyes begin to sting with tears, but you do as you’re told and keep quiet.

“I do not think you understand, man,” the kicker snarls. There’s a strange quality to his voice you can’t quite place. “You owe us. You are in no place to negotiate.” Daddy’s face twists with anger.

“It’s not my fault the deal didn’t work out!” The man laughs, but there is no joy in it. It’s blood-curdling.

“You think you are clever? That we would not find out about you pilfering our product for your own use? And now you lie to me?” He’s nearly screaming by the end. Daddy looks scared, and presses himself further into the wall.

“Look- Please, I’ve got a daughter. You can’t-”

“We are done here.”

One of the other men grabs Daddy by the hair, wrenching his head back. The silver blade of a knife flashes as it enters your field of view. Before you can even blink it plunges into his neck with a squelch. You want to scream, to throw up, but nothing comes out. The tears in your eyes spill over, hot on your cheeks. The blade is yanked out and blood begins to pour from the wound in Daddy’s neck, soaking into his shirt. He gurgles, a trickle of red running out of the corner of his mouth. The man lets go of his hair and he drops to the floor, twitching. His head is turned towards the closet, eyes meeting yours. For a moment, they are filled with a deep, primordial fear, and then nothing.

“Kid must be around here somewhere,” one of the men says. You feel your chest constrict, and clamp your hands over your mouth to keep yourself from breathing.

“Do not bother,” the man with the strange voice says. “We have more important things to worry about.”

You wake up in a world of hurt.

That’s not unusual. What’s a little weird is that you’re laying on the plush couch in Copia’s living room, a knitted blanket draped over your body. He normally has you taken to your apartment after fights. You remember falling asleep in the car, Copia insisting you rest your head in his lap. One of his minions must have carried you inside.

Did something happen while you were asleep? It’s not uncommon for things to go south after these events, whether it be the authorities catching wind of the operation or issues with an unhappy customer. There have been times where you’ve had to lay low for days, even weeks.

There’s humming coming from the kitchen. Copia, it seems, is alright at least. Your body groans in protest as you sit up, head throbbing. It feels like your tight braids are pulling the skin on your forehead clean off. Your mouth feels like it’s full of sand. On the coffee table, a glass of water and some pills catch your eye. You grab the water and gulp it down greedily, taking the suspicious-looking tablets in hand. As you saunter over to the kitchen, you catch a glimpse of yourself reflected in one of the large living room windows. The bruising has settled under your eyes in dark purple rings. There’s swelling around your broken nose, too, and pink welts decorate the rest of your face. One could easily mistake you for a zombie in this state. Based on the way you’re feeling, you may not be that far off.

You find Copia hovering over a pot, obsessively stirring some sort of sauce. It takes him a moment to notice you standing there.

“What are these,” you ask, holding out the pills for him to see. He gives you a confused look.

“Ibuprofen? What- Dolcezza, what did you think they were?”

You shrug. “From your brother.” Copia blinks, then shakes his head.

“Oh. No.”

Without further question, you pop the pills in your mouth. You have to step around Copia to get to the sink, refilling your glass and taking another swig. The cool water is like mana from heaven.

“Something go down?”

“Not at all. I thought we could, eh, celebrate your victory together.”

He dicked you down, AND he’s making you dinner? Tonight can’t get any better.

You know he has an ulterior motive of some kind, but choose not to question it for the time being. He adds a pinch of salt to the pot and stirs. With a spoon, Copia scoops up a bit of the sauce, gently blows on it, and then offers it to you. You can only sort of taste it with your nose plugged up, but nod in approval anyway. Copia made it; you already know it’s good.

After a quiet dinner, punctuated by the occasional comment from Copia about the fight, he’s able to lure you into his large, luxurious bathtub. The lights in the bathroom are low, a few lit candles providing some extra visibility. Smarmy Italian music plays from a portable speaker on the counter. After all the time you’ve spent with Copia, you recognize most of the songs on the playlist, though you don’t know the lyrics. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the thought that, knowing him, they’re probably all love songs.

The warm, soapy water does wonders for your aching muscles, and you find yourself leaning against his bare chest, eyes closed, as he massages an herbal-smelling shampoo into your scalp. Maybe it’s the wine you had with dinner, but his fingers are like magic. When he passes over a spot near the nape of your neck, a groan involuntarily slips out from between your lips.

“Feels good, dolcezza?” You nod silently, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. Copia chuckles, withdrawing. For a few tranquil moments, you lose yourself in the warmth enveloping your battered form. The veil of sleep begins to slip over you, your mind wandering into the realm of unconsciousness. When Copia’s hands dip below the surface of the water, the sound barely registers. Once he starts gently caressing your breasts, however, your eyes crack open. Already, a different kind of heat is pooling in your gut.

Copia presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh. Without a doubt, he intends to leave yet another bruise on your body. You shudder, a groan rumbling in your throat. He gives your chest a squeeze and you can’t help but wriggle against him, feeling him hard against your back. With an unusual boldness, your hand snakes into the crevice between your bodies, grasping at his erection and giving it a few pumps. The angle is awkward and you can feel your shoulder protest, but when Copia moans quietly in your ear none of that matters. Your whole arm could snap off for all you care. He pinches your nipples hard and you gasp audibly, giving his cock a similarly firm squeeze.

“Oh, baby.” He’s never called you that before. Something about it sends you into a frenzy. Shifting, you sit up and turn to face Copia, kneeling between his parted legs, the soapy water sloshing around you. Grasping his manhood, you begin stroking him vigorously, hungry for every sound you can pull out of him. He throws his head back and you feel his hips buck into your touch. “Fuck.”

You want to devour him, to bury your teeth in his flesh and leave your own claiming mark. You know he’ll stop you before you can even try, but the desire lingers. Instead, you surge forward, capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss. You have to turn your head at an awkward angle to avoid crushing your nose, knowing your neck will be stiff in the morning. One of his hands finds your core, rubbing your clit in frantic circles, while the other palms at your breast.

An unfathomable amount of time passes like this. You are lost in the feeling of him, and in a moment of pure, unhinged delirium, you bite down on his lower lip. Copia completely falls apart, his cock kicking as he finds his release. There’s a tangy, metallic taste in your mouth, and when he pulls away you can see the tiniest red bulb on his lip. You’re so fixated on it that you don’t realize you’re still stroking him until he hisses, grabbing your wrist.

“Alright,” he laughs, chest heaving. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Some time later, you’re laying in Copia’s bed under buttery-soft sheets. He’s spooning you, one hand on your hip as his thumb traces circles into the flesh. It’s dark and quiet, both of you seemingly lost in thought. You feel featherlight, loose and floaty from the climax he has just pulled out of you. Your heart beats a little faster recalling the way he looked up at you from between your parted legs, a tenderness in his eyes you haven’t seen from him before. For the first time in… you’re not sure how long, you feel something that resembles contentment. It’s a foreign sensation, warm and fuzzy in your chest like the dying embers of a fire.

Suddenly, Copia rolls onto his back, groaning. You prop yourself up on an elbow to look at him, quirking an eyebrow in a silent question.

“My father,” he reveals, draping his arm over his eyes. “I have to meet with him tomorrow.”

So he needed a distraction.

You say nothing, lowering yourself back down. The fuzziness you had earlier is now gone, replaced by a dull sinking in your chest. You close your eyes and try to fall asleep but can’t, stuck on this evening’s events and what exactly this man’s game is.

Once you’re certain Copia is asleep, you sneak back to the couch.

#the band ghost #the band ghost x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing #GIF is by @guleh-recs!

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