#popia x reader smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deakyjoe · 6 months ago

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Arranged & Absolute

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV/Copia x Reader (fem, afab)

Category: arranged marriage, smut

Summary: To strengthen his new position as Papa, Copia agrees to marry someone he’s never met.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, desk sex, you get cum on the paperwork, vaginal fingering, grinding/dry humping, kissing, groping, arranged marriage, unspecified age gap, awkward first meeting, Sister Imperator being a supportive mother (but not because Copia doesn’t know she’s his mother), dead Papas (all of them, even Nihil), guilt, self esteem issues, parental issues, loneliness, poorly translated Italian, reader vaguely described as being shorter than Copia but nothing else, let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: I chose the gif specifically because he looks hot in it. This fic went from “huh maybe one day I could write about an arranged marriage thing with Copia but I don’t know what exactly yet since I don’t have any solid ideas” to “what the fuck have I done” in the space of less than 24 hours! Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Copia had thought it was a stupid idea. But Sister Imperator had insisted. So here he was. On his wedding day. Having never met his bride.

His foot tapped against the floor at a rapid pace, nerves radiating out of him, as he stood at the head of the chapel and watched the guests flood in to take their seats. He didn't fail to notice that almost everybody there was there for him, so many of them arriving in fact that they had to start sitting on the pews that were supposed to be reserved for your friends, family and kin. But he knew you'd travelled a long way, practically the only information he knew about you, so maybe no one from your home was willing to make the journey. Still, Copia found it sad.

Sister Imperator stood at his side, attempting to be supportive. "Calm down. The ceremony will go smoothly."

That wasn't what he was worried about. He knew the wedding itself would go smoothly, Sister would make sure of it, but everything else about it seemed all wrong. For starters, he'd never met his future wife. Which was bad enough by itself. But what if you hated him? From what he'd understood, you weren't too thrilled about the pairing either but your father had managed to convince you. Copia had met your father at least but he wasn't a particularly nice man.

When Imperator had initially come to Copia with the idea he'd laughed it off thinking it was a joke. An arranged marriage in the 21st century? And in the Satanic church where they encouraged freedom of all places? He thought it was nonsense. But then when she'd explained that a well thought out match would be put in place to strengthen his new title of Papa Emeritus IV... he started to realise that she was being serious.

He'd refused at first, saying that his position was enough. He was Papa now. And there was no taking that away, especially with his three predecessors dead and Nihil also in the grave. Who was there to question his authority? But Imperator pointed out his lack of legitimacy, he wasn't really an Emeritus, and how Papa Nihil had been reluctant to let him be the face of the clergy when he was still a mere Cardinal. Then he saw the cracks in his status.

So he agreed. A spouse would be found for him, to stand by his side and bring more power to his Papacy. He'd only allowed himself a brief second of panic when Imperator had mentioned in passing the need for an heir.

Copia looked at Sister, who had changed out of the usual skirt suit she wore and had chosen to adorn a dress in a nice green colour that suited her. Despite insisting that the whole thing was a formality, Copia appreciated her effort in making the day nice. "What if she doesn't like me?"

The older woman's face softened for a moment, how hadn't she realised that was what he was nervous about? He was a sensitive soul after all, constantly seeking approval. "She will adore you, C. Don't worry."

Copia looked down at his outfit, what if he wasn't dressed well enough? First impressions mattered after all. And the paints on his face itched more than usual. What if they started sweating off? But it was too late to dwell on that now. The last few people settled in the pews and silence descended over the chapel. It was time.

The large double doors at the back of the room swung open with a creak and the quartet in the corner started playing, what Copia believed to be, some sort of twist on the wedding march. He froze as his eyes landed on you, the reality of the situation dawning on him fully and sending him into a spiral. He was about to marry somebody he'd never met.

He tried not to let it show as you started walking towards him down the aisle, a train of lace following you. Nobody was walking you to him, ready to give you away, he noticed. Your father hadn't come to the wedding? Copia drank you in, the black wedding dress sweeping down the curves of your body and the matching veil covering your face. At least he had a moment to compose himself before he had to make eye contact with you.

You walked quickly, like you wanted to get the whole thing over and done with, and you were stood at the base of the steps in front of Copia before he could blink twice. He offered a gloved hand to you to help you up, which you took after a brief moment of staring at it through your veil. Copia squeezed it gently, hoping to offer some support and solidarity. He didn't know if it translated well.

And then you were in front of him, and the ceremony was beginning.

Imperator coughed quietly behind him. "C, the veil."

"Oh." He gasped and reached up the take the bottom of it in his fingertips, pausing for a second to allow you a moment to stop him if you wanted, before lifting it and pushing it back over your head.

The moment he met your eyes, Copia felt all oxygen leave his body. You were beautiful.

You sent him a nervous smile. "Hi."

Your voice was barely a whisper, so small and worried, that he barely heard you.

"Hi." He replied, sending a smile of his own and taking your hands in his.

Sister Imperator relaxed behind him, she could tell that he was smitten with you already. She’d chosen well.

The officiant ran through the ceremony with ease, the two of you repeating all the necessary parts when needed. Then suddenly it was over, the 'I do's' were said, rings were exchanged and Copia was a married man.

"You may kiss the bride." The officiant said.

Copia looked at you for confirmation that it was okay and when you gave a small nod of approval, he shuffled towards you and rested a gloved hand on your cheek. You leaned in first, which he was glad for as he felt as if his heart was about to beat up and out of his mouth, and met him halfway. Your lips pressed together for a second or two before the both of you pulled away with shy smiles.

The room cheered, a clear mix of real elation and dubious celebration. It wasn't a love match after all. But Copia didn't care, he had high hopes about the pairing now. You seemed nice enough and he found you breathtaking, he just hoped you could feel a fraction of the same about him. Which he feared you didn't, what could he possibly offer you?

The thoughts left him as Sister Imperator patted him on the back. "Well done, C."

"Thank you." He nodded at her before looking back towards you again.

Imperator looked at you as well. "And congratulations, it's lovely to finally meet you."

"Thank you, Sister. My father speaks very highly of you." You bowed your head at her before glancing at your new husband. "I think we're supposed to run out of here now. Like the wild newlyweds people expect to see."

Copia grinned, liking your attitude, and nodded his head in agreement. "That is exactly what people expect, shall we?”

You took the hand he offered to you and the two of you trotted down the few steps before speeding towards the doors of the chapel. People shouted words of praise and felicitations as you passed them which you could only smile at in return.

Once the both of you had burst out of the exit and the doors had swung shut behind you, a moment of peace was found. You turned to each other breathless, bashful looks gracing your faces.

“Hi.” You said, louder than the first time at the altar.

“Hi.” He repeated back to you. “You look beautiful in your dress, by the way.”

“Oh, thank you.” You looked down at the garment before looking back at him. “You look handsome too. I like your jacket.”

“This old thing?” Copia replied before wincing. Why did he make it seem like he’d worn an old jacket for his wedding?

But you didn’t seem to notice his slip up as you continued to smile at him. “What happens now?”

“I believe Sister Imperator has organised a banquet for us.” He pulled you closer to him as guests started to file out of the chapel and guided you in the direction of the ballroom.

“A banquet? That’s pretty fancy.” You chimed, looping your arm through his so the two of you could walk together.

“She pulled out all the stops.” Copia looked over at you, surprised at how well you seemed to be taking it all. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” You glanced over your shoulder at the crowd of people that was emerging steadily. “Can we just walk a little faster? I don’t want to be bombarded by all those people just yet.”

“Sì, sì.” He increased his pace, making sure you were tightly secured to his side the whole time. “What made you agree to this marriage? I heard at first that you said no.”

“Ah.” You paused. “I did say no at first. Nothing personal against you, I promise.”

“We did not know each other. It’s okay.” He assured before letting you carry on.

“I didn’t want to marry a stranger. But I did want to escape my father. You know who he is, correct?”

Copia nodded. “I’ve met him.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” You winced. “He’s not a nice man. But holds a high position in the clergy. I’m his only child, you see. And he’s always drilled into me that I am useless because I am a daughter. What use is a daughter? I cannot be an heir and inherit anything from him.”

“That’s not true!” He gasped. “The clergy dictates that-“

You cut him off by laying a hand on his arm. “It’s not the clergy’s doing. It’s my father’s. It’s okay, I grew used to his archaic ways. Anyway he said the only good I would be was marrying me off. At first I said no because I thought he was going to marry me off to an old, ugly man who was unkind. Then he told me that you seemed sensitive when he met with you which translates to nice. And he also told me that no Emeritus has ever been ugly. I believed him. He used to keep a portrait of Papa Emeritus III before he died so I knew there was some truth in that at least.”

Copia’s stomach twisted at the reminder of Terzo’s death, a sense of guilt still ate away at him when he thought about him and his older brothers. But he didn’t let it show in front of you. “Well, I am glad that you decided to believe that I was not unkind nor ugly. However, considering you didn’t mention anything about me not being old I am going to assume that you consider me to be ancient.”

You gasped out a laugh. “I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t need to. It was implied.” He laughed along with you as you reached the ballroom, pushing the door open to allow you to go in first. When he joined your side again, he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth as you linked your arm with his again.

“Wow.” You mumbled as you took in the expanse of the room. “You weren’t kidding when you said Sister Imperator pulled out all the stops.”

Copia led you over to the table designed for the newlywed couple. It held four chairs. One for him, one for you, one for Sister, and one meant for your father. He guessed that chair would remain empty for the evening.

You made no comment on it as you took your seat, watching your new husband closely as he sat next to you. “What about you? What made you agree to this marriage?”

He sighed deeply before looking at you. “I feared my place as Papa would be easy to shake. I didn’t inherit it officially through the Emeritus line like my predecessors. Marrying a family member of a high upper clergy member is meant to solidify my status.”

“Ah, a power play.” You nodded.

“Yes, a power play.” He frowned at that term. “But I only agreed once Sister promised she would find me a good match.”

“And what constitutes as a good match to you?” You asked, wondering what he’d requested in a wife.

A smile lit up his face. “The gorgeous woman who is sitting in front of me.”

“Smooth.” You replied, reminding yourself to interrogate him on the topic later.

Guests started flooding in, finding their seats at the various tables that filled the room. You just watched with barely concentrated attention.

You turned to Copia once the room was about three quarters of the way full. “How many of these people do you actually know?”

“I recognise most of them. I would say I probably know a third of them personally.” He shrugged. “How many do you know?”

“None of them.” You shrugged. “I didn’t have any guests come.”

“What? None of them?” He couldn’t quite believe that. He’d assumed that the people he didn’t recognise were your half of the wedding party.

“I don’t know many people back home. Those I do know… I wouldn’t want them here.” Your nose scrunched at the memory, the people you’d grown up around were not people you needed ruining what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life.

Copia looked at you sadly for a moment, wondering whether you were upset by the ordeal. But you seemed fine. “Well, now you have me.”

You looked at him, surprised, before a gentle smile settled on your face. “Now I have you.”

He returned the smile, picking up your hand and placing a soft kiss on the back of it. He mumbled an apology when he noticed the black kiss print he’d left on the skin there. You stopped him when he reached for a napkin to wipe it away, insisting he leave it there.

The moment was disrupted by Sister Imperator collapsing into the seat next to Copia. “You two seem to be getting along well.”

You exchanged a slightly giddy look with Copia before looking back at the older woman.

“We are.” He clarified. “You matched us well.”

“Knew I would.” She said smugly before looking at the empty chair next to you. “Your father did not attend.”

It was a statement more than a question.

A neutral smile settled over your lips, like you were prepared to discuss this. “No. I didn’t want him here. He didn’t want to be here. It was an easy enough decision.”

Imperator respected that response so said no more on the matter, only glancing towards the door to the kitchens where a group of servers were bustling about. “Food should be served soon. Then the day’s celebrations will be over.”

“No after party?” Copia sounded disappointed.

“That’ll be held next weekend. After all official marriage business has been taken care of. Ah, the food!” She sat up straighter in her chair as a waiter suddenly appeared and placed a plate in front of each of you.

You stared down at the appetiser salad that was about the size of your big toe. You hoped there were more courses to come. A lot more. Nevertheless, you picked up your fork and stabbed at a crunchy piece of lettuce before popping it in your mouth.

Copia did the same next to you before looking back towards Imperator again. “Official marriage business? Like what? We are married.”

She looked at him like it was obvious. “Well, you know what happens on the wedding night.”

He only looked more confused. “People getting drunk?”

Imperator rolled her eyes before practically hissing at him. "You must consummate the marriage."

Both you and Copia stopped chewing, forks being lowered to your plates with a clatter.

You swallowed the mouthful, straining slightly to force it down. "How- how soon?"

"Well, tonight preferably." Imperator said calmly. "To solidify your union."

"Sister, we've only just met." Your husband croaked.

The older woman looked at him unimpressed. "Are you trying to tell me you've never had a one night stand with someone you just met?"

"Well-" Copia choked. "That's- that's different."

"Different how?" She questioned, eyes flicking between the two of you. "Treat it like a one night stand. If it's terrible then you do not have to touch each other again. Well, until an heir is expected. But if it is good then see it as a lovely start to your marriage."

You ignored the talk of an heir, the thought of having a man you just met's baby being too much for you to handle in that moment. "Okay."

"Okay?!" Copia whirled on you, surprised you'd agreed that easily.

"Ah, beloved husband, do you find me that repulsive?" You grinned at him, only a hint of genuine worry in your voice.

"No, no. Of course not." He rushed out, thinking about how it was quite the opposite in fact. "I just did not expect you to give in so quickly."

"Give in?" You asked, eyebrows raising in question. "It might surprise you that the concept of sleeping with you does not sound so bad to me, Copia."

His heart, and cheeks, warmed at the use of his name. It was the first time you'd done so. It sounded nice coming out of your mouth. Out of his wife's mouth. "Eh, very well. We shall consummate the marriage."

"Wonderful." Sister Imperator clapped her hands together before standing up. "I shall inform the clergy of this joyous news."

The two of you watched her walk away, abandoning her salad, the knowledge that a group of old men now knew about your future sex lives playing in the back of your minds.

You shook the thought away as you scooted your chair closer to Copia's, lowering your voice for only him to hear. "You sound elated at the concept of sleeping with me."

His eyes widened as he looked at you. "Um, I uh-"

You smirked. "It's okay. We can just pretend if you'd like. They'll never know the difference."

"No, that's- we don't have to do that. Do you want to do that?" He took a deep breath. "To pretend?"

You looked him up and down. "No."

His ears and neck burned red with a flush. "Really?"

You let out a short giggle. "Yes, why is that so surprising to you?"

"Because I'm- and you're-" He gestured at your face but said no more.

You smiled softly. "Well, to me you are-" You mimicked his gesture to his face.

"Oh." He squeaked and you grinned widely at him. "But you're sure? So soon?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Although I would maybe like to see what's underneath all this paint first." You said, letting your eyes roam his face.

"Of course, of course." He babbled. "Maybe you will find yourself disappointed and change your mind."

You rolled your eyes. "Unlikely."

Copia liked your confidence in assuming you were going to find yourself attracted to his face underneath the makeup. He wasn’t so sure himself but at least you’d given his ego a slight boost.

The two of you exchanged idle conversation as more food was served, bigger portions to your relief, and the occasional guest came up to your table to wish you congratulations. You didn’t fail to notice the looks of envy that were sent your way by several people who eyed up Copia hungrily as they approached. You could only laugh to yourself, finding it even funnier that your new husband seemed to lack faith in his looks despite there clearly being a long line of people who wanted him.

A couple of hours passed by and soon enough the guests started clearing out, which you were thankful for. You couldn’t wait to take your shoes off or to ease up the laces on your dress. It had been a long day. But you knew it wasn’t over yet. The time was slowly approaching. The time when you were supposed to sleep with your new husband for the first time.

You weren’t nervous exactly. But there was still an element of apprehension deep inside you.

Once the last few people had departed and Sister Imperator had wished you both a good night, a very suggestive look on her face, you and Copia were left in an empty ballroom.

“Would you like me to give you a tour of the building now? Or in the morning?” He asked you as he took your hand in his, rubbing his gloved thumb over your knuckles.

“In the morning.” You decided. “It will give us something to look forward to. Besides, I can see that you’re tired.”

“Not too tired for you, I promise.” He sighed. “It’s just been a long day.”

“I know.” You agreed and stood up. “Let’s go to bed.”

The words weren’t suggestive in the slightest which is why Copia didn’t feel nervous as he joined your side and the two of you made your way out of the ballroom. He pointed out a few landmarks of the place as you walked in the direction of his rooms but everything went largely unexplored. It could wait for tomorrow.

Anxiety set in as you reached the corridor that led to his bedroom. What if you didn’t like his space? He was willing to change things, to accommodate, as he wanted you to feel welcome. But what if you hated it? And didn’t want to share a room, or a bed, with him. He supposed he would find you your own place to stay. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it would make him sad.

“And these are my rooms.” He said as he pushed his door open and ushered you in. “Our rooms, if you’d like. But if not then I’m sure we can find you somewhere of your own to stay.”

You looked around as the doors were closed behind you. It was nice. Very him from what you’d gathered so far. There was a book case, overflowing with volumes, next to a desk covered in paperwork in one corner. A large bed took up almost an entire wall, four posters with a curtain hanging around it. Fancy. He had an ornate oak wardrobe teeming with sparkly jackets that poked out of the open doors, you’d have to ask him to model some of those for you at a later date.

You turned towards Copia with a timid smile. “I don’t want to intrude. This is your home.”

He rushed towards you, taking your hands in his to reassure you. “It’s your home now too. I want you to be comfortable here. Well, not right here if you don’t want. Or if you do want.”

You couldn’t express how relieved you were at how sweet he was. “I do want. For now at least.”

His face lit up. “You’ll stay here? With me?”

You nodded, matching his positivity. “Yes.”

“Wonderful, hehe.” He paused and glanced over your shoulder towards the bed. “I will go wash my face and then… then we can…”

“Consummate the marriage?” You offered with a sarcastic smile. “It’s okay, we can take it slow.”

Copia nodded before turning and disappearing into the bathroom. You took the opportunity to snoop around a little, to get a feel for your new husband some more.

In the bathroom, he washed his face meticulously, careful not to be too harsh on his skin. He wanted to look clean and fresh for you, not like a ripe tomato from being too aggressive with a washcloth.

Once he was done Copia stared at himself in the mirror, face only slightly red from where he’d scrubbed the paint away. Faint traces of black had been left around his eyes but he knew no amount of rubbing his eyes raw with a washcloth would clean it away so he left it there. His fists clenched around the edge of the basin, nerves setting in. What if you were disappointed by what was revealed to be under his paints? You said it was unlikely you would be but a part of him still worried. The day had been going smoothly, almost too smoothly, that he thought something was bound to go wrong. And what if it turned out to be his appearance.

Pushing all of that away, he realised that he wouldn’t know any of it for sure until he just went for it. So, after letting the murky grey water wash away, Copia opened the bathroom door and stepped out with an air of faux confidence that quickly dissipated.

He found you stood next to his desk, eyes scanning his book shelves as you had a good look at all of the titles. You glanced over your shoulder at him, doing a double take when you saw him. He was standing in the arch of the bathroom doorway, backlit with light that made him glow. If you weren’t a Satan worshipper you would have said he looked angelic.

Copia shifted from foot to foot as you stared at him silently. The panic was starting to set in again as you continued to say nothing. Why weren’t you saying anything? That feeling vanished when you held out a hand to him.

“Come here.” You said quietly, tipping your head back to invite him over.

He practically ran to you, taking your hand in his but still keeping his distance by a foot or so.

You closed the distance yourself, lifting your spare hand to cup the side of his face in it. “You are so beautiful.”

His shoulders relaxed, tension leaving them, as he leaned into your touch and turned his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “That is high praise coming from you.”

You shook your head playfully. “Oh, my husband’s a charmer.”

My husband. He was your husband. He liked that. “Only for you, amore mio.”

“Don’t go making promises you might not be able to keep.” You teased, warmth flooding through you at the term of endearment he’d used. “What if we hate each other?”

“I think we made a promise when we recited our vows.” He kissed your palm again before leaving one on your wrist as well, quickly making his way down your arm until it was wrapped around the back of his neck. “And I cannot imagine myself ever hating anyone as lovely as you.”

You hummed in response, not being able to form a coherent reply as his face drew nearer to yours. His free hand reached for your waist, winding his arm around you and pulling you flush against his chest. Your intertwined hands stayed connected beside you.

He looked down at you with a half smile curling the edges of his mouth. “Cat got your tongue, amore mio?”

You shook your head slowly. “Just wondering where the shy Copia of a few moments ago disappeared to.”

“Ah, well, my gorgeous wife told me I am beautiful so I decided to toss the nerves aside.” He tilted his head to the side innocently.

“Your wife sounds wise.”

“Oh, she is.” His eyes flickered downwards. “She is also driving me crazy in this dress.”

You averted your own eyes in embarrassment. “I was hoping you’d like it.”

“Oh, amore mio, I do. I really do.” Copia decided then to push towards where the night was inevitably going to end. “However, I think I’d like it even better on the floor.”

Your eyes widened at that. But you liked it. “We better get to work then because it has a lot of buttons and a lot of lace up.”

“You are in luck. I am good with that, you see.” He grinned and gestured downwards.

You followed the angle of his hands and saw that he also had a lot of lace up. Over his crotch. “I guess we can help each other then.”

“Sì.”

And with that he kissed you. It was a lot different to the one kiss you’d shared at the altar. That had been shy and slightly awkward, hundreds of people had been watching after all. But this kiss left that one behind. It was sweet and tender, just as you expected from your new husband. But it was also hungry, like he’d been waiting all day for it. Which he had.

The arm around your waist tightened as he craned his neck to meet you halfway. He tasted vaguely of the soap he’d used to clean his face but it wasn’t unpleasant. You hummed against his lips in approval which only spurred him on, his tongue now licking into your mouth. You let your hand card through his hair before sliding it down onto his cheek again, to keep his face close to yours even when you broke apart to breathe. Your connected hands swung lowly by your sides, his fingers twitching against yours and tangling them further together.

You pulled away from him, breathless, and lifted your joint hands. “Can I ask about the gloves? It’s just I noticed that you kept them on when we did the ring exchange. It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh, right.” He looked down at his hand, specifically to where his new wedding ring was sitting over the top of the leather. “I don’t know really. I’ve always just liked them.”

You hesitated before answering, taking in the way he was looking at you with pure open honesty, before nodding. “Okay. Would you like to keep them on now?”

Copia shook his head rapidly. “No, I will take them off.”

“You don’t have to.” You assured, not wanting to pressure him in to anything.

“No, I will. And then you can put my ring in its rightful place on my finger. Sì?”

You nodded and stepped back a pace as he slid the gloves from his fingers. You bit back a comment about how his hands were beautiful just like the rest of him and only watched until he looked up at you again. He handed you his wedding ring and offered his left hand out to you.

“You sure? No backing out after this.” You joked.

He chuckled. “I think I signed that right away when I said ‘I do’.”

You hummed and slipped the ring onto his finger, bending down to place a kiss over it once you’d done so. “Ah, perfect. See?”

“Yes, perfect.” He whispered.

When you looked back up you found that he was looking at you. You tried not to swoon.

“Are you going to help me get my dress off now that your fingers are free from leather?” You asked to distract yourself from the way he was looking at you.

“Sì, turn around.”

You did as you were told, exposing your back to him. He unfastened all of the buttons slowly and carefully, being gentle with the fabric of your dress, before exposing the section underneath with all of the ribbons that laced up your dress.

“How long did this take you to put on this morning?” He grunted as he untied the first ribbon and loosened it.

“Too long.” You sighed. “I really needed to pee by the end of it.”

Copia huffed out a laugh, his breath fanning against the back of your neck. “All for me? Amore mio, you shouldn’t have.”

“First impressions matter.” You retorted, letting out a quiet groan of relief once the second ribbon was loosened.

He reflected back on his own thoughts of first impressions only hours previously. They did matter, he agreed. He paused when you let out another quiet groan. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes.” You sighed. “This dress may be pretty but it sure is uncomfortable.”

“Should have said something. Would have ripped it off you in the ballroom if it was going to make you comfortable.” He pulled more quickly at the next ribbon, eager to get it off you now.

“Would have been a sight for your guests.” You said over your shoulder.

“No, would have got them to leave. My naked wife is not for them to see.”

“Ah, so possessive already?” You giggled quietly.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the side of your neck. “Would prefer it if your body was reserved for me only, yes.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut. “It is, don’t worry.”

His hum of approval vibrated against the skin of your neck. “You’re free by the way.”

Your eyes snapped open and you turned to him again, dress falling loosely around you. You clutched at the neckline for a moment, grasping it to keep you covered. “Um, this dress doesn’t really allow for underwear. So I am actually naked underneath this.”

Copia’s eyes darkened as he glanced towards where you were pressing the fabric against your dress. “Do you want me to look away?”

“No, I was just warning you.” You clarified.

“Warning me?” He took a step closer to you, hand lifting to cover your own. “Amore mio, drop the dress. Please.”

There was only a split second of hesitation before you let go and the dress floated to the ground and created a pool of black lace at your feet. Copia tried desperately to keep his eyes on yours but the temptation was too strong. And when he looked down, there was no looking back up again.

He drank you in slowly but ravenously, eyes taking in every inch of your exposed form. When he started babbling words of appreciation to the Dark One, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore.

“It’s only fair.” You stated before reaching for his own laces at his crotch.

Copia just batted your hand away from him, grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning the two of you around. Before you could ask what he was doing, he slid his hands down to the back of your thighs and lifted you the couple of inches onto his desk.

“Your paperwork-” You started but he cut you off.

“Don’t worry about it.” He huffed and kissed you again.

You moaned into his mouth when he started pawing at you, hands gliding over your body and squeezing at the handfuls of flesh he was finding. He seemed to be doing it more for his own enjoyment than yours. But you didn’t care, happy that he was just appreciating your body.

Your hips jumped forward when his clothed pelvis met yours, a mewl tumbling from your mouth at the friction. Copia took note of that and hooked an arm around the back of your ass and scooted you forward towards the edge of the desk.

“Did that feel good?” He asked and smiled when you nodded enthusiastically. “Hm.”

He bucked his hips towards yours again, using his hand at the small of your back to guide you closer to him and encourage your own movements. You whimpered into his mouth, desperate for more. It felt good but you needed more. You needed him.

“Copia…” You whined, hoping to get the idea across.

“I know, amore mio, I know.” He huffed, shrugging his jacket off of his shoulders. “Can you get the buttons on my shirt please?”

Your hands flew to unfasten it as quickly as possible, not questioning why he wasn’t doing it himself. Not until one of his hands drifted from your waist to your inner thigh at least. You paused momentarily, toes curling, when his thumb brushed against your clit. Watching your reactions closely, Copia did it again.

You cried out, forehead dropping to meet his chest. “Please.”

“Please what, amore mio? Tell me, hm?” He kissed the top of your head gently to encourage you, the confidence he had when performing as Papa now helping him take charge now.

“More. Please more.” You didn’t have the words to describe what you needed.

But he knew. He lifted your head with his free hand, kissing you again, before rubbing a tight circle against your clit with his thumb. The noise you made cemented what he already knew. So he did it a few more times before re-angling his hand to slide a finger inside of you.

It felt so good that you bit down on his bottom lip by accident.

“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry.” You grumbled against him.

“No apologies necessary.” He replied softly, pulling his finger back out before pumping it back in again. This time joined with a second one.

Your eyes closed in pleasure, head dropping backwards and legs circling around the backs of his.

“Amore mio, you didn’t finish with my shirt.” He reminded you in a playful tone.

Your eyes shot open again, your hands racing to get the last of the buttons undone and the garment off of him. When it was done, pushed off his shoulders, slid down his arms, his hand momentarily retracting from you to get it fully off and on the floor, you immediately leaned forward and started exploring his chest with your mouth. You kissed, you licked, you sucked, you bit, you were insatiable. Copia enjoyed your enthusiasm.

So he doubled down in his own actions, pumping his fingers into you at an even faster speed, thumb circling your clit even harder. And soon enough it had you crashing over the edge and collapsing backwards on the desk, back flattening against the piles of paperwork.

Copia licked his hand clean, sucking your essence from his skin, with a satisfied hum. He then finished undressing himself, having no trouble with his own laces, before grabbing your hips to get your attention.

You lazily lifted your head, shooting straight up when you saw what he’d been hiding between his legs. “Are all Papas this hung?”

He barked out a laugh. “Yes, it’s a requirement for the position.”

You watched as he pumped himself a few times before stepping forward and running his tip through your folds, gathering your slick to lube himself up. Your jaw hung open the whole time.

Copia rested a hand on your cheek to get your attention again. “Amore mio, are you ready?”

You nodded at him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

He slid into you with ease, face falling to meet your shoulder as you swallowed him in. He groaned lowly at the feeling, you were so warm and wet and felt so good. You made your own desperate sounds next to his ear that he couldn’t even take a moment for himself, too eager to please you. So he pulled back out slowly before thrusting in again. Your hands flew to his back, keeping him near as your nails scratched into him. He didn’t care.

Lifting his head to see the two of you meeting between your bodies, he noticed that you were doing the same thing. He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you when you made eye contact. Thoughts ran wild through his head, wondering how’d he been lucky enough to be granted you as his mystery wife. The universe must have messed up somehow, right? No, it hadn’t. Because here you were. On your wedding night. And he was inside of you as you kissed.

The kiss made mobility difficult but neither of you wanted to pull away. Copia had an arm around your waist to keep you steady and a hand on the back of your head to keep you close. You, on the other hand, just clung onto him like your life depended on it. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at a fast pace to keep the friction going but not too harshly as to disturb the meeting of your mouths. Your tongue licked into his mouth hotly and Copia could taste the desire on you. It reflected what he already felt in himself.

“Close.” You managed to gasp out during a break for oxygen.

But Copia knew that, he could tell by the way you were clenching around him. So he didn’t switch up the pace, just kept going with what he knew felt good for you. And soon enough, he had you falling over the precipice again.

He wasn’t far behind, hips rutting forward frantically a few more times before he pulled out and spilled himself over your thighs and the stacks of paperwork you were sitting on.

You giggled tiredly at the sight and looked up at him. “It’s our wedding night and we didn’t even make it to the bed.”

He hadn’t even realised that, glancing over at his large bed with fresh sheets. “We still have time.”

The fatigue washed away at that answer. “Oh?”

Copia offered a hand out to you. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

You took his hand and hopped off the desk, following him into the bathroom where he washed your thighs off. After that, Copia led his wife to your shared bed where he planned to keep you for the foreseeable future.

A/N: me staring at the title of this fic knowing full well I already have an Obi-Wan fic titled “Absolution”. It bothers me a little but not enough to come up with a new title since this one took me almost as long to come up with as it took me to write the fic itself.

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honey-tongued-devil · 1 year ago

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Sinners' tango

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.

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ghulehunknown · 7 months ago

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Undressing Papa Backstage,

A Drabble - Dom Copia x GN Reader

Warning - adult themes ahead!

NSFW below!

Tags: blowjob, unprotected penetrative sex, dom Copia

Word Count: 1.3K

Just imagine undressing him after a show backstage. He’s sweaty and he’s just told the audience to go fuck themselves, and he has similar plans in mind. You watch as he takes the final bow. His brow is glistening with beads of sweat, and his hair is a little damp. There’s a hunger in his gaze, his bottom lip falling slightly open as the lights go out.

Performing has him especially riled up this evening. He’s already pitching a tent in his painfully tight jeans by the time he turns to go backstage. And he wasn’t kidding about that violent shower. You had always wondered what exactly he meant, and envisioned him painting the walls in his ecstasy and making a mess of himself only to wash it down the drain.

And where was the fun in that, imagining? And what was the fun in doing it solo the whole tour, Copia wondered as well. You got to know him pretty well, in the quick changes in between songs. Small chatter, but mostly silence as you focused on your task at hand. But all the touches, feeling his body as you put his robes on and took them off, carefully smoothing his hair each time… it built something inside of you. And you think it did for him too.

“Excellent job, Papa,” you remark as he runs backstage again for the final time of the night. He’s out of breath and chugs the water bottle you hand him as you start to take his red jacket off one arm at a time.

“Mm-!” he mumbles while drinking. “Grazie, dear.” He’s still trying to catch his breath but slowly it returns to normal. “You eh, catch my line?”

Oh yes, of course you had. Since the start of tour you began keeping a tally of all the different ways he would tell the audience about fucking each other or themselves, and how he intended to do the same…

“Of course, Papa, I think the audience liked it,” you say with a smile as you hang up the red jacket for dry cleaning later on.

“And…what about you?” he says with a small smirk, looking at you as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

You blush. “I…” you begin, stepping forward to help him with his buttons as he fumbles around.

“You…?”

“Please, Papa…you’ve put me in a rather…precarious situation. I - I have a job to do, and I can’t be distracted. Don’t make me choose between what I want to do and what I have to do.” You look up at him, his shirt collar in your grasp. But you don’t sound convincing. Nor do you want to.

“I know tesoro, but you don’t have to worry about any of that. I want you. I’ve wanted you since they assigned you to me.” He’s touching your elbow now, gingerly brushing your arm with his thumb. “All this touching and no fucking, I can’t stand it.”

“Papa, I -” you start to say but before you can get the words out, he shoves you off him while undoing his pants in a hurry but tugs at it hopelessly just like the buttons on his shirt.

He curses in Italian and slumps his shoulders a bit, looking at you pathetically, giving up. “That was supposed to be seductive,” he said, frowning.

You can barely contain a smile. “This is why you need your wardrobe assistant,” you say, unlacing his pants and unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way. Your fingertips brush his sternum, feeling the few coarse hairs sprinkled across his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat. You kneel down to start taking off his pants past his waist before you realize - of course, how could you forget? These jeans don’t leave much to the imagination, and he forgoes undergarments just to get them over his hips.

“Something the matter?” he asks, looking down at you and wondering why you paused.

You shake your head and continue, this time yanking the jeans halfway down his thighs in short tugs. The tight fabric combined with his sweat doesn’t allow much wiggle room.

Finally his erection springs forth, completely hard and in your face. Your hands trail up the back of his thighs, until you’re cupping his supple ass. You give his cheeks a squeeze, eliciting a little chuckle from him. You bring one hand to his front, grabbing his cock in your fist and tilting it upwards towards your mouth.

He sighs and grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back. Then he spits directly onto his shaft, saliva pooling around your hand. You work him up in your grasp, his spit giving you allowance to glide your fist around him smoothly.

You lean forward until your lips touch his flushed tip. You part your lips and kiss it gently before taking him in your mouth and sinking down on him fully, until his tip hits the back of your throat. You can smell his natural body odor mixed with his cologne at his base. He tastes salty from all the built up perspiration.

“Fuuuck,” he groans, clutching onto your hair harder. His eyes are closed as he rocks his body against your mouth, feeling every part of his cock enrobed.

You gag at first, but his thrusts don’t wait for you to catch your breath. He’s using you for his own pleasure, like his own little fuck doll.

Before he finishes, he pulls you off him roughly by the hair. You choke and sputter as he utters a gruff command.

You nod and obey him when he says, “I want you bent over the vanity.”

You quickly clear the scattered mess of things on the surface - his face paints, makeup brushes, tissues, setlists, water bottles - as he comes up behind you and yanks your trousers down your hips. He throws them to the side once your legs are free.

He pushes you flat against the vanity, your head turned to the side and your cheek laying down flat. He kicks your legs apart so they make a wide V shape. You hear him spit again, then again, this time in his hand. He reaches down to your core, massaging his saliva like it’s lube at your entrance.

You both moan in sync as he pushes into you, and you feel the initial stretch. Oh fuck! You had thought of this moment so many times while alone backstage with him, but truthfully never even knew how big his cock was until now. You had an idea, sizing the bulge in his pants. But he usually put his pants on by himself before shows, and took them off himself afterwards on his way to the shower, so you never saw this part of him. You wince as your walls contract around him to accommodate his size.

“Ah - fuuckk, s-so good -” he murmurs, thrusting in and out of you.

You lay there atop the table, feeling him pound into you over and over. You moan every time he brushes up against your little sweet spot deep inside you.

“You like that, mm? My little assistant,” he growls in your ear, and as you look up into the mirror you see him smirking and looking into your eyes. He spanks your ass, leaving a red handprint.

You yelp as he bends your left arm behind your back, keeping a firm grip there to steady himself as he continues drilling into you. Your body bounces on the table as you watch both your faces contort in passion in the mirror. The hairspray bottle and his cologne are dangerously close to falling off the table.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum -” he says breathlessly, pulling out of you quickly. You peer up into the mirror again and see him looking down and just when you wonder - warm, thick liquid splashes all over you, painting your backside as he coaxes out his seed.

You lay there in a daze as he pulls some tissues from the box next to you, cleaning himself off and aimlessly cleaning you off too, though it’s more of a smear.

Then he says, “Undress. Get in the shower. We’re just getting started.”

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost bc #papa emeritus x reader #ghost band smut #copia is my husband #papa emeritus iv x gender neutral reader #popia x reader #copia fluff #copia smut #copia x reader #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #the band ghost fanfiction #rite here rite now #rhrn

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oh-babylove · 4 months ago

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

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

when the red comes over you - ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was hard to argue with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Embarrassing, the noises he gets out of you.

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

“Did you wanna do that, too?”

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

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

Pain shared is pain lessened, isn't it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cheeky motherfucker actually licked his lips at you.

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

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

You don’t hate it.

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

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

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

It’s a little much, in public, truly.

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

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

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

Your chest went tight.

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

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

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

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

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

You kept your eyes forward, and your breathing even.

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

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

Your grip tightened on the armrest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evil, evil man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet, you aren’t.”

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

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

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

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

“Mm-hmm,” you manage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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theunholybastard · 3 months ago

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Kinktober: October 4th - Dry-Humping (Cardinal Copia x Gender-Neutral!Reader)

Tags: Established Relationship, Dry-Humping, Drunkenness, Desperation, Humiliation, Light Pet Play (If You Squint), Premature Ejaculation, Fluff And Smut, All The Papas Are Alive, First Person POV

I can't take Copia anywhere. It was supposed to be a nice, simple celebration dinner, to congratulate him on his success of joining the band. Who cares if he's not officially Papa just yet? It's still a momentous achievement for him, one he's been working for all his life, and I couldn't be prouder.

I've been with Copia since he first became a Cardinal, and I've known him for even longer. I know he's an intelligent, capable, hardworking man, someone with immeasurable patience and courtesy, a true gentleman; That is, until you get a few drinks in him.

It was Terzo who brought the wine. What I used to think was a kind gesture to show there was no ill-will between the two, turned out to be a revenge tactic to get Copia to embarrass himself in front of the whole Clergy. Copia smiled thankfully at him, and unable to resist, he poured himself a glass of wine. And then two. And then three.

Terzos smirk grew the more Copia drank, which only earned him a death glare from Sister Imperator, who saw through his whole schtick immediately. She'll surely have his head for this one. I unfortunately didn't notice, therefore couldn't stop Copia, until it was too late. We had to leave the dinner party early, Copia tripping, knocking things over, and making loud sexual remarks to me the whole time it took to drag him out. I could hear other members of the Clergy mumbling to Sister Imperator, asking if he was really the right man for the job.

"Oh, amore mio, you looked positively delicious tonight. I could barely keep my hands off you, topolino..." Copia purrs in my ear as I lay him down on the bed, wiping off his eye paints for him. I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, I know. You said that earlier, in a room full of upper Clergy members, remember?" I scoff sarcastically, my cheeks still glowing with embarrassment. He only smiles dazily, as if he didn't retain a single word I said. "Così bello, così bello..." He mutters to himself, running his fingers through my hair. How can I stay mad at him when he's this cute?

"Uh huh. Now sit up, I gotta get you undressed." I order gently, hoping he will make this easier for me, but honestly, when has he ever? He chuckles. "I like your way of thinking, amore. My pants are getting so tight, I need to be freed of them..." He winks, or at least I think he attempted to. He's so drunk he just ended up blinking really hard. I am not amused.

I look down at his lap, and lo and behold, hes telling the truth. His tight pants are constricting over his massive erection, and his lack of underwear makes it so I can see the outline in great detail. It twitches visibly, making me blush, but I do not give into temptation. He's drunk, after all. "Copia, you need to get some rest."

"How can I sleep when my cock is awake?" He slurs, nuzzling his face into my neck, nibbling gently, and turning his body to press his hard-on against my thigh. "Your Cardinal hurts, topolino. Won't you help him?" He rocks his hips, grinding his clothed cock against me, whimpering into the crook of my neck. I laugh softly at his act of desperation.

"The answer is no, my love. But you are more than welcome to take care of yourself." I hum softly, deciding getting him ready for bed can wait till he gotten all his sexual frustrations out. I expected him to sloppily yank off his pants and jerk himself off, but it seems he had other plans. He rocks his hips forward again, his eyes rolling back at the friction.

"Oh, so that's how you wanna do this, hm? You wanna hump my leg like a dog?" I snicker. He swears under his breath, his thrusts speeding up. I didn't know my words would have such an effect on him, but I'm certainly not complaining. I continue. "This is what you wanted? To act like a pathetic, drooling mutt, desperate for pleasure?" He lets out a choked whine one could almost mistake for a sob, and nods, too caught up in his frantic self-gratification to respond verbally.

His movements are feverishly swift, like he needs to use my body to survive, panting and growling like a rabid animal. His hands harshly grope whatever part of my body he can reach. He will no doubt be repeatedly apologizing later for the fingertip-shaped bruises littering my hips and stomach, no matter how much I tell him I don't mind. I hold back a giggle at the thought, not that he would notice if I did in his frenzied state.

He's barely been going at this for a few minutes, and already his thrusts are becoming weaker, his little whimpers and grunts become louder and more frequent, and his face contorts tightly. Before I even recognize the pattern, a long sigh escapes his lips, his expression relaxes, and his tight pants are now dampened, cumming in record-breaking time.

"Cazzo...! I- I would've lasted longer, if it wasn't for this... g- goddamn wine..." He hiccups, slurring his words sleepily, and ending his sentence with a loud snore, officially passed out. I laugh. "Let's get you cleaned up, Cardinal." I say, tugging off his pants, throwing them in the overflowing hamper. Copia can deal with that load (literally) in the morning.

Once I managed to wrestle all of the sweat-dampened clothes off of his limp body, I lay back in bed with him, exhaling deeply. The things I do for this man, I think to myself. It's all worth it though, when I feel his warmth against me. He lets out a little noise of content, his mustache twitching. He subconsciously pulls me closer, and as our bodies intertwine, I let his soft breathing lull me to sleep. I think I could love him forever.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost band smut #cardinal copia #papa copia #popia #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader smut #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x reader smut #cardi c #nameless ghouls #copia emeritus #kinktober 2024 #ghost band fanfic #ghost kinktober

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copias-fluffy-asscheeks · 1 year ago

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Nothing ever lasts forever, neither does Copia.

Copia x Reader

Around 1500 words, NSFW under the cut.

*⛧*

His bare chest was glistening with sweat, the hairs there damp and you could practically see the steam coming off of him. He heaved with heavy, uneven breaths. Fingers gripping the sheets in a white knuckle grip and his thighs trembled almost aggressively.

You were bent over Copia on the mattress, your hand somewhere down his body. His back arched, legs kicking out as he twitched. His mouth was open, panting as he looked on at you, helpless to your touches. His gaze was wide and pleading, you were surprised he could hold this strong eye contact for that long. His face, neck and chest flushed a pretty shade of scarlet, matching the cassock discarded on the floor and the leaky tip of his abused dick.

He’d been writhing around under your hands for what felt like ages to him, it was far beyond the point the pleasure had turned into a mix of pain, only relieved whenever you touched him; you were seeming to try and make it a sport not to do that. His eyes finally left yours, shutting tight, he clenched his teeth and sucked in a painful sounding breath as you reached into back pocket to turn the steady hum in hs ass he had finally gotten used to up to an even more intense vibration. His head thunked back on the cushion, lifting his hips in an attempt to keep any pressure off of his bum. You pressed the palm of your hand to the base of his cock, forcing it up against his stomach and kitten-licking the sensitive underside of the head. He whined loudly and his back arched impossibly further, one of his hands left the sheets to fist his own, unruly hair, tugging at the strands. Tears pricked at his eyes and trickled down his already paint-streaked cheeks as you took him into your mouth and suckled, prodding the tip with your tongue torturously. He gasped, slinging one leg over your shoulder tightly, the other kicking at the mattress next to you like an angry bull, trying to dig his heel into the springs for stability.

You wrapped your fingers around his girth again, giving tight strokes and squeezes and within no time he hurt with how close he was to cumming. ‘‘abbi pietà di me, non plù, per favore-’’ It was babbled out without thought in a sob, his plump lips flushed and dribbling with spittle at one corner. You pulled back for a moment, scanning his face for anything that may tell you he actually wanted you to stop but within no time he made it clear by humping his hips upward needily and propping himself up on his elbows to look at you that that was not what he’d intended, after all, it was not his safeword. Through the break his building orgasm had frilled back out to the small tingling pleasure of the vibrator sat snugly in him, and he gave a high groan of frustration. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been edged by now, though he did admit to himself this time was kind of his own fault.

You returned your hand to his cock, pumping him and smiling in amusement as his jaw immediately went slack and his eyes rolled back, arms giving out where he’d leaned on them and he fell back heavily, you continuing to stroke him again and again. Copia draped a hand over his face, the other once again tearing at the sheets. All his muscles tensed, ready for you to stop any second and ruin him further, but he pleasantly noted that this time you didn’t stop. In fact, you sped up the flicks of your wrist. He gasped loudly, his entire body rigid as he came in warm ropes all over your hand and his own stomach. The mewl he let out was almost ear splitting, his body thrashing and shivering through the intense aftershocks of his much needed relief.

He slumped against the mattress, basking in the afterglow that was cut short when he twitched. However, you did not plan on stopping the fun so soon. Copia whined as soon as the pleasure went from tides of relaxation to an unbearably overstimulating wave. Almost immediately he trembled through another demi-orgasm when the way he wiggled shoved the vibrator in him to a different angle. Copia all but screamed, the tears that had died down a bit ago resurfaced and spilled over. He was breathing in loud, open mouthed pants and gasps, the rhythm his chest rose and fell in ragged and hitched. When you finally released his softening dick, Copia breathed a forced sigh of relief, even though his hips still twitched repeatedly upward, trying to escape the vibe that was still bullying his ass.

His hands flew to your hips, grip like a vice, eyes wide and begging. ‘’Spegnilo, per favore, I beg you, Tesoro.’’ You merely gave an innocent smile. ‘’I’m not done with you yet, love.’’

Defeated, he dropped his head back with a wrecked whimper, said whimper immediately followed by a flourish of surprised mewls and moans when you bent down to lick a stripe up the side again. He thrashed, and in no time his cock was back flushed, hard and leaking. Your fingers drifted around the head of his girth, giving a tight squeeze that had his head shaking wildly from side to side. One hand stays rubbing him, the other travels a finger through the patch of hair at his base, running up to the following trail on his soft stomach to twine in the wiry curls on his chest. Following that trail up and down a few times made Copia twitch at the ticklish sensation, followed by a nervous giggle. Your fingers soon left their trial to move to one of his nipples, taking it between your pointer and thumb and giving an experimental tug. His back arched, eyes rolling back. ‘’Cara, no- Can't. Can’t handle it. T-troppo!’’ His hips shot upward into your hand with a gasp as you rolled it between your fingers, crawling up his body while still keeping one hand on his cock, now pumping the head, smearing the beads that formed there and leaked down the length. You took his other bud between your teeth, nibbling it gently before sucking at it and he was quickly overwhelmed by all the sensations you provided him. He screamed. Another orgasm tore through him, he felt like he nearly fainted from the intensity. He shot up against your hand before pushing his hips back into the mattress to rock against the vibrator. His hands all over to place to claw at your body; He dug his nails into your back, groped your behind and shoulders, hips, pulled you down on top of him to cradle you close as he sobbed.

Weakly, he lifted his hips upward as the buzzing grew uncomfortable once again, and he grudgingly released you from his tight arms so you could reach for the remote.You turned it off and got off the bed to head into the bathroom. Copia squirmed like a blind kitten on the sheets, whining in distress as you left. In the bathroom you collected a damp, warm washcloth, cotton pads and makeup remover, as well as you washed your hands. By the time you walked back over to the bed he’d wrapped himself around a pillow, shivering. You sat on the edge of the bed and Copia wiggled over to you.

You dragged the warm fabric over his stomach and chest, then his thighs and you carefully worked over his once again softening dick, he merely gave the quietest mewl of protest and the twitch of his mustache, but he felt too heavy to be able to achieve anything else.

You grabbed the cotton pads, adding some makeup remover onto them before dragging them gently over his flushed, tear tracked cheeks, wiping the small bits of black that hadn’t smeared away from around his puffy eyes and his top lip before turning him around, slowly, gently pulling the small vibrator out of him. You went back into the bathroom one last time to discard the products.

You made your way to the bedside drawer, fishing out a juice box for the man currently half in dreamland on your shared bed. Gently, you asked him to sit up, and he did with stiff movements, his body protesting loudly; you’d give him a thorough massage tomorrow if he allowed it. Opening the juice box for him he noisily slurped at it. While he drank you undressed down to nothing, crawling in next to him and fluffing the duvet over you both. He finished the juice and placed it on the nightstand, shuffling down so far only his puppy-like eyes peeked out from under the covers. You pulled him close, kissing all over his face; his neat, thin mustache, his sideburns, his nose, the crinkles of his eyes, his strong cheekbones, his chin, the worry lines on his forehead and the smile ones on his cheeks. Copia nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck when you were done with at least four rounds of kisses, breathing you in before tucking his head under your chin, your arms coming to wrap around each other while one of his thighs tangled between the two of yours.

You hummed to him and before you knew it he was sleeping like a baby, the top of his head where your chin rested on it the only thing visible other than the large lump under the sheets. This man was so adorable you could eat him right there and then. ‘’I love you Copia. You did so, so good.’’

You swear you heard him snore a ‘’Love you.’’ back.

*⛧*

A/N: Ty so much anon for the request! I have some other requests I'd love to get to, but those will likely be after kinktober. Also special thanks to @delulluart for helping with the title!

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

(Want to be added or removed from/to the taglist? Send an ask or dm!)

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ink-and-dagger · 2 years ago

Note

U tickle my pickle. But also any Papa of choice with a mix of: 10, 52, 86?

UwU ywu twickle mwy pwickle 💚

And here’s some Popia pickle for you too

So I got way more of these prompts than I was expecting. I'll try and do as many as I can, and will post them over the next few weeks as daily drabbles 🖤

Papa Emeritus iv x afab!Reader || Smut Drabble || NSFW || MDNI || Caught masturbating || Edging || P in V || Wc: 700

"Look at you, squirming under me, all flushed and pretty looking. Can't even take a little teasing, can you?”

Copia is right. You can’t. Not right now at least. But to be fair, you had already been teetering on the edge of imminent orgasm when he’d burst into your room.

His dark leather gloves creak as he tightens his fingers around your wrists – pinned as they are to the mattress above your head. Your hands flex uselessly, still slick with damning evidence of exactly what he had interrupted.

Your mind is reeling. Attempting to process the sheer mortification of having been caught mid-wank by the very object of your masturbatory desires, whilst simultaneously trying desperately to understand exactly what in Lilith’s tits has just happened. One second Papa Emeritus iv had been standing in your doorway, wide-eyed and slack jawed, his dark rimmed gaze locked upon the fingers buried knuckle deep between your quivering thighs. And the next moment, before you’d even had a chance to utter any sort of apology, he’d been stalking across the room towards you with razor purpose, one hand already working at the laced front of his pants.

And now he’s on top of you. Streaked hairs falling forwards to tickle your brow, and paints a sweaty, post-ritual mess as he slides the shaft of his cock back and forth through your soaking folds. Each taunting little rock of his hips has you writhing beneath him, chest hitching with panting breaths.

He knows exactly what he’s doing; offering only enough friction to keep the promise of release dangling just out of reach. There’s a dark satisfaction in his dual-gaze that’s so very different from the docile, amiable man you’re used to seeing around the Ministry.

His flushed, leaking glans nudges at your engorged clit, dragging a long, low moan from you.

“Così vocale,” he murmurs appreciatively, “Did you think that no-one would hear you, eh? That your Papa would not hear you crying out for him so sweetly?”

He shifts himself higher, your pinned wrists sinking deeper into the blankets beneath the press of his weight. A desperate little hiccup catches in your throat as his balls press against your sopping cunt, and the hot weight of his cock slides up to rest on your lower stomach.

“You see, dolce? How deep I could bury myself inside you? Much better than your fingers, no?”

Your blood runs molten, and you can barely draw breath before your lungs force all air back out, “Puh–please, Papa please—”

He shifts his hips, and his cockhead leaves a glistening trail down your stomach as he drags himself back towards your pussy. He catches at your entrance, and holds himself poised.

Your resolve snaps, but your clumsy attempt to impale yourself upon his length is thwarted when he swiftly transfers his grip on your wrists into one hand, freeing the other to pin your pelvis. Tears of sheer desperation prick at the corners of your eyes, and you squeeze them closed.

“Look at me,” Copia’s command is firm and even-toned, and it has your cunt fluttering around nothing. But you obey. How can you not?

You blink rapidly to clear the blur from your vision, and succeed just in time to witness black painted lips curl up into a sinful smirk.

“Molto bene,” he praises, circling a leather-clad thumb into your hip bone, “Now listen to me, and let me tell you what I want.”

“Anything. Anything—”

“Remember how you were calling for your Papa just now?”

“Y-yes, ye—”

Your mouth falls open as he finally, finally sinks inside you, and from your lips tumbles a moan of pure, blissful relief. The inch-by-inch stretch of him ratchets the fever in your veins to dizzying heights from which you’re destined to plummet, and soon.

He begins to fuck you, slow and thorough.

“I want you to say my name like that again,” Copia growls between each long, smooth thrust, “But more than that, Cara mio. I–hng, I wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.”

You obey.

How can you not?

#inky answers #smut prompts #drabble #MDNI #copia x reader #popia x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #copia #popia #papa emeritus iv #ghost band #ghost bc

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copias-girl · 2 years ago

Text

Lenten Sacrifice

Antichrist Popia x Catholic Reader

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

•♥︎𖤐₆⁶₆𖤐♥︎•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𐕣𖤐 end <3 𖤐𐕣

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severineofsalem · 2 years ago

Text

My Good Papa

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV / Fem!Reader

Summary: Popia gets annoyed and comes to you for comfort. It turns into something else. (I am terrible with summaries and titles. 🧍‍♀️)

Word Count: 1k

Warning(s): NSFW 18+, papa kink, blowjob, reader and Popia are both switchy, poorly translated Italian, not proof read.

AO3 Link

A/N: Well yeehaw. My first Ghost fic. Even in spirit form, Nihil is still a dick.

Thunderous knocking clashed against your dormitory door, startling you from your treatise. Before you are able to get out of your desk chair, the rustic door flies open, slamming shut after the person.

A frustrated Copia filled your view. His furrowed brows made his wrinkles more prominent. The look in his mismatched eyes made frustration seem like an understatement. He flopped face-first onto the full-sized bed that took up most of the room, grumbling blurry words in his mother language. “Well hello to you too.” At least he knocked.

“Cara mia, that cazzo di merda. He is really starting to-” Cutting off his own sentence, Copia sighed seethingly. The rage filling the once relaxing atmosphere was perturbing. “Copia…?” A mop of brown, salt-and-peppered hair rose from the bed. His gaze meeting yours, softening. “What is wrong?” You slowly made your way to him, easing onto the squeaky mattress beside his laying form. “That dickhead Nihil. Who knew the dead could be so annoying?” The higher up shook his head. “Well if it is Nihil we are talking about…What did he say this time?”

He perked onto his side to face you, bringing a gloved hand to twirl his hair. “The fucking same shit he always says. I am Papa now. He needs to accept it.” He continued rambling, but you didn’t pay attention. You couldn’t help it. The way he growled those infuriate toned words set something ablaze in you. His face matched his vocals. You took notice that he was wearing your favorite ripped and roughed up pants. They complimented the thickness of his thighs deliciously.

It wasn’t often Copia showed this side of himself. He usually came crumbling to you for comfort, comfort you gladly gave. There was just something more firm with this. Something domineering. You wanted to feed the fire that roused inside him. “Yes. You are Papa. My Papa.” You slide your hand against his arm. He caught on to the look in your eyes. A look he knew all too well. It took him by surprise, but he quickly stopped his eyebrows from shooting upward. What he couldn’t stop was the growing smirk.

“I am your Papa. I am a good papa, sì?” He leaned in close, the hand in his hair reaching its way to clasp your thigh. The ferocity that had captivated his mind dissolved into a different kind. “Yes. You are the best Papa.” There was no mistaking the sultry in your voice.

“If he is so good, doesn’t he deserve a reward, eh?” He barely said his last word before you smashed your lips together. The hand on your thigh grasped harder into your flesh, eliciting a muffled moan from your throat. The contrast of his now kneading hand with the roughness of the kiss made your knees weak.

You push yourself away from him, looking directly into his amorous orbs. Placing your palms against the front of his detailed vest, shoving him on to his back. The old mattress screeching with the movement. You both rushed to pull off his layers, ridding all of the upper half. Fuck, it was a sight to see. Skin sunken around the collarbone, the 666 tattoo that was inked above his standing nipple, the happy trail that led to where your intentions planned to be. The sight was completely mouth watering.

“Hmm, what exactly are you thinking, my dark sovereign? How do you want me?” You leaned down, nibbling along his chest and stomach. The action had him writhing and his breath hitching, hands holding onto you. Anticipation was buzzing like electricity through the air. “Oh I think you know, cara mia. Let’s put that mouth to, eh, use?” You landed a kiss on the center of his chest, fingers working on the tie of his pants. A bulge already tenting the crotch of the black material. You smiled to yourself, nuzzling it. “Merda.” A hand grabbing ahold of your hair, tugging.

You took no time pulling out the hardened member. Copia could barely keep up the act. He nearly bit off his lower lip trying not to whine. You licked a stripe against a jutting vein, wrapping your tongue around him. He threw his head back as you sucked the sensitive shaft. Precum melted against your taste buds. The grip on your hair tightened as you began to bob your head. The tip of his cock buried against the back of your throat as you lowered yourself as far as you could. Light brown pubes tickled your nose as you nearly choked. Mouth full, wet, and warm. It was dizzying. You closed your eyes, relishing the way he felt as you swallowed. A strangled groan tore from Copia.

“Let me fuck your throat, sister. Please?” You could tell by the way his hands shook that he was holding himself back from fucking your throat raw. The double tap on his thigh was all he needed. His other hand grabbed your jaw, thrusting into your face. Spurs of moans and curse words erupted from him. Tears pooled in your lower lash line as you looked up. The paint on his lips smeared, nose flared. “Such a good follower. Letting your- ahh! Your Papa use you. Fuuuck.”

Tears ran down your face, soaking his pants along with streams of saliva that escaped your mouth as he pounded into you. Your whines and moans only added to his pleasure. The way he relentlessly thrusted into your mouth had you pulsing. Your own pleasure sleeking your thighs under your habit. You sucked harsher around him. It was getting harder to breathe through your nose. Your jaw was beginning to hurt. You raked your fingers up his belly, digging into the plush abdomen. Goosebumps raised as Copia’s cock twitched.

You intentionally hummed around the throbbing member, causing Copia to yell out. “F-fuck. I’m cu-umming. Oh merda. Yes sister. Y-yes.” His body racked with waves of satisfaction, legs kicking around you. Loads of cum coated your throat, making it somehow more stuffed. You happily swallowed all he gave. As soon as he stopped shaking and the hands on you loosened, you let go with a pop, licking your lips and catching your breath. You crawled up to him, landing on his torso, showering his heated face with loving kisses. You met his gaze, seeing only adoration.

You gave him an innocent look, “Was I good Papa?” That adoration was quickly joined with a dark glint. “Sì, cara mia.” He paused, letting out a deep sigh. He grabbed your hips firmly. “Now, sister. Get on your hands and knees."

You do not have permission to repost/upload onto another site.

#papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #popia #popia x reader #papa emeritus iv smut #popia smut #the band ghost #ghost fic #mdni #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia smut #guess i write for ghost now

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serene-sun · 10 months ago

Note

Hey! Congrats on the promotion‼️ Also I has a request for you~~

I feel like there isn’t enough Chubby fem readers in this fandom. However you are one of my favorite authors. You see where this is going?

My request is: Could you write a Copia x Chubby Fem! Reader please? It would mean the world thank you so much!!!

Thank you lovely, and yes I got your request previously. Sorry for the long wait- I currently have the flu. I agree, there really aren’t, and copia loves you so much. This is mainly more of a comfort fic and fluff, because it shouldn’t be a big deal if your chubby since your beautiful either way! You know what I mean? But everyone needs comfort :)

𝕮𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆

Pairing: copia x fem chubby reader

Summary: you and copia grow close as you prepare for the spring ball, if only your insecurity didn’t stand in the way

Warnings: insecurity, stereotypes, small mentions of nudity and boobs, cumulus is fairy god motherrrr

A/n: every body is beautiful, there will be a part two that will be makeup sex,

REFERENCES: shoes | dress | copia |

“Yes papa,” you say, hands clasped together as you nod your head.

“Ah what would I do without you, bel sole.” Copia says as he places a hand on your shoulder.

You smile softly, a small blush appearing across your face as his eyes leave yours.

Papa copia wasn’t very touchy with anyone but the ghouls and his brothers. So it was times like these where he would give small moments of affection to his favorite siblings.

Today, you were helping papa with preparing for the spring ball. It was a staple of the abbey to greet the new season with a special party. Rituals and ceremonies would follow.

You had just finished brining groceries into the ghoul kitchen, they had their own wing as well as a den and kitchen and such on. Now that you were papas assistant, you took it upon yourself to take care of the ghouls as well as your leader.

“Ah! Did you get the macaroni I like?” A ghoul popped up from behind you, startling you out of your daydreams.

You straighten your habit, “uh…yes I think so.” You say as you regain focus.

“Hey, you alright? Look a little pink.” He says, a concern voice growing.

You look at them and smile, “oh I’m fine, just hot.” It wasn’t the truth nor a lie. The red apple of your cheeks was both from the layers of your uniform and the activity.

“Let me I unpack, go to your room and cool off.” They say as they take a few of the bags, “I know it must be hot in all of those layers.”

It’s not like you were dressed for winter, but you refrained from the tight and showing uniforms the other siblings wore. You stayed to the traditional full length and modest coverage, you were more focused on worship than lust as most others had, so you saw no need to sexualize yourself. It had its pros and cons, you mainly wore full coverage because of your insecurity a on your curves. It hurt to see them in the mirror, and you tried but couldn’t get rid of the soft hills and valleys of your body.

You always grew up with Barbie dolls and shows that showed ‘normal people’, so from the young age you grew up thinking that your beauty was negative. However you were happy for the other women bigger or the same size as you that proudly showed off their shapes. It’s not like you hated chubby people, it’s just that you didn’t feel comfortable in your own body.

You walked to your room and closed the door, quickly pulling off the warm fabric. Your dorm room was between the ghouls and papas, all 5 papal chambers on one hall, as well as a hall for each era of ghouls.

As you got fully undressed, you were about to unclasp the back of your bra, breasts already about to spill from the black laced fabric before the door opens half way, a sorry gasp from the door frame.

“Ah! I- I’m sorry miss!” Papa exclaims, lips parted and wide eyes as he freezes at the sight of your body.

You let out a cold breath as you shiver, “get out! Get out get out! Why doesn’t anybody knock??” You fill with guilt as he quickly closes the door.

You melt onto the bed as you hide under the covers, “oh god oh god he’s gonna fire me now.” You worry as you shutter.

After a few hours, it comes dinner time and you are forced to meet him again.

“Eh..I want to apologize for earlier, it is completely my fault for not knocking.” Copia apologizes from behind his oak desk, a blush on his face, you can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or shy from your figure

“No it’s…it’s ok…it’s my fault for not locking the door.” You say, trying to brush it off your shoulder.

“Well…how about we have dinner in here? I’ll make it up to you, where’s your favorite restaurant? I’ll pay.” He says as he smiles

You’re a little shocked but nod, “eh…you might not fancy my choice but really anything works.” You smile, not wanting to ruin the now happy mood.

After you both have dinner, he hands you a glass of wine, “here, have a glass, we should celebrate preparations done for the ball.” He said as he brushed his finger over your hand as you took it.

You tried not to blush, you anxiously pulled the hem of the white part of your habit over your chin, afraid of his eyes lingered any longer he would see the imperfections.

“Well, eh thank you.” You chuckle as you take a sip, “cheers to you for making such things happen!” You smile softly

“Oh no amore, you made it possible, possible for us all to find happiness…joy…laughter and..love.” He says, almost lost in your eyes before lighting up, “eh in the party! The party gives us that.”

You shake your head, getting rid of any foolish ideas, “w-well thank you.”

After the night, he took your hand and kissed it, leaving you to your room in shambles. You were happy at first until you began to broke down, you loved him, so very much but he would eventually want to see you and take things further to nudity. You cried into your pillow. you set your rosary, the one he gifted you when you just joined the clergy, on your desk by your studies as you tried to calm down.

After a few days, you met the older man again in this office. A few of the ghoulettes swarming him with fabrics.

“You called?” You ask curious as to what the clothing was for.

The girls hummed, “he looks better in blue, it brings out his eyes.” One said, “no! Red! He looks darker!” The other replied

“Eh…I wanted your opinion on what to be worn at the ball.” He said sheepishly

“Well…I like the blue…” you say as you walk up to him, low voice as you straighten the loose tie, “like the rushing river, calm, strong…and beautiful.” You say, hand glazing over his chest, copia was silent, his eyes locked on you as he cleared his throat, “blue it is.”

You stepped back, shocked you got that close, “excuse me, I- I need to set up tables.” You say as you leave the office in a rush, “oh…gosh..” you mumbled to yourself as you hold your red hot cheeks.

Another day goes by, another dinner with the older gentleman and a small therapy session with cumulus, you finally grow the strength to buy a dress.

It was a high neck dress with layered bell sleeves and long skirt. It was white, and little green flowers on the edges. When you got ready, you had white flowers placed In your hair. It was nerve racing because the skirt was thin and if you looked close enough you could see the lining of your thighs and undergarments. It was snug around the bodice and breasts.

When you first stepped out the room, you hoped you look good.

When you met in the ball room, you searched for copia, but you hung to yourself nervously.

A hand was placed on the small of your back, you froze for a moment, “p-papa, you look lovely.” You say as he appeared, slicked back hair, blue vest and white button up.

He takes your hand, “you look ravishing…say, do you want to take a walk outside?”

You nod, lost in the feeling of his touch.

He walks out outside the party and into the endless gardens, “so tell me…why do you always wear that uniform?” He asks as the moonlight covered you both.

“Oh well…I’m not exactly as confident as others.” You say softly as his fingers intertwine with yours, “perhaps you changed me…”

“I feel you change me as well, I feel…new warm butterflies when I talk to you..” he admits, sitting you down by the roses.

You cover your face as you smile, “well I….i feel the same, like…like a wave of adoration.”

Copia sets a hand on your thigh, “perhaps…it is love?”

You want to hide away as his lips are only inches away from yours, “uh…I…I”

Copia places a hand on your chin, lifting it up to him, “mi amore, I love you, do you love me as well?” His upper lip brushes against your chin.

“Papa I…I can’t sa-“ you want to confess, but the large bell at the top of the abbey rings and you realize it’s not a dream from your endless lonely nights, but rather real with consequences. You pull away as copia leans in to kiss you, you stand up and stumble a little as he looks at you in horror.

“I’m sorry, I took it too fast amore please..” he pleads as he takes your hands, “let me restart-“

You feel tears swell, “b-but I- I love you too…” you say in a scared voice as you shiver, running off deeper into the garden as your heel falls off, leaving the older man in despair.

Copia held the glass shoe, a soft tear falling from his lashes.

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copiasslut · 1 year ago

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idk exactly what it is about him in his red cassock, but I can say that I would very much enjoy him railing me over his desk, bruising my hips with his grip & biting my neck to mask his loud moans whilst wearing it 🙂

(please) (im begging)

#copia #cardinal copia #popia #papa emeritus iv #papa iv #Copia smut #copia x reader

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ghulehunknown · 1 year ago

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Hey everyone! I’m Elizabeth (:

My blog is strictly 18+! I write adult themes and I will always tag my posts accordingly. Sometimes it’s just fluff.

Requests are open! - fanfics, drabbles, headcanons, etc. I love hearing from you! Just a few things to note:

Typically I write Papa x Reader (either GN or F reader), but I am open to changing it up

I’ll write any of the Papas or Ghouls/Ghoulettes, but am most comfortable w/ Terzo x Reader or Copia x Reader

Topics I will NOT write include the following, but are not limited to: incest, beastiality, underage, non-con - I will update this list if I need to

DM me anytime! If I’m taking a while to respond or post, please be patient as I’m probably thinking of the best way to write the request.

I reserve the right to deny any request but please do not take it personally. Certain topics I may not write if I can’t find the inspiration or I’m uncomfortable, but generally I’m open to just about anything.

Enjoy!

🔞 The following list contains NSFW content. Minors DNI 🔞

Wintertime Smut Collection

XXXmas At The Ministry, a collaboration with @copias-sewer-rat, @molly-ghuleh, and @bupia

Naughty Presents (Primo) by @copias-sewer-rat

Ungrumpify Your Papa (Secondo) by @molly-ghuleh

Mistletoe’d (Terzo) by @ghulehunknown

Treasure Hunt (Copia) by @bupia

Papa Holiday Headcanons

Papa Valentine’s Day Headcanons

Vacation Full Length Smut and “The Note” (a continuation of Mistletoe’d) - coming soon!

“A Holiday Tail”

“A Rainy Winter”

Kinktober 2023

Day 1 - masturbation • Day 2 - Terzomega • Day 3 - blowjob • Day 4 - cunnilingus, fingering, worship • Day 5 - miniskirt rough sex, dom • Day 6 - soft dom, sweet sex • Day 7 - teacher/student, inexperience, praise • Day 8 - rimming • Day 9 - public sex, exhibitionism • Day 10 - spanking, fishnets • Day 11 - group sex • Day 12 - sub Copia, degradation • Day 13 - kissing HCs • Day 14 - period sex HCs • Day 15 - lovemaking HCs • Halloween - Vamperzo, period sex

Kinktober 2024

Day 1 - Mirror Sex

Papa Emeritus IV

“Do You Deserve It?” • “You Earned It” • Random Drabble • “Creature Comforts” • Undressing Copia Drabble • Mirror Sex

Cardinal Copia

“Cardi Confessions”

Terzo

“I Wanna Be Yours” (Terzomega) • “Preparation is Key” • “Papa’s Worship” • “Movie ’n Chill” • “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” • “La Notte del Vampiro” • “La Lezione di Lucifero” • “And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That” • “Mistletoe’d” • “One Missed Text”

Secondo

“Papa’s Punishment”

Primo

“Teach Me Tonight”

Papa Headcanons

Kissing/Cuddling • Period Sex/Comforting • Romantic Sex/Lovemaking • Sick Days • Mary Goore NSFW • Positions • Going Down (F Receiving) • Jealousy • Thanksgiving • Showering Together • Holidays • Valentine’s Day • Proposals • Waking Up Together • Aftercare

Ghouls

“A Holiday Tail” (Mountain) • “A Rainy Winter” (Rain)

Papa of Choice

“Caught by Papa” • “Tangled Sheets”

Gender Neutral

“I Wanna Be Yours” (Terzomega) • “Tangled Sheets” • “Papa’s Punishment” • Random Copia Drabble • “A Rainy Winter” • “Creature Comforts” • Undressing Copia Drabble

F!Reader

“Caught by Papa” • “Preparation is Key” • “Papa’s Worship” • “Do You Deserve It?” • “You Earned It” • “Teach Me Tonight” • “Movie ’n Chill” • “Let’s Have a Satanic Orgy” • “Cardi Confessions” • “La Notte del Vampiro” * “La Lezione di Lucifero” • “And He Sees Nothing Wrong With That” • “Mistletoe’d” • “A Holiday Tail” (Mountain x AFAB) • “One Missed Text” • Mirror Sex

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ivyroseposin · 1 year ago

Text

A Helping Hand (A Cardinal Copia One Shot)

Cardinal Copia and Reader

Summary: There's nothing between Cardinal and his white suit or how much the white suit shows.

Just before the show Cardinal and his love get a little distracted and he needs a bit of hand to get rid of a problem before the show starts in ten.

Smutty

Words: 1,747

“Cardinals on in twenty” A guy ran thru the hallway balancing a load of stuff in his hands. I stared back at him watching as he zoomed past people almost dropping his stuff a comedy act if you really thought about it.

As the time got closer to stage time the more busier and loud the hallways became. With people rushing around to get stuff done or ghouls jumping around trying to tie their boots because for some reason they can't sit and tie they instead multitask horribly. “Have you seen Copia” I passed Cirrus who was doing some voice training. “Last time I saw him he was in the dressing room fixing his hair” She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. I laughed shaking my head imagining him in the mirror just trying his best to get his hair the way he wants. “Well I will see you on stage well on the side of it anyways and do remember to tie your shoes” I pointed to both boots that were untied and dragging on the floor. “Crap” She mumbled to herself.

I loved these days well the days when they performed and I didn't have to do any stressing work for the clergy. It was a bonus that I could listen to music and have a good time plus I liked the music so it was another bonus.

“Remind Cardinal it's white suit today,” A sister said passing by.”Of course the fan favorite” I replied. The one where everything was on display. Don't get me wrong I was not complaining but I did know how much he sometimes hated to wear it. As he worded it. “Everything is in the wrong place” over and over again.

“DARLING” I heard a yell while I passed a room. “Huh,” I said looking up to see the dressing room worded on the door. “Copia” I cheered walking into the room. There he stood sitting in the seat staring up at me. “White suit huh,” I asked closing the door behind me. “It's a good day to wear the suit” he winked. “Cocky” I whispered watching as he spun his chair around to face the mirror. “How's the hair,” I asked walking behind his seat. “A mess” He grumbled smoothing it down with his hand. I leaned down my lips near his ear. “It looks fine it always looks fine” We made eye contact in the mirror his ears becoming a light pink.

“Why must you look at me like that” He whispered our eye contact not breaking. “No idea what you are talking about” I stood up turning away from him hiding the obviously stupid blush forming on my face. Copia and I relationship was weird we did things that couples did but we were not a couple. Some would call it friends with benefits.

“Are you ready for my show love?” He asked standing up from his seat. “Of course and I get to have free drinks and watch you dry hump the air it's going to be a wonderful evening” I explained leaning back on the couch. “I do it pretty good eh” He winked walking next to me. “You do I, I mean I hear the roars of the fans every time” and I mean every time I swear I would see some fans drooling their eyes peeled to copia. “Hello,” Swiss knocked on the door and before he waited for an answer he pushed the door open nearly falling to the ground.

“We are on in ten minutes,” He said shooting finger guns as he backed. “What they said you have twenty minutes” I stared up at the clock to see time only went by a few minutes.

“The suit looks good?” Copia asked standing in front of me. The suit almost melted into his body and god was it hot. “Uh huh,” I breathed staring down at the ground. “Am I flustering you” He stepped closer. He raised his hand to under my chin raising my head. “Huh,” I asked looking up at him. “One day you should look into some better pants you know pants where you can wear underwear” I added in causing him to chuckle. “Why could I if I get this reaction, especially from you” He inched closer. I could smell the strong mint lingering. “No, you have ten minutes to show you need to get ready” I slightly pushed on his chest to push him away but he didn't budge. “We have time to fix your fluster” He kissed my neck gently his free hand on the hem of my shorts. His body was close and I could feel his hard growing on my thigh. “I will be fine you have a show to do” I slightly nudged him again. He didn't budge his lips falling to my collar bone sucking on my skin. “Oh god,” a moan escaped my lips. I could feel the smile forming on his face as he left a mark on my skin.

“You just fall for me” He sang leaving slopping kisses up my neck. “Some days” I answered another moan escaping my lips. He was right all he was doing was kissing me and I was a moaning wet mess.

“After the show” I whispered my hands running down his suit. He pulled back staring at my eyes and then at my lips his eyes darkening. “How can I go on stage with this huh” He stared down at his hard. His pants do nothing to hide it. A laugh escape my lips staring up at him as he licked his lips inching closer once again. “Showtime SOON BABYY” Rain yelled through the halls. I took a deep breath staring at the opened door that swissed opened. “Hm,” I said escaping his grasp and heading to the door. “The rest will be after’ I explained as I closed the door locking it.

“We can do a lot now” He grabbed ahold of my hand pulling me in. Our lips collided. Our kiss deepened as he pushed me back against the couch pulling up my oversized shirt his hand caressing my chest as he licked my lips wanting more. “What fun will it be to do all now” I pushed him away. “Torture” he growled. “Shh,” I kissed the side of his lips. My hand slid down to the zipper of his pants slowly unzipping his pants his hard throbbing at the touch.

“So unfair” He barely got out. He inched closer to my neck leaving kisses as his hard cock sprung out of his pants. “Flustered are we” I repeated his words. There was one thing Copia loved to do with me and that was to tease especially when I so badly wanted him but today it was the other way around. “Do you think of me on stage?” I asked taking full grasp of his cock and stroking it slowly a quiet gasp leaving his lips. “Do you think about me when you pleasure yourself” I stroked again rubbing my thumb over his tip. “Oh god love” He moaned his hips buckling into mine. “Not an answer” I stroked his tip my thumb rubbing over and over again.

“Yes, all the time” He answered the small whimpers following his answer. “On stage...I think of you” He groaned leaving slobbery kisses on my neck. His cock throbbed as I fastened the strokes rubbing over his tip. Every time his hips would buckle into mine. I could feel the wet pudding from me.

“Fuck” He moaned throwing his head back. “They all see everything but I am the one who gets to pleasure you” I whispered “To kiss you” I kissed his neck. “To make you cum” I stroked his tip his cock only throbbing more in my hands. “Oh hell oh god” He groaned soon there were no words but loud groans that escape his lips. I regretted not doing more now and knowing that I would have to wait for an entire show to have him in me. For us to become moaning messes.

My strokes slowed down and my hand remained on his tip some cum spilling out and landing on my thumb. He watched as I brought my thumb to my lips licking the cum off. “I want you” He growled. His lips were once again back to mine the kiss more aggressive than before.

“After the show” I answered breaking the kiss. I licked my fingers wet grasping his hard making him flinch with a whimper. I stroked his cock slowly his head flying back as groans followed. By now he was thrusting into my hand wanting more. “God” He moaned his head falling to the crock of my neck. “You are only mine” I whispered into his ear. “Only yours” He growled thrusting his hips again.

“Oh I’m gonna cum” He moaned pulling back from my neck and smashing his lips into mine. We kissed moans escaping both of our lips as the kiss got rougher wanting to devour each other. “I can't last no longer love” He whimpered.

I kissed his lips once more before I got down on my knees still stroking his cock. “Cum” I said licking the tip of his cock earning another buckle of his hips. He grabbed ahold of his cock sliding it into my mouth his free hand grabbing ahold of my hair. “You will destroy me” He groaned slamming his cock to the back of my throat and thrusting as his cock throbbed. My eyes watered still never used to the size.I bobbled my head up and down his large length as loud groans escape his lips. “Oh god” He groaned loudly his cock twitching in the back of my throat without letting go he pushed my head to his hips his hand tightly on my hair. The twitching of his cock as hot cummed flowed down my throat.

I swallowed his cum his cock sliding out of my mouth. I stared up at him our eyes meeting. I licked his tip once more taking the rest of the cum. “CARDINAL SHOW TIME” a loud knock came from the door. “Show time” I whispered standing up. I kissed his lips once more then pulled away. “After the show” he pointed as he did up his pants. “Good luck” I winked as he unlocked the door walking out.

#cardinal copia #cardinal copia smut #papa copia #ghost band #papa emeritus #copia fic #copia my beloved #copia x female reader #ghost bc #ghost band fanfic #papa 4 #popia #copia x reader #copia emeritus #copia fanfiction #papa emeritus smut #x reader

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copiass · 2 years ago

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What's In A Name?

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,218

Warnings: nsfw, light dom/sub, oral sex, glove kink, dirty talk, office sex

"It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip-up that had sparked something sick and wicked right in the pit of your stomach."

AKA: Whilst harbouring a secret crush you use your boss’ last name without him knowing. (I know nothing about tax returns or identity fraud, deal with it.)

Can also be read on ao3

Other fics here

It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip up that had sparked something sick and wicked in the pit of your stomach. An urge to fulfil some long-dormant, base need that had somehow started to form in the deepest part of your gut. An urge that had, admittedly, spiralled out of control weeks ago. An urge that currently had you pacing towards Copia’s office, pretty sure you were about to get fired.

You’d been Papa’s Personal Assistant for about six months, and up to now it had been going just swimmingly. The promotion had been a surprise, the latest Sister handing in her notice red-faced and vexed after being summoned to Copia’s office for yet another lecture. She had managed to last 2 months, admittedly his longest up to that point. But his PA’s always ended up the same, pacing and ranting endlessly in Imperators' office, notice in hand, begging to be moved elsewhere to spare his ‘incessant micromanaging’. You had been fairly new to the clergy, eager to make a good impression with a secret soft-spot for the newest Papa. With, unsurprisingly, few takers for the role all it had taken was a short interview with some of the higher members of the clergy and you were in, your own desk, a stripe of Papa’s blue added to your uniform and even an extra half-day off in the week (though, admittedly, you rarely saw it).

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that Copia was not, in-fact, an insufferable asshole, a particularly cruel employer, or a dictatorial micro-manager. He just appreciated when things were done a certain way. And - oh - you’d made the effort to learn, how he liked his papers filed and tabs colour-coded, how he preferred his stationary ordered at his desk, the exact temperature he liked his afternoon tea. It became easy, placing things on his desk before even he realised he needed them, slipping his old books back to the library without him asking, making sure his reading glasses were sat right where he would reach for them while he absent-mindedly flicked through paperwork. It just worked. The more time you spent with him the more you understood what he wanted, what he needed, just intuitively. Yes, Copia ran a tight ship, with little to no room for slip ups, but you soon realised it’s because it had to be that way. His keen attention to detail sometimes seeming like the only thing keeping the whole ship afloat and fully functional.

Not that he had made it easy for you. It was like he had already resigned you to failure that first morning you showed up in his office, eyes flicking over you briefly before he looked back down his nose through his glasses, examining spreadsheets with a displeased hum. It had only pushed you, the more unmoved he appeared at your presence the harder you worked to get it right. The more paperwork he pushed through your desk without comment, the quicker you filed it. The more he complained about his tea not being right the longer you kept it brewing. The louder he scoffed under his breath at his ink running dry, the sooner you were there to refill his pen. Not with Ministry issued ink, no, but Copia’s favourite ink. The one imported from Italy in a gilded case, kept in the top right-hand drawer, behind his ‘secret’ chocolate stash. And it was worth it - so - worth it when he would give you that look. Like you had pleased him, that he understood what you had done, that he appreciated it, deeply.

And it felt perversely intimate. Knowing someone so well when you barely knew them at all. You quickly learned Copia was not a morning person and did not like to chit-chat before at least 9.30am. His favourite lunch was on Fridays when the kitchens brought up a small charcuterie board paired with an expensive red to finish off the work week. He preferred the black olives to the green ones, even though you insisted they were the same just to wind him up and watch the smirk pull at his painted lips. You learned how he bit away at those same lips when he was expecting a phone call from Saltarian, and how he rubbed at his temples when he had been working too long, the both of you sprawled across the desks working into the early hours of the morning.

Copia learned too. He learned that when you were stressed you’d chew on the end of his, frustratingly, expensive pens as you worked, brow furrowed as you read over his work. He learned that if he voiced his distaste for green olives for long enough you would eventually slink over to the other side of his desk and steal them off of his plate, neglecting to use cutlery, giving him the chance to watch your oil slicked fingers slip them gently into your mouth. He learned that you were eager, so eager, for every challenge he presented to you. Eager to prove him wrong, eager to impress him. He also learned that you liked to poke at him, test the waters, push his buttons just to tease.

“Ai! This stress will be giving me even more greys, Sister.” He’d complain, whining and smoothing at the silver hair at his temples, checking his reflection in the gilded mirror in his office.

“Oh, I do hope so, Papa.” You’d sigh back with a wink, savouring the way he would look over to you, eyes burning in the candlelight of his office, eyebrows raised in a mock warning.

And there it was. The fine line that you both danced around in the confines of his office. You initially made a point of not seeing him outside of work, intentionally ignoring the pointed silence that had started to emerge everytime Copia announced he was retiring to his rooms for the evening, avoiding his offices on your days off, only seeing him at Masses with the rest of the clergy. But soon enough it just became easier to spend your lunch breaks together, whispering clergy gossip over a now shared pot of tea. And then it was just easier to eat dinner together over paperwork, the kitchens bringing two dishes instead of the one. And then it was just easier to have a quick shared nap on the couch in his office when trying to meet a particularly challenging deadline, the weight of your head pressed nicely into the warm meat of his thighs as his gloved hand rubbed at your temple lightly.

It was inevitable really. To be so close to a Papa, to be so close to him and have him seep into every crack, every crevice of your subconscious. It was funny, to see behind the facade, to witness him as just a man at his desk every day, swearing under his breath at his “horseshit” brothers who couldn’t balance out a spreadsheet to save their lives, and yet also see that he was objectively not just a man. The confidence with which he carried himself, the way he unashamedly let his gaze linger, his reluctance to ever speak indirectly or without purpose. And if you had to finish off most evenings alone with your fingers between your thighs and his name falling from between your lips, that was your prerogative. Copia didn’t have to know. You were driven, determined even, to not let it distract you. To prove to him you could work well, help him achieve his vision without getting preoccupied with something else.

So, naturally, when the postman responsible for delivering your mail made a mistake, just a tiny, minor mistake, it should have been an easy fix, a laughable offence. When the postman dropped off the usual letters and packages with a warm smile, and a casual ‘Mrs Emeritus, I take it?’ you should have laughed politely and corrected him as you took the mail. You should have clarified your position, maybe even offered up your own name instead. You should have taken the mail to Copia and offhandedly mentioned the exchange so you could both laugh at just how ridiculous that concept was.

Yet, before you could even think, before logic even had the chance to enter the equation you found yourself nodding, smiling as you took the mail with a surprisingly confident;

‘Yeah - that’s me.’

Any sense of professionalism, common sense or even decency were outweighed by the sudden, sick satisfaction at the implication not just of being his assistant, but his wife. Copia fucked around, you knew that, gathered as much from the gossip around the ministry. Not that you’d dared to ever ask him personally, though due to embarrassment or jealousy you weren’t really sure. You knew he had a reputation, that was just part of being Papa, it came with the job. When the urge took him he had any number of Siblings to choose from to satisfy him for the night. But being his wife. That was different.

You’d shut the door, letting your back hit the dark wood as you grinned to yourself, cheeks still flushing at an implication you’d never considered before. You let the fantasy wash over you, picturing what it could be like, how he would hold you, how he would adore you, how he would fuck you. For a moment you weren’t just his assistant, who tidied his desk and sorted his mail and served his tea, but his partner. His equal. Your head had felt dizzy with it, the words of the delivery man still buzzing in your ears, pulse racing, cheeks flushed. You’d thrown the letters down on Copia’s desk a little more hurriedly than usual, rushing back to your own desk pointedly avoiding his gaze. If he noticed anything he did not comment, choosing instead to sort through the post with just a soft glance your way.

That’s when it started. This problem. This perverse little game you’d been playing only with yourself. You’d tried to forget it, laugh it off as a joke and nothing more, just a mistake that caught you off guard. But that seed had burrowed down, deep into your gut where even you couldn’t remove it. Then it spread, reaching even into your dreams, filling them with images of dishevelled greying hair and slick leather gloves. It had appealed to some base nature deep within you, eager and possessive. Yes, the first time had been a mistake - but offhandedly signing a receipt with that same name certainly had not been. Neither had the second receipt. Nor had the third. Or that new email signature to an outside agency. Or the rooms booked under your name on the last tour.

Who would know? You’d reasoned to yourself, knowing that the only person checking the paperwork was, by default, you. Copia was none the wiser, more important things to think about than receipts for minor purchases or email signatures. You’d never use that name inside the ministry, it was a dangerous game after all - playing with the Emeritus name. You’d seen what had happened to those who played games the Ministry didn’t approve of and you did not intend to join that list. It wasn’t even about the name, not really - just him. The fantasy that you were someone that was important to him, someone he was attracted to. Theoretically, it was foolproof. It was harmless, no one would ever find out anyway. It just gave you a thrill - the risk of being caught weighed up against the kick of using his name.

Theoretically.

It wasn’t until Copia pulled you aside one evening as you were aimlessly fiddling with his diary for the next day that your heart dropped into what felt like your ass.

“We may need to be breaking into Terzo’s coffee supply the next few days, eh Sister? Hehe.” He’d chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair.

You flicked your eyes over to him, taking in the way the leather waistcoat lifted as he stretched, pulling up his black undershirt with it, revealing the dark, greying hairs on his lower stomach. Satanas - you’re sure he did it intentionally half the time, just enjoying making you look. Realising you had absolutely no idea what he just said you shook your head.

“What?”

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes away as he tried to repress it .

“Tax Returns, Sister. We have a lot of paperwork to get through together.”

“I thought we got … someone else to do that?”

You blanched, your stomach flipping as you thought about the stack of paperwork in your locked top draw, signed with a name that is most definitely not your government name.

“Ai - I am not paying someone to do what we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

Papa moved to stand behind you, hands coming down to squeeze at your shoulders reassuringly. You absolutely do not think of the size, or weight, of them as they cover most of your frame.

“And we will do an excellent job as always, Sorella. Nighty night!”

“Goodnight, Papa.”

You had sighed in reply, your eyes following him as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters, knowing he’d used your favourite nickname to try and soothe you.

Shit.

That is how you’ve found yourself pacing to your shared office, praying to any deity that will hear you that Copia does not, for probably the first time in his life, need to see every single detail and scrap of paper that has ever passed through the Ministry. After spending the night tossing and turning and triple checking the receipts just to make sure they definitely didn’t look like he had signed them, you had formulated a game plan. Realistically a few minor receipts would be fine going under the radar. You had made sure to never sign for something important, something there would need to be a paper trail for. You also knew that Papa, being the way that he is, had kept all of his most important paperwork with him, collated in colour coded folders next to his desk, obviously. There is no reason that he would suspect something is amiss, there is no reason for him to suspect you have a hidden stash of, probably illegal, receipts and invoices currently stashed in your bag ready to burn. And there is absolutely no reason for Copia to already be in his office before you get there.

It seems that no deities have decided to take pity on you.

You know he’s in a shit mood the second you open the door to the office. The first indicator is that he’s already drinking coffee - which he hates doing. The second is that he’s got an already well-used ashtray on his desk and a cigarette in his mouth, meaning he’s cracked open his also ‘secret’ emergency ‘stress-relief’ smokes. Those usually only make an appearance when he’s got those big annual budget meetings with the upper clergy. Shit.

Doing your best to look objectively not guilty you sweep over to your desk, flipping your laptop open to check your emails. He’s on the phone, you notice, that stupid ancient phone holder balancing between his shoulder and his ear, cigarette balanced between his full lips. Whoever’s talking is clearly pissing him off, his brow is furrowed and he’s tapping his fingers against the desk. He also hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet which is unlike him, unnervingly unlike him. Unsure of what to do or say you just continue mindlessly tapping keys and clicking on already opened emails, doing anything to look busy and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself.

“Pah!-”

Copia spits out, slamming the phone down on the holder in response to whoever was on the other end of the line. You startle and look over to him as he finishes his cigarette with a deep drag. Now that you’re looking at him you can see the extent of his stress. Even under the paint you can see the heaviness under his eyes, the way the waxy pigment has started to crease with the tension in his brow, the way it’s started to rub away a little where he must have been rubbing at his jaw. His hair is just the right side of dishevelled where he’s been running his hands through it, the greys threatening to fall into his face as he talks. His scarf has been pulled loose, hanging somewhere near his chest rather than up near his ruffled collar. His desk is a wreck, different piles of papers stacked and stapled, different mugs strewn in between, an unlidded highlighter cast aside near the phone. He’s been at this all morning. He takes a breath, emptying his lungs of smoke and rolling his neck.

“Sit.”

You startle, jumping in your seat. He is not asking.

“Regretting not getting someone else to do it yet?”

You joke, trying to save it, though your delivery and flat half chuckle don’t quite manage to sell it. Copia doesn’t bite.

“That was my brother on the phone.”

Papa starts, you try not to think about how rough his voice is after taking a drag, much deeper than it usually is. You don’t have to guess which brother, that would explain his sour mood.

“You see, Sister, I am missing paperwork. Some receipts, some invoices - you know-” He motions with his hand as he talks, eyes scanning the papers at his desk, not looking at you just yet.

“So, I call my idiota brother, these things are usually his fault, si?”

And shit, he’s definitely stalling, he’s getting at something here and you’re hoping, praying it isn’t what you think it is. You force your bouncing knee to still itself, willing your face to be straight and empty of anything that he can pick up on.

“And yet he says, it is not him. So I do the checking, and he is right-” He scoffs, “for once.”

You nod, patiently, obediently. Waiting for him to make his point. He turns to look at you, really look at you, the white of his eye somehow more intense than it usually is, stark against the deep paint on his eyes.

“I do not miss paperwork. Sister.”

And there it is. He’s giving you an out. Copia doesn’t give second chances, and this is going to be his only offer at a first. You don’t speak, a million excuses coming to mind at once, each one as equally pathetic as the last. You know how you must look sitting there in front of him. Lying was never one of your strong suits, especially under pressure, especially when it’s to him. Yet it’s like you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of how to get your mouth to move and formulate words.

“Do understand, Sister, that we do not take this sort of thing lightly. If you were hoping to be fiddling or moving extra money in some way-”

“Woahwoah-”

You interject without thinking, room spinning a little as your brain catches up to what he’s actually accusing you of.

“Of course, I would have hoped that you would have told me if-”

“It’s not that!”

You hiss at him, suddenly a little offended that he thinks so lowly of you and your intentions. The room is still tilting as you try to save yourself from whatever the fuck is happening. You suddenly realise you’ve just handed yourself a shovel and started digging, Copia’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and fucking hell why does he look so good when he’s mad.

“Then what is it.” He asks, patience clearly wearing thin, the coffee and nicotine only working to rile him up more.

You decide if any deities are still listening they should most certainly just open the ground, swallow you whole and just have done already. At this point you honestly don’t know if it would be less embarrassing to just admit to some sort of fraud and risk being excommunicated permanently on grounds of financial criminality. Lucifer - your habit has started sticking to you and your throat feels like it’s closing up, panic setting in. You’re just about to throw the towel in, admit to being some sort of crook when you decide to look at Copia again.

And it’s devastating. Under the paint, under the mask, under the guise of cold professionalism is worry. Genuine unease sitting in the all too familiar lines of his face. Your chest pulls as you look at him, his eyes threatening to become wet and glassy. You realise that he’s not pissed, but hurt at the idea of you admitting to this, at the notion that his assistant has been dishonest with him. It’s right about then you decide then you would rather suffer any amount of personal embarrassment over hurting him. Without speaking you reach into your bag and pull out the stack of papers you’d been hoping to get rid of. He looks away, immediately wounded at the implication.

“Just read them.” You breathe out as you throw them onto the desk, eyes fixed on the floor.

“Sister, You cannot expect me to believe-”

Copia starts, then pauses once his eyes have scanned over the first few scraps of paper. He stops. He looks up at you. His eyes flick down again, then over the next piece of paper, and then the next. For the first time in six months you think you may have just rendered him speechless. You swear he must be able to hear your heart beating in your chest as you wait for his reply, only just realising that you’ve handed him a metaphorical loaded gun. Satanas, you really must have been stupid, handing over signed proof of your … feelings for him. Copia still hasn’t reacted, not really, choosing to sit further back in the chair and flick through the papers like some sort of sick flipbook.

“Ah.”

He finally sighs out, dropping them onto the desk, one hand coming to comb through his hair.

Unable to move your mouth you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Papa doesn’t speak either, reaching for his pack of smokes before lighting one and taking a long, drawn out drag. If you’re being honest his reaction to your confession isn’t exactly inspiring. You hurt a little at that, realising perhaps you had misread the ease between the two of you. Realising that there might have been a reason he’d never propositioned you on those long, late nights alone.

“Which one is it?”

He finally asks, his voice again deepened by the smoke, his tone one you can’t quite place, sitting somewhere between annoyance and disappointment.

“What?”

Granted it comes out a little ruder than you were aiming for, but you’ve been thrown so many curveballs in the last five minutes you’re honestly just grateful to still be sitting upright on the chair.

“Do not test my patience, Sister. You do not have to hide it now. So - which one is it?”

Fucking hell Papa could be petulant when he tried. He takes another drag, moving his eyes away from you again, like he can’t bear to look at you. You immediately decide you hate that more than anything else.

“Copia, I can assure you, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.”

You’re not sure if it’s because you used his name or the language, or his clear lack of sleep, but either way he bristles at that, eyes fiery turning to look right into yours. Shit, he really is something to look at when he is like this, the logical part of his brain lagging behind his emotion for once. He’s surprisingly menacing, the pupil in his white eye unable to dilate with the other, unbalancing his features. This is the Copia that secured his own place in the lineage.

“Do not play stupid with me Sister, I will not tolerate it - not from you. This is the Emeritus name, is it not, Sister?”

“It is, Papa.”

“And here it sits with your own name, does it not, Sister?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Then, I can only be assuming, Sister, that you have found yourself a considerably comfortable spot in one of my brothers’ harems.”

Your brain completely taps out. You go to open your mouth, in an attempt to say anything.

“Ah-ah!”

Copia stops you, taking a moment to calm himself, finishing the cigarette and shoving it into the ashtray. You’ve not seen him like this before, so unpredictable, so wiry. You’d almost have considered it exciting had he not just accused you of fucking one of his brothers.

“That is … fine, Sister. I just feel I would like to know which brother that is all? It is selfish I know, I just … need to know.”

Taking a second to process what he just said you lean back in your chair, counting on the ornate backing to catch your fall. You close your mouth, noting you don’t actually know how long it’s been open. It baffles you, faced with the realisation that the man that you have seen write speeches; balance spreadsheets, translate texts, compose music, and recite spells and incantations with ease, is a fucking idiot. Copia notices your lack of a response and shakes his head.

“Ai - forgive an old man, Sorella. I pry too deeply. I just did not expect that you had-”

“There is no one else.” You interrupt quietly, for his sake. “Just you.”

It’s like you can see his brain working, cogs turning behind his eyes as it’s his turn to play catch up. He looks down to examine the papers again, jaw working in that way it always does when he’s thinking. He’s rubbing his fingers together, the room so quiet now you can hear the leather working against itself. Suddenly, you feel even further out of your depth, gooseflesh rising as he finally brings his gaze back up to you. It’s been a long six months, you’d dealt with worried Copia, pissed Copia, unbearably, sickeningly sweet Copia - but never this Copia. The one that’s looking at you like you’re a rabbit in his headlights. Like he can smell you already.

“Up. Come. Now”

He snaps his fingers suddenly moving his chair back a little as he taps the top of his desk. Copia does not ask twice. Surprised that your legs are even able to move, you stand slowly, hoping you’ll make it to the desk without embarrassing yourself even further. His eyes don’t leave you as you walk around to his side of the desk,so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. He opens his legs for you to stand between them, making a point of shifting his hips up as he does so. It’s at that minute you decide you absolutely cannot look at anything else but the knot in his loose tie, for the sake of your own self-preservation.

“Do you know how we got this name, Sorella?”

Hells his voice is so deep now you’re close it’s almost like a purr, the thrill of it settling right between your thighs. There’s a softness to it but it’s far from kind, far from being anything but mocking. He starts to adjust the sleeves to his black poet shirt and you mentally curse him, it’s like he knows down to the minute how many sleepless nights you’ve spent thinking about those godforsaken sleeves.

“Now, now Sister. You are usually so talkative, no?” He teases, though again it’s not entirely kind.

“It was a gift, Papa. From Him” and fuck it’s embarrassing how breathless you are already, thighs clenching just at being this near to him like this.

He moves quicker than you can react. Before you can process it, he kicks one of your legs from under you, knocking it so you stand wider, legs open in between his own.

“Errato.”

And just like that he’s standing in front of you, much taller than you remembered, much broader than he seems from where you sit at your desk across the room. You can’t help but shrink back, lean further back into the wood only to be devastated when he follows there too, eyes examining your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. He breathes you in and you can’t help but follow, eyes closing as you take in the smell of him, all incense and smoke and something that must just be him.

And oh, perhaps those deities had been listening after all. His hands come to cradle your head, holding it as he fiddles with something at the back of neck. With a gentle pull your veil falls away somewhere onto the cluttered desk, exposing you to him. Papa’s eyes flick up to examine you fully now you’re without your veil, like he’s got to squeeze one more look at you in before he’s moving again. His hands wander to find your own, pinning them down the desk under his as he carries on his, frankly lewd, inspection of you. You can’t help but gasp out, surprised that the gloves are warm, and that he’s strong, and that he’s actually touching you. He lowers himself until his face is right next to yours and you can’t bear to look, it's too much, being this close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking the chance to breathe you in again, nuzzling as close to your neck as he can get without actually touching you.

“Gifts are given freely, Sorella. Without reason, without obligation.”

He lets his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Try again. How did we get this name?”

Fuck, it was one thing hearing whispers in the hallways about his talent, all hushed giggles and filthy conspiracy. It’s an entirely different thing to see it in practice, to be the object of his attention when it’s so all-consuming. Your thighs are already wet, you can feel it as they rub against each other. You can feel where the front of his waistcoat is pressed up against your chest as he crowds you into the desk, sure now that he can feel where your nipples are hard against him. His hands snake their way up your arms, before one comes to settle in the back of your hair. Your eyes open as he pulls on it, seeming to relish in the gasp you let out.

“Say it.”

He speaks again, nodding mockingly, eyes flicking over your face lingering on your lips as you part them to speak.

“You earned it, Papa.”

“Brava Ragazza, Sister. Well done.”

And Oh - he’s giving you that look, the one that got you into this fucking mess in the first place. Like he’s proud of you, like he sees you. He disappears from view as his lips press against your hairline.

“You’re always so smart, hm?”

And you really can’t tell if he’s being genuine or mocking you but you couldn’t care less as his warm, wet lips traced across your forehead, the fingers of his other hand coming to cup your chin and keep you still. It’s barely a kiss, just the press of his lips against your skin but it is singularly the least chaste thing you have ever experienced.

“It is a Sacred name, Sister.” His lips are trailing down the sides of your face as he speaks, lips catching against your skin as he talks.

“Given to my bloodline by Satan himself.”

Copia finds that spot that sits just behind your ear and chuckles as you shudder against him. You’d put good money on the probability of him mentally logging that away for later.

“I have worked for this name, I have bled for this name-”

He pulls away and you’re almost embarrassed that you whine and try to follow, so caught up in the heady way he’s been touching you, you think it might actually kill you if he stops.

Cruelly, he pulls away completely then, leaving you giddy and off-balance as you look up at him helplessly.

“I would kill for this name.”

Papa finishes, his gloved thumb coming to pull at the full flesh of your bottom lip. His face hardens and you understand that he isn’t lying. It’s not a warning, not really, more a confession. Not that you would have ever doubted it anyway. Abruptly, he chooses to sit down again, legs spread open on the seat as he lays his arms down on the rests. You fight back a mewl at the loss of him, thighs twisted together to try and keep some semblance of self-control. His hands come together under his nose as he thinks, calculating his next move, thoughtfully, carefully.

“This - is where you have overstepped, Sister. You are using a name you have not earned. We must all earn our place, earn our name, dolce.”

Ah. It all clicks into place then. Here he is again, giving you another out. Giving you a chance. Here it was, that instant knowing, what was wanted, what was needed - just intuitively. You started to lower yourself down, neatly folding up the habit at your thighs as you did, knowing Copia was nothing if not a sucker for reverence. The greying hair at his temples fell forward a little as he bent his head, gaze following you down to his floor. You made sure to grab at his thighs for leverage as you did so, half for your own satisfaction and half acting on intuition. It paid off you realised, as he chokes out a moan and pushes his hips upwards. You log that away for later.

“Let me earn it, Papa.”

It’s merely a whisper, bowing your head as you speak, another show of reverence for him. You let your head rest in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh, a sick imitation of the last time your head was resting there. His hands come to stroke at your hair, just as he had done before, and you take the chance to capture his hands in your own. Eager to please him, to elucidate. You start to kiss his palms, mouthing along his fingers with delicate presses of your lips, the action itself chaste and devout.

“Let me never stop earning it”

Oh, he likes that. The rumble in his chest gives him away, the way his fingers follow your lips revealing him. You run with it, eager as always to impress him. Flicking your eyes up towards him, looking through your lashes you wrap your lips around a single finger, welcoming it along the length of your tongue to rest near the back of your mouth before sucking it gently. It’s odd, the sensation of leather in your mouth, but it’s warm, rough and him, and you can’t help but moan through it. If the stress of tax returns hadn’t already ruined him enough you’re more than making up for it now, his chest is heaving, pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat as his eyes lock onto where your mouth is around him. His hips have pushed out and thighs opened around you, letting you shift closer to him. He nods his head, showing his consent, his approval of your actions.

“Fammi vedere, Sorella.” He nods, voice even deeper than when it was laced with smoke.

Your Italian is patchy at best, Copia likes to remind you of that daily, but you find yourself positively unable to care, the gist of what he’s saying suddenly very clear. You gently place his hands back up onto the rests for him, kissing the knuckles on each hand as you do so. Savouring the feel of him you move your own hands to his thighs again, digging in to feel the strong muscle underneath. So much wasted time spent staring, as he moved around his office gesticulating or bounced his legs around on stage in those obscenely tight trousers.

You carry on massaging him, each time your hands getting closer and closer to the now, completely strained fastenings of his jeans. Completely beyond sense now you move on impulse, muscle memory, letting your legs slip open, pressing yourself against the cold tile floor as your face falls forward to lick at his seam. He’s hard, and hot, and it’s twisted that it’s taken you this long to be in this position. It’s degenerate really, finding some relief working yourself against the cool floor, the heat of him on your tongue. You can see his hands move to grip the arms out of the corner of your eye, a smirk pulling at your lips.

You find the end of the ties with your tongue and manoeuvre it between your teeth, pulling it back as you flick your eyes up to his face again. Copia chuckles at your trick, looking at you like that again as you undo the strings to work him free. You burn with the need to impress him again, and bring your hands to pull him from his jeans. The first thing you notice is that he’s not wearing underwear, the warm pink of his flesh very apparent once you’ve worked the fastening open. The second is that Copia is fucking hung, thick and throbbing in your hand as his cock springs back against the greying hairs on his stomach.

You’re pretty sure your eyes must bug out of your head at the sight of him, mouth watering in anticipation. You’d certainly heard things about Copia and his endowments, but well, Siblings were prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to the Papas. In this case they frankly hadn’t done enough. In the back of your mind you question how he’s still conscious with the lack of blood that now can’t currently be flowing to his head. You laugh lightly in spite of yourself, at your stupid internal monologue, at the situation, giddy with the size and smell of him.

“Mi fai aspettare?” Copia asks, his voice thick and rough as it comes out.

“My deepest apologies, Papa.”

You immediately lick from the base, right above where his balls are still covered, to the tip - uncut and almost purple. His reaction is instant, making a noise like the air has been punched out of him, fingers gripping the arms even tighter. It’s maddening, having him throb beneath your tongue, and you carry on, just single licks against him, marvelling at the size of him as you go. Unable to help yourself, you take the tip of him into your mouth, positioning your head to take him down.

Copia loses what little control he has, snapping his hands away from the rests and bringing them to wind in your hair, directing you down onto his cock. You moan in thanks, grateful for his guidance once again. He’s not being rough, you’re guessing he could do far worse, but he is being thorough, making sure your lips hit the bottom of him before pulling you back up. You find a rhythm in it, following his lead, not having to think about anything but keeping your lips sealed around him and your throat open. There it is again, that balance of what you both wanted, what you both needed, the unspoken instinct you seemed to share.

Your scalp burns with it but it’s just so good, the way he’s started to fuck his hips up to meet you, using your mouth like you’d wanted him to for six fucking months. He manages to slip out a few times in his thoroughness, the wet of him slicking up your face and lips, and you wonder what you must look like. Your eyes are watering, your mouth flushed and wet and open for him, hair still tangled up between his gloved fingers. Not that he’s faring much better, head thrown back as he fucks your mouth, broken Italian and Latin and nonsense spilling from his mouth, undershirt shoved up around his waist, exposing his stomach. Copia notices you looking and his gaze hardens, teeth gritted as you take him particularly roughly.

“Puttana.” He grunts, and you have no problem translating that one.

But there’s no malice in it, no spite, just that tone you recognise from when he’s impressed with you, his own warped reverence in return for yours. It only pushes you further, even more eager to please. As you take him down the next time you stay there, even as his own hand tries to pull you back up. You warm him with your mouth, keeping him as deep as you can while your lips meet the bottom of him and your nose is pressed up against the greying hairs at his base. You feel him push up against you, his legs lifting off the seat, getting as deep as he can while he cradles your head. He keeps you there for as long as you’re able, fucking your throat gently, before bringing you back up with a groan when you start to push at his thighs. He doesn’t let you sink back down, not immediately, just keeps your hair firm in his hand as he holds your head up - so he can look at you. Savour how your mouth is pink and slick and swollen with use.

You whine at him, pathetically, asking him to let you go, mouth still open for him. He guides you down again, only this time he’s shoving his fastenings out of the way, guiding you down to suck at his balls. That rips a noise out of him, loud and unashamed as he presses your face harder into him, grinding against your tongue. You are nothing if not eager to please, laving your tongue over his balls, his thighs, even venturing further down toward his ass. Copia makes a frenzied noise at that, involuntarily lifting up in the seat to grant you better access to him. And it’s obscene, the way he tries to grind against your tongue, fucking himself on your face. He grabs your head again, only this time to stop you.

“N-no-no …non posso. I won’t- I won’t last, Sister.”

He breathes out between gasps, body sagging as he relaxes into the chair. Smirking, you raise an eyebrow, noting that one for later. Copia catches you smiling, managing to look over at just the right time, like he always does. The look in his eyes makes it apparent you’re going to regret that.

“You have earned nothing yet, dolce. Up.”

He’s demanding, shucking down his trousers a little more so he can widen his legs. You stand, hands pulling at your skirts, eager to pull your habit over your head before he stops you.

“If you could keep it on, Sister, the habit, I mean. I- I quite like you in it.”

You must beam at him, you can feel it, the warmth in your face and the swell of your smile, so big it almost hurts your cheeks. It’s the fact it’s your uniform, the uniform that identifies you as his, that special blue stripe singling you out as his own. He’s watched you everyday in this habit, liked you everyday in this habit. Nodding, you start to stand, hiking it up as you go but slow enough to tease. Papa’s eyes flick down to your legs, his normal pupil blown so wide it’s almost black as his licks at his lips, splotches of pink peeking through the paint. He’s fucking his hand as he watches, balls bouncing a little, glove tightening as he nears his tip. You flush as you think about how many times he’s touched you with those gloves, you wonder briefly how often he washes them.

Suddenly, now you’re standing, underwear kicked down and flicked off your ankles, you feel a little shy. It’s odd, considering moments before you’d had his cock in the back of your throat, but somehow sitting into his lap without his request, without his permission would be just the wrong side of intimate. You’ve napped in his lap, just once, but sitting in it, taking him like this almost feels like too much. He notices, like he always does, his eyes and mind too fast for his own good. He softens a little.

“Please, Sorella.”

And it’s deep, and demanding and yet his voice breaks a little along the way, and it’s just too Copia for your own good. Now unable to stop yourself you lurch forward, bracing your legs on either side of his own, relishing in the strong muscle of his thighs underneath you, holding you up. One of his arms comes around the back of your waist, balancing you out as he lines himself up against you. It was intoxicating being so close to him, where he was warm and soft and smelled of smoke and whatever expensive shampoo he used. Your arms find the rest on the chair and the back of his neck, fingers toying with the few strands of hair that curl into his nape. It’s nice being close to him like this, seeing the fine lines in his face, the mix of greens in his eye, the slight shadow on his face where he’s neglected to shave. It’s almost too much, the smell of him, the feel of him, the idea of him and you doing this. It’s then that he breeches you, just the first part of him and your stomach drops at the realisation that everything up to this point had been nothing.

“You think you have earned this yet, Sister?”

Copia is talking, you’re sure of it, somewhere outside of the bubble of just feeling him. Somewhere where he sounds drowned out and far away. Satanas, he won’t stop pushing into you, splitting you like he was made to do it, each ridge and vein dragging you open with a slick sound, the heat oh him almost unbearable.

“Think you can take my cock?”

And fucking hell he’s a talker. As if it couldn’t get any more ruinous he was going to talk you through it as he ravaged what was left of you. All you can do is mewl back, legs open and hips pushed forward to take him.

“Others have tried, Sister.”

He slides home, his hips coming to sit neat against your ass as he bottoms out. If you thought that had been devastating enough, it was nothing compared to the drag of him as he pulled out again, lighting up your insides as he moved, nerve endings singing with it as he warms you up. He lets out his own sigh then, rumbling deep in his chest and oh - you realise you’d spend your life trying to earn him, if it meant hearing him do that everytime you sank down onto his cock. Copia seems to remember himself then, sucking air through his teeth before he starts talking again.

“Yes - they try their best. Wailing with their legs open for me.”

It’s simply deviant how that makes you throb, the image of him fucking some Sibling in his quarters after spending the day cooped up in his office with you. He starts to build a rhythm, balls starting to slap up against you as he fucks up into you, his feet planted on the floor for leverage. You brave a look at him and whine when you see how he looks, his eyes fixed on where he’s fucking you, his mouth hanging open, slack as he watches. His hair is fucked, paint starting to bleed just a little with the exertion of it, sweat threatening to leak through.

“Yes - I fucked them. I made them come-”

It’s like it’s intentional at this point, that he says that as he finds that spot inside you, the one that has your mewl turning into something far more embarrassing, something more guttural, more animalistic in nature. He chuckles, and it’s sinister as he re-adjusts himself to fuck up against that spot again. You suddenly don’t doubt him, or the matter of fact way he says it. You’re fairly confident that you’re not far off already, your cunt clenching around him as he speaks. He comes to grab at your ass, hands squeezing into the meat of it as he bounces you on his cock.

“I send them back with their legs shaking and their holes full, Sister.”

He growls right into your ear, back to his monologue, like it’s a threat, like it’s a promise. You start to clench around him, hips working without even thinking about it, letting his strong hands pull you down onto cock. Half for leverage and half for comfort, your hand at his nape starts to twist into his hair, savouring the feel of it between your fingers.

“And did they presume to have some ownership of me? Did they feel so brazen as to take my name - the name I fucking earned?”

You can barely even think straight with how he’s fucking you. But you realise, somewhere in the haze, that you’d been so caught up in the idea of being his, the daydream of being so owned by him, that you’d neglected to realise your own claim over him. Taking his name, making it and himself your own by definition.

“But you - you have the nerve, to sit every day in my fucking office, to flash me that sweet fucking smile, acting so eager, so useful, so innocent, like you aren’t making a perversion of my own name, hm?”

And he is still hitting that spot, sparks flying to every nerve ending you have every time he hits it, his hips snapping up faster as he riles himself up.

“You see fit to play and tease, like you don’t rush back to your room at night to play with this tight pussy at the idea of me using you like this.”

He knew, of course he knew he always fucking does, two steps ahead of everyone else.

“It is my turn to take now, Sister.”

Before you can help yourself you’re seizing up, muscles locking around him with nowhere to go as you bounce on him, the noise of it becoming downright indecent. The wet suck of you as you take him filling your ears. Copia senses that you’re straining, just missing that extra something you needed to tip over the edge. Your eyes actually start to tear up you’re so desperate to come around his cock, to let him take what he wants. He moves his hand to grab at your face, cheeks pushed together in his firm grip as he looks at you. It’s humiliating, his eyes flicking to your mouth once more as his face twists into a smile that’s almost threatening. He brings his other hand up to his own face, spitting and sucking on his own fingers, moaning at the feeling of it. Fuck his lips looked sinful stretched around his own fingers, swiping at the paint as the coated them.

Papa nods at you, almost mockingly, letting you know he’s going to help you, he’s going to make it all okay. His fingers leave his mouth and he swipes them directly over your swollen clit, making you cry out and work his cock deeper into you.

“And I will take it.”

And his voice is fucked, broken and gravelly like he’d been awake for 3 days straight. You couldn’t have stopped it if you had tried, the way he was fucking you right where you needed it, the rough, wet leather against your clit, the idea of him taking rather than you giving it freely. You shut your eyes as you worked through it, wave after wave as you clench around him, throat raw as you groaned into the hand that was still holding your face. Fuck, you would work to earn it, work for it every day if he could make you come like this. It’s far too slick between you now, the way you’ve leaked onto him, coating the both of you in it. Copia is glowing with satisfaction, lips pulled into a smirk as he just watches.

“Acqua santa, hm?”

He snickers, more to himself than to you. You can’t help but whimper at his pun, grinding down on him as if to coat him further, like it’s a gift for him. He grunts at the feel of it, head thrown back for a second as he revels in the feel of you, the tight, wet grip of you around him. He moves the hand that’s been holding your face to rest at your waist, his other still lazily rubbing at your cunt, helping you ride it out. He brings his now sticky fingers to his mouth, sucking them onto his tongue with a groan. You should be embarrassed, the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking you, but it feels right. Like you’re earning something.

Copia is clearly giving you time to rest, reclining back in the seat, letting you balance your hands on his chest as you grind out the last of your orgasm for him. Rest isn’t exactly something you had in your plans for the foreseeable future, content to pay back the favour tenfold. He’s quiet now, a little out of breath with his effort, looking up at you as he savours the way your face looks, flushed and bright. You sit yourself up, ready to start bouncing for him again and he kicks his knees up, ready to angle himself to start fucking you again.

“No no, Papa.”

You smirk, choosing instead to push him further into the chair with your hands, stilling his movements as you start to fuck him. Speaking seems to be beyond him at this point, he just nods as you ride him, letting you fuck him into the seat of his pretentious office chair. You mentally curse yourself for not choosing to go to the gym more often, the burning in your legs threatening to become a problem. Just looking at Copia underneath you immediately throws that idea under the bus, his head thrown back as you work him. His mouth open with broken gasps leaving his lips with each bounce, eyes heavy-lidded now. The chair starts to scrape across the tiles with the force of it, the low squeak mixing with your own moans.

It sends a dangerous thrill through you, knowing this was Papa, head of the fucking Ministry, signature powerhouse on the stage, knowing he could snap his fingers and have done with you whenever he felt like it. This is who they all wanted, the fans, the followers, the clergy, the Siblings. But it’s also Copia, your Copia, your boss who lets you steal his green olives and nice wine, and likes you in your uniform, and your chest just swells. Moving your hands to cover his own you move them to cup your neglected tits as you ride him, guiding him to your covered nipples. The kick his cock gives inside you is some indication that he likes that, though his frequent ‘subtle’ glances when you neglect to wear a bra to work had already proven that theory.

“I mean it, Papa.”

You move your own hands to cup his face, brushing his hair from where it’s falling into your eyes. The capacity to form words is still out of his reach he just watches, eyes flicking between your face, your nipples pinched between his fingers, and where you’re fucking him.

“Let me never stop earning it”

You repeat your promise from before, almost hiccuping at the end of it as you manage to angle his cock at that one spot again, savouring the sticky, slick drag of your skin against his.

“I would spend my life earning it, earning you.”

Copia is objectively a wreck. All he can do is sit and take you on him, tweaking and twisting your nipples, tilting his own hips to make sure you can work his cock how he’s already learned you like. It’s laughably unrealistic really, his good he feels, like something out of one of those shitty vintage VHS pornos Copia keeps in his ‘locked’ drawer. You feel him throb inside you as he lets out a strained groan and you’re convinced that the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to make him feel good, however he would let you. You didn’t know it could be like this, just an endless feedback loop of pleasure, giving and taking and fucking like you can hear what he’s thinking, and he can hear you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Copia grunting, choking out a mindless, “You’re s’fuckin’ tight, fuck” as he tilts his hips up for you.

Sitting up tp to lean back, you open your legs to him, so he can see where he’s fucking you. You know how it must look, your cunt wet and swollen, taking his cock so deep you’re sure you can feel it in your throat. He grunts in approval, bringing his gloves to smack lightly at your clit as you bounce, biting at his lips when you stutter around him, shocked at the feel of it. Keen to stay even, to impress him with your efficiency, your efficacy, you bring your fingers to your mouth, spitting onto them as you keep your eyes locked on his. Copia knows what you’re going to do before you even move to do it, already whining so loud it’s almost pathetic. You can’t help but smile sweetly as you reach your slicked up fingers behind you, massaging and squeezing his balls as he buries himself into your cunt.

“Sister, I need- Can I-”

You’re almost surprised he has the wherewithal to ask, his thrusts turned shallow and stuttered as he tries to keep himself from filling you too soon. It’s all you can do to gasp out a raspy ‘please’ before he’s grabbing your hips once more. It’s a done deal after that, a few broken, sloppy thrusts into you before he’s spilling himself inside, pulling you down onto him with a string of broken curses, using you to come. You’re not far behind, the throbbing of his cock, the feeling of him filling you up kicking off your own orgasm, softer and sweeter than the first. Copia fucks you through it, his capacity for thoroughness making sure you’ve milked him completely, making sure you’ve used him more than well enough.

It takes you a second to come back to yourself, lost somewhere in that bubble of pleasure and Copia, not knowing where slick, sweat and spend started or began. Bordering on something tantric, something spiritual, you slowly move together as you each catch your breath, his hands coming to soothe at your thighs, strong fingers working the muscles there. It’s quiet, that familiar, comfortable silence you so often shared filling the office. He pulls himself out from you with a wince, tucking himself back into his pants, and lazily tugging the ties shut.

Copia pushes your legs open, gently admiring the way he leaks out of you. He takes his hand and moves to swipe at his come as it drips, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like devotion. Licking his lips, he pushes it back into you with his fingers, his pupil dilating as he watches for your reaction, ever the eager learner. You smirk before reaching down to save your underwear. You go to stand, unsure of where this really leaves you, unsure of what to say - of how to say it.

“There was never anything to earn, tesoro.”

Copia speaks before you have the chance to overthink, his clever eyes watching your mind tick over. He is giving you that look again, the one he seemingly saves up just for you.

“Whatever you want - it has been yours for a while.”

It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s all encompassing, it’s Copia. You feel like maybe you should kiss him but flush with the idea of it, cheeks heating up as he watches the thought pass through your mind. He smiles despite himself, averting his eyes for just a second. Although his paint is still mostly intact you’re sure he blushes underneath it, you can tell, intuitively.

Plenty of time for that later, you reason, remembering there was a desk full of receipts to file and sort before Saltarian decides to come chew Copia’s ear off about his tax returns.

“Though Sister-” Papa starts as he neatens himself up, slicking his hair back into place, “maybe, for now, we will hide those, hm?”

He nods towards the stack of crinkled papers. You understand what he’s doing, putting his own ass on the line to cover you. Risking his reputation for complete competence just for you.

“Yes, Papa.” You nod earnestly in thanks, wanting him to understand that you appreciate the gravity of what he’s doing for you.

“And maybe for now, though mine certainly suits you, use your own name, hm? At least let me take you to dinner first.”

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