#frater imperator x female reader

[oh-babylove]

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

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

when the red comes over you - ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was hard to argue with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Embarrassing, the noises he gets out of you.

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

“Did you wanna do that, too?”

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

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

Pain shared is pain lessened, isn't it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cheeky motherfucker actually licked his lips at you.

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

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

You don’t hate it.

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

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

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

It’s a little much, in public, truly.

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

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

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

Your chest went tight.

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

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

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

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

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

You kept your eyes forward, and your breathing even.

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

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

Your grip tightened on the armrest. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evil, evil man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Mm-hmm,” you manage. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ghuleh-witch]

Fandom: Ghost Rating: General Warnings: none Relationships: Copia x female!Reader Additional Tags: established relationship, comfort, fluff, no beta WordCount: 775 Summary: Copia takes care of you while you're sick. Notes: Copia can be read as Cardinal, Papa, or Frater.

Ao3 || Masterlist

Copia knew exactly how you liked your tea: One tea bag (black tea, preferably Irish Breakfast tea), two spoonfuls of sugar (it has to be a little spoon and not a big spoon), and just a tiny splash of whole milk. He knows it by heart and has watched you make your cup of tea every morning since you moved in with him a year ago, but he was nervous as he stood in front of the stove waiting for the kettle of water to whistle. You were sick in bed with a nasty cold and had asked him to make a cup of tea.

“It’ll help my throat,” you croaked as you made sure to cocoon yourself in a pile of blankets. 

He, ever the caretaker, hurried to fulfill your request. Copia repeated the steps over and over. He had your favorite mug prepped with the tea bag, the jar of sugar, a little spoon, and the carton of whole milk that was specifically for your tea. As he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, he heard you let out a harsh cough from the bedroom. Seeing you so ill made his heart clench. If he could snap his fingers, he’d take your place because he just wanted to see you happy and healthy. He knew the tea would cheer you up though. That’s why he needed to get it just right for you.

The shrill whistle pierced the air, and he turned the stove burner off and poured the boiling water into the black mug that read: Resting Witch Face . Copia let the tea steep, debating whether to ask you if you’d rather have honey than sugar if it was for your throat, but he knew that if you wanted honey, you would have said so. He stuck to your recipe, trusting that you knew what you wanted. He put the two spoonfuls of sugar into the tea, stirred it, and then added the splash of milk. He frowned as the tea turned a lighter color than you usually drank. “Too much milk,” he muttered as he removed the tea bag. 

A minute later, he was returning to the bedroom with the mug in hand, as well as a bottle of cold medicine. “I have your tea, amore ,” he said, setting both the mug and medicine down on your nightstand. “Added too much milk, I think. Mi dispiace .”

“It’s okay,” you groaned as you sat up and reached for the mug. “It will still be delicious either way.” You held the mug in between your hands, allowing the steam to clear your sinuses, even just temporarily. You took a tentative sip of the hot beverage as Copia measured out some of the syrupy medicine. “Do I have to?” You whined, scrunching your face at the artificial cherry-flavored medicine.

“ Si, amore ,” he said, sounding apologetic. “I know you hate this shit, but it will help with your cough and help you get some sleep. You need the rest if you want to get better.”

You put the mug of tea down and reached for the metal water bottle filled with cold water that sat next to your box of tissues. “Let’s get this over with,” you sighed as you took the little cup of medicine. You pinched your nose and knocked it back before quickly chasing it with water. You could still taste the bitterness of the syrup and the sickening cherry flavor. The medicine made you gag a little, but you got it down. “There. All gone,” you said once you swallowed it all down. 

“Good girl,” he said, cupping your cheek and giving it a little pat before moving his hand to your forehead. “No fever at least. That’s good.” 

“Still feel like a truck ran me over,” you said as you snuggled back against your pillows. You reached for your tea again and took another sip. “How long is your meeting?”

“I shouldn’t be more than an hour, and then I’ll be right back here with you. I’ll make some soup for dinner and we can have cuddles while we watch a movie.”

“Hmmm can’t wait. But you better get going or else you’re going to be late for your meeting,” you replied. You went to go set your tea down but Copia took it from your hand and took a sip out of it. “Hey, you’re gonna get sick too now.”

“Then we can be sick together. It’ll be worth it if I can spend the whole day in bed with you,” he said before pressing a kiss to your forehead and leaving you to rest.

[katz-rambles]

Hii could I request a fic with Copia where his girlfriend is a single mother and is scared to tell him that she has a child bc she thinks that he'll leave her.

Yeah, ofcc!! It's not super long but I hope it's good!

(fluff and comfort, fem!reader, I think this is it?)

The words get caught in your throat, and you're not sure how to tell him. Would he leave you? In your heart, you know he won't. But the thoughts that plague your mind tell you he will. You hear the creak of the chair and soon a dip in the bed beside you as Copia wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. You lean your head back to rest on his chest and sigh, “maybe, it is my way of asking, or maybe not. Who knows.” You tease, finally finding a response, and he scoffs, lightly punching your arm with a laugh.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

“What do you think about kids?” You ask, your voice ringing out through the quiet of your shared bedroom. The question lingered for a few seconds, the silence deafening, before Copia answered. “I don't hate them,” he answers, not looking up from the stack of paperwork on the desk. “Amore Mio, is this your way of asking if we should have kids?” He chuckles and finally looks up, leaning back in his chair. You scoff when he gives you a suggestive look, and he laughs, moving back to finish the paperwork at his desk.

As the sun slowly starts to set and the room dims, you turn to see Copia fast asleep, yet you can't bring yourself to relax enough to fall asleep. Maybe you'll tell him tomorrow, but what if he's not ready. You can't stop the thoughts swarming in your mind, and you rub your temples to try and push the thoughts away. “What's wrong, tesoro?” Copias voice pulls you back down to reality. He pulls you close once more, resting his chin on the crown of your head and then placing a soft kiss to it. His fingers are tracing shapes into your arm, and you close your eyes. “There's something I need to tell you,” you start, feeling like there's something in your throat that's stopping you from speaking, “I'll tell you tomorrow,” you smile at him and you can feel him nod, giving one last kiss before he falls back asleep. There's no going back now. What's done is done. Hopefully, he has a good reaction. All you can do is hope.

—

You managed to wake up before him, way too early. The sun's just rising, despite it still being dark in the room. Your nerves are on fire, and you feel like you're going to vomit. You'll tell him after breakfast, maybe then you'll feel a bit less anxious.

The whole time you were in the dining hall, your mind was clouded. You could barely hear what the sisters beside you were talking about. “Did you hear?” One of them gently shakes you, awaiting a response. All you can do is shake your head in response. She smiles and explains to you the gossip of this week, and for a half hour, your worries were lifted.

Whenever you look over at Copia, it seems like he's already looking at you. It's sweet, but every time your eyes meet, you feel all the worries come rushing back. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, you could just tell him you forgot what you wanted to tell him, maybe he'll believe that. It's worth a shot.

“So, what was that all about? Being so mysterious last night.” Copia comes behind you and kisses your shoulder. You swallow down your nerves and take a deep breath. The plan you had made at breakfast seems to fall down the drain when he asks. There's no way he'd believe you. You open your mouth and close it, like some stupid fish, you don't know what to say. But, there's not a better way to say it, so you decide to tell him, and not sugar coat your words. “There's something you should know, I know that you may not be ready for kids, but-” you cut off your sentence and bury your face in your hands, Copia moves so he's in front of you and pulls your hands down. “I'm a mom, I have a kid. She's only five. But I have a kid.” You finish with a shaky breath. Hot teats prick your eyes as your mind prepares for the worst. Instead, you feel a kiss to your forehead. “Okay, so we'll raise her together.” You can feel Copias lips curl into a smile against your forehead as he speaks. He pulls you close to him and chuckles. “I meant it when I said I don't hate kids. They can be annoying, but not annoying enough that I'm not going to help. We're in this together, tesoro.” He says, rubbing your back. When he finishes speaking, you can feel the weight lifted off your shoulder. Maybe your mind was just working overtime. He's not leaving you anytime soon, and you just know that he's going to make an amazing father.

[luciferscowgirl]

"Letters from the Cardinal"

Copia misses you while he's away on tour.

Please, be so kind and open the letter that he has written for you, he's yearning. 🪶

Cardinal Copia × Gen. audiences

M-rated, mentions of NSFW practices 🔞

AO3 link:

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Spoilers in tag]

Sinners' tango

| Twitter | Instagram | Ao3 | Redbubble |

It wasn't just meant to be a small collection of Papa x Sister of Sin!Reader, but also to have a little interpretation key. So, as usual, I invite you to comment/like to show your support!

I really like the idea that the Ministry of Ghosts is a matriarchal pyramid, where even though Papa seems like the most important figure, Sister Imperator is the one who holds the reins of everything. Furthermore, I like that this isn't seen as a threat to anyone's masculinity within the clergy.

This series had a bit of this in mind. The woman isn't shown to allow more or less everyone to insert/identify themselves, yet her presence is so strong that even without ever seeing her face, you should be able to perceive her as the dominant figure in the composition. Sometimes she simply doesn't bother to look at those who are looking at the images, as if leaving the dirty work to someone else, other times she plays with her men, who allow themselves to be moved docilely.

There's also a certain sensuality, the idea of intimacy between the sister and the pope, and the various popes looking into the camera is like an awareness of their position. It's a submissive, almost devoted but still proud. Except for Copia, but not because he's not devoted to her, but because he, more than anyone, couldn't take his eyes off her.

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 8th - Praise (Frater Imperator x Female!Reader)

Tags: Light Dom/Sub, Established Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Mentions Of Death, Praise, Body Worship, Oral Sex, Riding, Light Possessiveness, Unprotected Sex, Cumshot, Aftercare, Fluff And Smut, 2nd Person POV

Copia stares blankly into the mirror, fiddling with the cuffs of his newly tailored suit. It hasn't been long since his recent promotion, and since Sister Imperator... He still couldn't think about that for long without crying, so he decided it would be easier to bury his grief. He was able to avoid the anguish and anxiety that was slowly eating away at his very core for months, but now that he was seeing himself in the uniform, it's all he could think about.

He almost didn't recognize himself. Change wasn't easy, he already knew that very well. When he first ascended to Papa, he struggled way more than he let on, despite how he prepared for this moment pretty much his entire life. But now the role of Papa, everything he's worked towards for decades, is gone; now what? It's bad enough he had to give up his beloved title, that's fine, he'll get over it, but at the cost of his mother? He couldn't handle it.

A tear escapes his eye, quickly wiping it away with a leather-covered thumb, smudging his eye paints. He sighs frustratedly, smoothing the fabric of his jacket. No matter how much he adjusts himself, he can't seem to look quite right. Everything about this feels wrong. As he sniffles, wallowing in his self-pity, he hardly notices you entering the room, coming up behind him and putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"You look very handsome." You coo tenderly, running your hands up and down the fabric of his new suit, familiarizing yourself with the feeling. Copia smiled, snapping back to reality at the comforting feel of your soft hands, subconsciously leaning in closer to your addictive touch.

You were always there for him, there to encourage and support him through his transition from Cardinal to Papa. You always knew how to soothe the endless pit in his stomach. But despite the years you've been his rock, he worried that this time might be different. But surely you didn't just love him for his status and power. You wouldn't just stop loving him now that he wasn't Papa, you weren't like that... right?

"You flatter me, amore..." He teased, but the playfulness that was usually in his voice was noticeably faltered as a different type of self-consciousness slowly crept over him. "You... You really like it?" He asks hesitantly, his eyes searching yours for even a hint of dishonesty.

"You know I go crazy for you whenever you wear a new suit." You flirt, biting your lip as you look him up and down slowly, like an animal staring down a piece of fresh meat. Copia chuckled, remembering the way you looked at him when you first caught a glimpse of him in his Papal robes. It was a mix of desire, barely contained arousal, and worship, the memory pulling a sly smile from his lips. "Do you like it, Copia?" You asked, tone dripping with concern, causing his heart to sink. It was both a blessing and a curse, to not be able to hide his feelings from you.

"I..." Copia swallows against the lump forming in his throat. "I don't... I don't know, honestly. I should be fine. I've known this was coming for a long time, but still, I just... It doesn't feel right. I mean, come on, 'Frater Imperator?' That isn't who I am." He answered, his voice barely above a whisper. You nod along, appreciating his honesty. You reach your hands up to cradle his face, pulling him closer to you and rendering him unable to avoid eye-contact.

"You're right; That isn't who you are." You say, catching him a bit off-guard. Where were you going with this? "You aren't Frater Imperator. You aren't Papa. You aren't a Cardinal. You're Copia, just Copia. Whatever title you have at any given moment, it doesn't define who you are, it doesn't change you. You're still the same man. You're still the man that I love." Copia's breath hitched at your words, his eyes widening and welling up with unshed tears.

"Your mother would be so proud of you. I'm so proud of you. You're going to get through this, you're going to be fine, like you always are. And I'll be right here next to you, every step of the way." Your kind words trigger the tears to flow from Copias eyes, exhaling shakily as some of the tension in his shoulders loosen from the gravity of your words. You'd really love him no matter what form he took, wouldn't you?

Copia suddenly pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. He breathed in your sweet scent, relishing in the comfort you always provided him. You hugged him back, letting him hold you for however long he needed, running your fingers through his hair soothingly. "I love you, I love you..." Copia murmurs, his voice soft and shaky. "Ti amo, tesoro. Più di quanto tu possa mai sapere..."

You kiss his cheek, your arms wrapped around him like a protective shield. "I love you too, Co-Co. So much..." You mutter, trailing your kisses down to his neck; an innocent gesture at first, but each little kiss lingers for just a moment longer than the last. Copia shivered, the sensation of your lips against his sensitive skin igniting a familiar heat in his gut. Your grip on him tightens, your bodies pressed so tightly together that the two of you are practically melting in each others hot embrace.

"Will you let me show you how much I love you, Copia?" You whisper breathlessly in his ear, your voice dripping with lust. He groaned softly at your words, relishing in the feeling of your body pressed against him, stirring a primal desire within. The last time the two of you were intimate together was before his last show. Since then, it's been complicated, to say the least, caught up in the stress of his new promotion and his mothers passing. It's been a long time, too long. He didn't even realize how badly he needed this, how badly his body had been craving satisfaction, until now.

"Amore..." He gasped shakily, his voice strained with need. "Please…" Your lips were on his in an instant, clashing together feverishly as your fingers tangled in his hair. His hands clutched at the fabric of your clothes, his body responding instinctively to your touch. The room seemed to grow warmer, the air crackling with tension and desire. Copia was completely lost in the moment, his focus narrowing to you, and nothing but you.

You push Copia onto the bed, climbing on top and straddling him, toying with the buttons of his suit, desperately trying to get his clothes off as quickly as possible. He watched you unbutton him, the intensity in your eyes and the hunger etched on your face sent another jolt through his body. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you undressed him with an urgent need. He reached up, tugging at your own clothes as well.

"Mmm, amore..." He breathed, his hands roaming over your body, groping whatever part of you he could. "You're driving me crazy..." Your eagerness was both thrilling and overwhelming, Copia's heart racing as you quickly removed his clothes. Every touch, every graze of your skin against his sent a wave of electricity through him, he was nearly in tears once again. "I know, baby, I know..." You purr, yanking off the final piece of his clothing: his boxers, exposing his already half-hard dick.

"Look at you, my sweet boy..." You coo, trailing your hands over every inch of his body, taking your time to truly admire the sight before you. "So beautiful, so perfect. My perfect boy, hm?" You lower yourself down, kissing all over his soft, squishy belly that you've grown to love so much, trailing your kisses lower and lower until you reach his twitching cock. He gasps as you take it in your mouth, moving up and down on his length, sucking him to full hardness.

His hands fisted the sheets, throwing his head back with a groan and spreading his legs as an invitation for you to continue your ministrations. His eyes close tightly, a familiar feeling starting to build up within him. Knowing he's about to cum, you stop, pulling your mouth off of him, causing him to let out a low, guttural whine, protesting the sudden halt of his pleasure. His body instinctively arches towards you in search of more contact, eyes snapping open to look up at you in confusion.

"W-why'd you sto-" His words catch in his throat as he watches you straddle his hips again, only to impale yourself on his shaft. Copia's reaction was immediate and involuntary, his hips bucking up against your touch with a sharp gasp. You moan in sync with him, starting to ride him at a rhythmic pace. "Fuck, Copia! You're so b-big! You always reach so deep inside me, make me feel so fucking g-good..." You whine, a particular slam of his cock hitting the back of your pussy causing the both of you to cry out.

Copia was completely at your mercy, lost in a haze of divine pleasure and ecstasy. Copia was used to being underneath you, having you dominating and controlling him, but this felt different, softer, gentler. No rules or punishments, no slapping, biting, scratching, no degradation. As much as he loves being ruined by your sadistic wiles, this is exactly what he needed right now. Not fucking, but making love.

Copia's noises were whiny and pathetic, his back arching off the bed slightly as the waves upon waves of pleasure washed over him. His hands clutched at your hips, his knuckles turning white as he tried to control his body's reactions to no avail. "Mmm, more," he panted, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly agape. "Please, I need more, I need you."

"I know, Co-Co. I need you, too. I've missed this, m-missed how good your perfect body makes me feel. How hard you make me cum." You huff, bouncing faster on his dick. "You're everything I've ever wanted, Copia. You're perfect for me. You're mine. All fucking mine." You cry sweet praises, moaning pornographically as you ride him into oblivion.

Copia's breathing grew more ragged with each stroke of your cunt, his mind growing clouded by pleasure. Your words, the possessive claim you made on him, send a shiver through his body. He looked up at you, his mismatched eyes dark with lust, his face flushed. "I'm yours," he heaved, the words punctuated by a sharp gasp. "All yours."

It isn't long till Copias whines and whimpers grow louder and more labored, hips bucking up to meet yours wildly, all signals that he was close. He taps your thigh in warning, and with that, you lift yourself off his cock, allowing him to finish all over his stomach, ropes of cum shooting impressively far, nearly reaching his chest. He sighs, thoroughly satisfied, his body relaxing, save for the occasional twitch.

You grab a few tissues from the nightstand, cleaning up his cum- covered self to the best of your ability. Before you could kick back and cuddle up next to him, Copia sits up and grabs you by your hips, pushing you onto the bed, clumsily positioning himself between your legs. "Now it's time to make mia bella ragazza cum, too..."

His tongue delves in your hole, devouring you like a starved man. The tip of his nose rubs deliciously against your clit, and the mixture of clitoral stimulation and the frantic flicking of his tongue has your orgasm hitting you within minutes, already sensitive enough from his cock. Once he's had his fill of your cunt, he plops down beside you, the two of you laying side by side.

Copia lay on his back, a light sheen of sweat on his bare chest, panting. He turned his head to look at you, a ditzy, fucked-out smile on his lips. "I missed that..." he said, his voice raspy. He reached out to take your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. You nod, panting along with him, sweat-dampened hair sticking to your forehead uncomfortably. "Me too..." You agreed.

Copia turned onto his side, shifting a little closer to you. He moved a hand to push a strand of sticky hair out of your face, his touch gentle and tender. He studied your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled appearance. It made his heart surge with affection. "I've been pushing you away, haven't I, amore?" He smiles sadly, his heart twinging with regret for how he's been handling things as of recently. You frown.

"Honestly? You have. But I don't blame you at all for it, not one bit. You just lost your mother and your title, you've been mourning. It's okay that you needed space. You've been going through a lot, my love..." You squeeze his hand reassuringly. Copia sighed, his brow furrowing slightly as he squeezed your hand back, dissatisfied with himself.

"I just... I didn't want to burden you. I know I'm not the most stable person, and with everything happening... I wanted to protect you from everything happening in my silly old mind." He kisses the back of your hand earnestly. "But not anymore. You are the last person I want to be dishonest with, to push away. Not now, not after everything." He assures, looking down at your intertwined hands, focusing on the feeling of your skin against his. This is all he wants. This is all that matters.

"Besides," He grumbles sleepily, pulling your body close to his for post-coital cuddles that he so dearly missed. "You have taught me I am more than just a title, no?"

-

[ghuleh-witch]

Title: Memories Rating: Explict Warnings: NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, outdoor sex, p in v sex, Relationships: Copia x Female!Reader Characters: Copia, Female!Reader Additional Tags: ghovie spoilers, no beta WordCount: 1,935 Summary: After your promotions, you and Copia go back to where it all began. Author's Note: This fic contains spoilers for RHRN. This is part of a collection of one-shots.

Ao3 || Masterlist

The way he walked was different, you noticed. You’ve known him since he was a cardinal, and with each new promotion, his walk changed. It grew more confident—more sure of himself with each step. You knew the transition from Papa to Frater was difficult for him. He agonized about it for weeks, pacing his new chambers and worrying if he’d be the downfall of the Ministry. You held him tightly as he buried his face into the crook of your neck and cried, confessing that he didn’t know what he was doing and that he just wanted to be Papa once more.

The man approaching you now was a completely different person and it was hot.

You were proud of him and all that he had achieved. You didn’t think there were enough words in the English language to express the pride you had for him. He might have felt he didn’t know what he was doing, but he took charge of his new role and wielded it with certainty. 

“Amore,” he said when he got to the table you were studying at. He looked at the books scattered around you, trying to make sense of what you were actually doing before his eyes rested on your face. “I’ve been looking for you. You were gone when I woke up.” 

“Sorry, baby,” you said looking up at him. His painted eyes and upper lip were nothing new to you. It was his casual look as Papa, and now was his signature look as Frater. “I wanted to get an early start to this ritual.”

He hummed in response, looking over the books. “The blessing for the new Papa and the ghoul summoning?”

You nodded. “I wanted to ensure we have everything covered since this is my first time doing this.” With Copia’s new promotion, he promoted you to the head of the occult and magicks department within the Ministry, removing the person his mother had placed in charge. It was a position you wanted and never expected to get, but you supposed being married to the new Frater had its perks. But as much as you wanted the position, it was overwhelming. You had so much to learn and not a lot of time to learn it. 

You felt his gloved hand under your chin, lifting it so you were looking up into his eyes. “You can do this,” he said. 

“Can I?” You asked, your voice wavering slightly as your self-doubt made itself apparent.

“If I can do all this—” He gestured to his new suit. “Then you can do this. I have faith in you.” 

And just like that all your worry and anxiety seemed to be lifted from you. You smiled as his hand left your chin to cup your cheek. You nuzzled into the soft leather of his glove. “I love you,” you said softly. 

His eyes softened and it was like you were looking at the cardinal he was when you first met him. “And I love you,” he said, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Come on, take a break. Let’s go for a walk.” 

You took his now outstretched hand and he gently pulled you up from your seat, leading the way out of the library and to the doors that led to the gardens Primo had once maintained when he was still alive. You watched as Copia’s eyes took in each rose bush and each lily along the path. You knew how much he missed his brothers and how much he once feared his fate would be the same as theirs. Neither of them talked about the one remaining brother Copia had left, his twin. Copia knew his twin existed and vaguely remembered him, but for the most part, they grew up separately and were strangers. 

“I’m proud of you,” you said as the two of you walked hand in hand. “I don’t know if I can say that enough.”

“I know, amore,” he responded, his fingers squeezing yours. 

The two of you came to a secluded section of the garden surrounded by brightly flowering bushes and hidden by the low-hanging branches of a weeping willow. 

“Do you remember this place,” Copia asked, turning to face you and taking your other hand in his.

“This is where we first met,” you responded. “I was out here hiding because I thought I made the biggest mistake coming here.” 

“And I heard you crying and found you sitting against the tree,” Copia said. “I think I fell in love with you then and there.”

“Even though I was ugly crying?”

Copia chuckled. “You could never be ugly, tesoro.” 

You laughed. “Oh, I was definitely ugly that night,” you said. “But you were so patient and sweet. I knew you were special.” You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles. “And for the record, I think I fell in love with you that night too.” You dropped his hand and cupped his cheek, pulling him down to meet your lips. “And here we are, six years later, married and with you the head of the whole shabang.” 

“It’s certainly been a ride, eh?” His lips met yours in a sweet peck as his forehead rested against yours. “I don’t think I could have done any of this without you.” 

You smirk. “Definitely not,” you replied, teasing him and poking his belly.

“Oh-ho, cocky now all of a sudden,” he laughed, his mismatched eyes staring into yours. His hands found themselves on your hips. “And here I thought we were having a moment, amore. We shouldn’t let your head get too inflated now, eh?”

“And what are you going to do about that?” You asked, egging him on. 

Before you knew it, he had you backed up against the wide trunk of the tree. His rested on either side of your head, caging you in. 

“I’ll fuck that ego out of you,” he purred, head dipping to place a kiss on the spot just below your ear that always drove you wild. One hand left the trunk of the tree and ran up your thigh, pushing the skirt of your habit up as he did. “I know you’re already wet for me.”

“Look who has the ego now,” you breathed, heat flooding every part of your body as his lips continued to kiss your neck.

“Ah, but I’m allowed. I’m Frater Imperator after all,” Copia murmured as his hand left your thigh. Both hands began to open the buttons of your dress allowing your breasts to spill out. He was pleasantly pleased that you forwent your bra. He ducked his head to kiss down your chest and the tops of your breasts. 

You let out a soft sigh, hands coming up to his hair. You felt the soft strands being held back with just of bit of gel and carded your fingers through them. He was grayer than when you first met, but you adored the way he aged. 

His mouth left your skin and came back to your lips as his hand slid down your body. He hiked up the hem of your dress and found your panties. His hand cupped your mound, putting just enough pressure on you to make you moan into his mouth. He pushed the fabric aside to slip his fingers between your folds and to your clit. He broke the kiss, staring down into your eyes with a satisfied smirk.

“Knew you’d be wet already,” he said as his fingers moved over your clit. 

“Copia,” you moaned softly, head falling back against the trunk of the tree.

“Yes, amore?”

You were at a loss for words. You felt like your brain was short-circuiting. “I—” you began but didn’t finish. 

His chest rumbled in a chuckle. “You?”

You were so close already. Your moans escaped in breathy pants. “I’m close, baby,” you managed to say. As soon as you said the words, his fingers left you. You whined as your eyes popped open. “Hey,” you protested. 

“I told you I was going to fuck the ego out of you, didn’t I? I don’t want you coming just yet,” he said, turning you around and positioning your hands on the tree turnk. He gripped your hips and moved your legs how he wanted. “I want you coming around my cock.” 

You glanced over your shoulder to see him fumbling with his belt and zip of his pants. After a few seconds, his cock was free and his pants pushed down his thighs slightly. His hands returned to your body, pushing your dress up and pushing your panties aside once more.

“Do you want this?” He asked, leaning over your back and brushing your hair aside so he kiss your neck.

“Yes,” you said. He didn’t have to ask you every time you two were intimate, but you loved that he did. “Please.” 

“ La mia brava ragazza (My good girl) ,” he breathed in your ear before gripping your hip tightly and pushing into you. 

You moaned in unison as your nails dug into the bark of the tree. “Fuck,” you panted as he bottomed out in you. 

“So tight,” he groaned, a hand coming up to palm your breast as his forehead rested against your shoulder blade for a moment. “Always so tight for me. Prendilo tutto (Take it all) .” 

“Please move,” you begged, knuckles turning white from your grip on the tree. “Please, Copia, I need it.” 

“Beg for it again, amore,” Copia said, squeezing your breast.

“Please,” you begged again. ���Please move please.”

“ Sembri così carina quando implori (You sound so pretty when you beg) ,” he said before pulling out and thrusting back into you. Each thrust was punctuated, hard, and deep making your moans and whimpers grow louder and louder. You clenched your eyes shut, reveling in the sensation. You felt a hand leave your hip and come around to your front, circling your clit. The white-hot coil in your belly grew tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Copia,” you gasped. A desperate whimper left your lips. “Baby, I’m gonna come. Please let me come.” 

“Feeling humble now, are we, tesoro? Vieni a prendermi bambina (come for me baby),” he growled as the pace of his thrusts quickened.

The change sent you over the edge. You came hard, eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in one long moan. Your nails were ruined by how hard they dug into the bark and your legs shook as they struggled to keep you up. Not even a second later, you felt Copia release in you, his thrusts losing the pace he established as he pulsed inside of you. 

His arms encircled you as he leaned across your back. “You okay?” He panted.

“I’m perfect,” you said breathily as you turned your head to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied, eyes shining with adoration and warmth for you. He gently eased himself from you and pulled your panties back in place and your dress back over your hips. 

You turned around slowly, leaning back against the tree as your heart rate returned to normal. Copia tucked himself back into his pants and redid his belt.

“How about we go get cleaned up and I’ll help you finish up your research,” Copia suggested, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. 

You smiled and nodded before intertwining your hand with his. “Let’s go,” you said before the two of you made your way out of the gardens and held even more memories now.

[katz-rambles]

Hihiii! Can I request a short NSFW fic with Papa IV where him and the reader are in an established relationship and have shower sex? (And it would be much appreciated if reader is female and flat chested) thank uuu!!♡ ^_^

Yess! This will be my first time writing for any of the Papa's, so I apologize if he's ooc 😅.

I know you asked for a short fic, but I feel like this is a little shorter than I intended it to be, sorry.

(nsfw, shower sex, PiV, copias kinda ooc. I think this is it, though.)

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

“There we go, now the waters are good,” Copia chuckles after a little bit. The showers in the Clergy are always finicky. He starts to undress himself, and even though you've seen him naked before, you still get flustered, but you follow and undress yourself.

He was right, the water is perfect. You jolt when he rubs your scalp and he laughs. “Did you forget, amore mio, that this is a shower,” You laugh along with him and shrug.

Before long he has you pinned against the back of the shower with his hands on your waist and yours on his chest. He pulls you for a kiss, and it's passionate and messy. Your hands trail down to his hardening erection. His hands move up to your neck and he pulls you impossibly closer.

“Is this okay?” He breathes out, lips brushing against yours. “Of course it is,” You kiss him once again and feel his hand grab your thigh, he positions himself and rubs his tip against your folds. He presses himself inside you, slowly to make sure he doesn't hurt you. The stretch is something you'll never get used to, and you hope you don't. You let out a low moan and he starts to roll his hips against yours, his pelvis grinds against your clit with every thrust. He kisses your neck and you can hear him whimper against your skin.

“Look at you, amore mio, you're so gorgeous,” He groans and moves one of his hands to toy with your nipples and he kisses down your chest. His thrusts pick up in pace as you both get more desperate. “I'm sorry.. I wanted this to be special, but I need you so bad,” He whimpers and kisses you once again, his hand moves down to rub your clit and he can feel your walla clench. “This is.. ahh.. is special, Copia,” You sigh and wrap one of your legs around him. You can feel your orgasm building up already, and you can tell from the way that his thrusts start to get sloppy that he's getting close too.

He starts to rub tight and quick circles on your clit and his other hand toys with your nipples. You let your head fall back and you cum around his cock. He groans and pulls out, stroking himself a couple of times and he cums on your stomach and thighs. The water immediately washes it down and he chuckles.

“I guess we are in the right spot for cleaning up.. eh?” You laugh and nod. “I guess so,” He pulls you close to him and rubs your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he grabs the soap.

[ghuleh-witch]

ghuleh-witch's fic masterlist

Greetings! I'm Malia, 32, she/her (I don't mind they/them as well).

Below is a masterlist of my fics. They can be found both here and on Ao3. As I write a lot of nsfw content, MDNI, please. If you'd like to be on a taglist, please let me know :)

Links: Ao3 || Twitter

reader pov

Stay || Ao3 || Dracopia x Female!Reader

Make You Sing || Ao3 || Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Female!Reader

First Bite || Ao3 || Dracopia x GN!Reader

The Fitting || Ao3 || Frater Imperator/Copia x GN!Reader

Fangs || Ao3 || Dracopia x Female!Reader

Memories || Ao3 || Copia/Frater Imperator x Female!Reader

Whipped Cream || Ao3 || Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x GN!Reader

The Devil's Lettuce || Ao3 || Papa/Cardinal Copia x GN!Reader

An Apostate Witch's Doom || Ao3 || Cardinal Copia x Female!Reader

The Night We Met || Ao3 || Papa Emeritus II/Secondo x Female!Reader

Tea || Ao3 || Cardinal/Papa/Frater Copia x Female!Reader

oc fics

And We Are Tied As One Eternally || Ao3 || Papa Emeritus IV/ Copia x OFC