#red-crested cardinal

[stickynotebirds]

178. Red-crested Cardinal

[scottpartridge]

Red-Crested #Cardinal for day 7 of #birdtober hosted by @aholmesartstudio #birdtober2024 #redcrestedcardinal

[birdblues]

Red-crested Cardinal

[peregrinefalconlady-art]

Commission for @/Manu_Koa (Twitter) of our characters at Montauk Point on Long Island! Sam is giving her red-crested cardinal friends visiting from abroad an amateur lesson on the geographical and historical significance of Long Island’s easternmost point

[i-want-cheese]

A bird stole my chicken nugget right out of my hand.

Seagull? Nope. Pigeon? Nope.

It was one of these little guys:

(image source)

Nugget was the size of his head.

Life lesson from the birds: Always bite off more than you can chew

[ceruleanvulpine]

huge respect to @myxinidaes for reblogging that post with 100 birds

[hiyeaj]

Red-crested cardinals!

-

Insta / Shop

[butcherlarry]

Exercise Fic Recs 17

Talk To Me by Mawiiish (Superbat sick fic, my beloved)

love will abide by TheResurrectionist (Superbat.  One night stand, why won’t they admit they love each other, jfc they are both so stubborn)

A Night Off series by Mawiiish (Superbat.  Identity porn.  They meet up, have a one night stand, but keep meeting each other.  Shenanigans ensue)

control by TheResurrectionist (Superbat kinda.  Bruce gets roofied and Clark helps him out.

Known Unknowns by amyritter (Superbat.  An update of the Bruce doctor AU.  I am foaming at the mouth for the next update :) )

Guardian Dog by BombusBombus  (Superbat.  I recced this last week and it’s complete!  GO READ IT, IT’S SO GOOD YOU GUYS)

A wounded bat can still fly by Mawiiish  (Superbat.  Bruce gets injured and Clark takes care of him.  Sexy times ensue)

My latte and croissant!  This one is a ham and cheese one!  SO GOOD.

Saw some great birds at the arboretum today!  

An indigo bunting:

And his lovely wife :)

A great crested flycatcher!  They were so high up, it was hard to get a good picture of them, but you can kinda see their crest and yellow belly:

A white-breasted nuthatch!  I love their little pose:

A red-bellied woodpecker:

A male cardinal, hiding in the trees:

A little downy woodpecker.  A male, I think, because of the red patch on the back of his head:

Since it is Mother’s Day today, there was a lot of people at the arboretum to look at the pretty flowers.  And there were so many pretty flowers!  My favorite were the irises:

Some nice scenery.  This little area is their herb garden!  So cool!

Some chives (I think) from the herb garden.

LOOK AT THESE AMAZING GOTH FLOWERS:

Not sure what these are, I just thought they were neat!

There were also a lot of paeonies blooming!

These ones were called “hot chocolate” paeonies

Lily pads!

I just liked these orange flowers:

Purple flowers!

This one was neat too!

Kinda flower heavy today with the pictures, but they were all so pretty!  I couldn’t help myself :)

[luulapants]

Rating the birds in my backyard by tendency toward violence

Northern Cardinal, 4/10

I'm sometimes worried the male is sexually harassing the female but I'm pretty sure they're just doing some elaborate public pickup roleplay. The rest of us didn't agree to participate in your kink, guys.

American Robin, 1/10

Literally just some dude hanging out. Never bothered anyone but worms. Big fan of the way you just stand there in the middle of the grass like you forgot what you were supposed to be doing.

House Sparrow, 10/10

You're a gang. You're participating in gang violence. There's ten billion of you living in a single wood pile and it's been civil war for three years now. When will the bloodshed end?

Tufted Titmouse, 1/10

A shy baby. A pretty little guy. I saw you on the neighbor's garage roof and time stopped. There were anime sparkles around you. Come back.

European Starling, 9/10

Why is it always you? Listen, I know, I KNOW the sparrows are the problem, and YET. When the fighting starts, it's always you in the middle of it, provoking them and then screaming like you're an innocent bystander defending yourself. I'm onto you.

Carolina Wren, 3/10

This rating is not for physical violence, which you don't engage in, but for your role as an incurable narc. A tattle tale. I know they're fighting again, okay? I see it. Our yard has been a warzone for years, you don't have to make a big announcement every time someone misbehaves.

Eastern Wood-Peewee, 0/10

If this were "birds who think they're better than everyone else," you'd get 10/10.

Red-bellied Woodpecker, 6/10

It's a utility pole. It's not a tree. You're surrounded by trees that are full of bugs. But there you are, on the utility pole. Committing vandalism.

American Crow, unrated

For who am I to cast judgment on the actions of La Famiglia? I assume you are doing what is best for the neighborhood. If I could, though, without criticism, make a single observation. That when large numbers of you gather in the ominous dead cottonwood - no? No, you're right. None of my business.

Great Crested Flycatcher, 5/10

Frankly, I think you could be doing more. I think your name implies a great potential. I think you should massacre the insects. I think your beak should drip with viscera.

Stay tuned for more criminal activity!

[empyreasheart]

if i get autistic enough maybe ill draw my dt17 design for lea. but who knows really

[queenlua]

holy hell this is actually perfect

Bird attorneys. My partner suggested this great idea honestly.

Guess which species are here! (Didn't make it a secret tbh)

[enkays-den]

Hermits as birds from where they live/were born!

note: my knowledge is centered around North American birds, so sorry if the european ones aren't super accurate

Bdubs: Northern Saw-Whet Owl. He's just a little guy with big eyes. Small and evil, love him

Cub: Common Starling. Skulk like-iridescence, incredibly friendly. Plus, with Cub running the horn store this season, he NEEDED to be the bird that can imitate pretty much any noise it hears

Doc: Bonelli's Eagle. Large raptor found in Germany. It's straight "brow" and hunched posture remind me of Doc

Etho: Common Loon. THE! CANADIAN! BIRD! Despite being "common", their pattern is simply EXQUISITE Plus, it has a red eye! Also listen to the noises these things make, it's literally stock nature sounds all in one bird. Also, I'd put Etho on my one dollar coin.

False: Barn Owl. Very elegant owl, I just feel it suits her, that's all. Very stately posture.

Gem (Season 10 specifically): Great Blue Heron. It's a fisher, it's blue, it's menacing, what more could you ask for?

Scar (Hotguy): Double-crested Cormorant: A waterfowl bc scar did competitive swimming, it's got a slightly funky shape which I feel suits scar's personality. It also has the Hotguy colors!

Grian: Eurasian Bullfinch. Parrot Grian will not reign supreme. Look at that little guy. He's mischievous, he's red, I do not trust him.

Hypno: Stellar's Jay. My provincial bird! I just think both have very chill and cool personalities

Jevin: Lazuli Bunting. Just a little blue guy!

Impulse: American Goldfinch. Black and yellow, need I say more?

Iskall: Booted Eagle. Something about a stout raptor just feels right. Look at that posture. Reminds me of when Iskall tries to copy the brits' accents.

Joe: Turkey Vulture. Although seen as odd or menacing, all vultures are integral to the local ecosystem and are in actuality, very elegant and gentle birds.

Keralis: Boreal Owl. Yes, I did make the two guys with big eyes owls, What of it? LOOK at him. Put a little hardhat on him, put a little hawiian shirt on him. Precious sweet face.

Mumbo: Avocet. It's basically a vibe check and a mustache joke.

Peal: Black Swan. Big 5AM Pearl vibes. Giant, beautiful, protective. Love that for her.

Ren: Giant Kingfisher. Obligatory King Ren joke, it's a South African bird, and it's kinda goofy looking. I think the speckled feathers look like a ruffled fur collar on a king's cape.

Skizz: Golden Eagle. Large, majestic, hella strong, and he's wearing pants :3

Joel: Tree Swallow. Very small, beautiful, agile bird. The swallow's wings remind me of Asian art styles.

Stress: Magpie. GOR-JUS and LOUD. Imagine her next to Iskall (they're very similar in size, bless them)

Tango: Swainson's Hawk. I fought every bone in my body to not make an Arizona Cardinals joke when I already made a Phoenix Coyotes one maybe half an hour before. The Swainson's hawk is on the smaller size, but still a deadly spitfire, which I think suits Tango

TFC: Brown Pelican. A solitary bird, definitely a rare sighting. TFC was always joking about how much he would eat, I thought a pelican was apt

Beef: Barred Owl. MY FAVORITE OWL. I literally call them 'round beefy boys' and they're just so sweet and I love them

Wels: American Kestrel. I LOVE these little guys. Simply the smallest, cutest and beautiful falcon there is. They're about the size of a pigeon. It's just got such a regal posture despite being a little cutie.

XB: Rock Pigeon. Despite being common and seen as a "dumb pest", they are pretty intelligent, there's a reason they were used to carry messages around. They're also a close relation to doves! The green collar also is like the jacket collar on his skin.

Xisuma: Semipalmated Plover. X and Mumbo were both chosen because of how those birds run on the beach. They're RIDICULOUS. This subspecies is exclusively because it look like he's wearing a little helmet.

Zedaph: Firecrest. Just the GOOFIEST little guy I found on the wiki of British birds. Look at that thing /aff. Also, Zed do be blowing up a lot

Cleo: Partridge. Beautiful bird, looks like they want to kill you in your sleep, just like Cleo.

[herpsandbirds]

I have notifications set up for when you post! I love your blog. Thank you for being you.

bless you my child.

please enjoy this bird.

Red-crested Cardinal (Paroaria coronata), family Thraupidae, order Passeriformes, found in central South America

This bird is not a "true cardinal", but is actually placed int he tanager family.

They have been introduced into Hawaii and Puerto Rico.

photograph by რობერტ (Robert)

[exposed-wires]

Oooo you wanna see my Ishimondo fankids oooooo

AGE: 18

HEIGHT: 5'10

WEIGHT: 172 lbs

BIRTHDAY: April 30th

PERSONALITY: Sohan can be described as overwhelming, and a handful. Taking into consideration their upbringing, it's no wonder their intense nature is a force to be reckoned with. They're nice for the most part; welcoming to the people they come by. A big stickler when it comes to safety too! Rules...not so much, though they're still abided by for the sake of their father. However, it doesn't mean they're one to look for loopholes- because they do! The more specific you are with wording, the less Sohan is capable of finding a workaround.

While they are an intense individual, when it comes to intense situations, they are surprisingly calm. Then again, that's to be expected for someone who's surrounded by chaos. In the heat of the moment, evading the enemy, the person behind the wheel is the one to keep the most cool.

If Sohan were a storm, they'd be the eye of it.

EXTRA:

• Sohan's non-binary in their eyes, but they don't mind however you view them as. If it be more masc or femm [like a fill in the blank]. VERY rarely will they refer to themself as 'he' or 'she', depending on who they're talking to. They are comfortable with the non-binary label though.

• Also, Sohan's eyes flare up [emit a flame-like aura] whenever they're concentrating or focused.

• People call him 'boiled rice' as a nickname. [Sohan means 'coarse' and 'boiled rice', but the direct translation of the word is 'contradictory'].

• They have a red crested cardinal named Ducky

====

AGE: 16-17

ULTIMATE: ""Tutor"" [Immoral Compass]

HEIGHT: 6'3

WEIGHT: 202 lbs

BIRTHDAY: March 24th

PERSONALITY: Daichi is a stickler for the rules. It's something he finds comfort in, is well endowed to- like a set of commandments. Sure, the process of abiding to them is... questionable, but that's simply how he is. It works for him, it should for others. Education is no different from it, though he works himself to be at the top. The prime example, or..no, not example; the best. Surpassing him in any matter is unorthodox- especially his field.

His sibling, Sohan, is an unremarkable waste of potential. Intelligence thrown away for whatever they do- so when they got a letter from Hope's Peak Academy regarding that very 'wasted potential'- suffice to say Daichi was not thrilled. Though when he himself acquired his talent far into studies in the reserved course program: he had second thoughts.

As a prime example of academic achievement, why on earth was he given the title of an Immoral Compass?

EXTRA:

• He's in the same class as Sohan, as he skipped a grade or two back in elementary. He is incredibly gifted, though his sibling is much smarter than he is [which upsets him, as they don't put good use to that].

• Used to be a reserve course student, until he acquired his... less than ideal talent [grinded for the view, hated how it looked].

• Daichi HAS to be 1st no matter what. Sure, he's inclined to help others with academics but they CANNOT surpass him. He freaks out each time someone gets a better grade than him [has broken multiple pens].

• He has a notebook for any subject, including notes on other people he finds 'interesting' [putting them under a microscope], his own personal thoughts [one which his older sibling reads through like a soap opera], and everyone's grades that he keeps track like fantasy football.

• Is REALLY really good at videogames, which is shocking for someone like Daichi.

• His eyes flare-up when he expresses great feeling of embarrassment.

• With his anger, it marinades instead of immediately exploding. Teehee it festers until it blows up MUCH later.

====

AGE: 12

ULTIMATE: Recess

HEIGHT: 4'6

WEIGHT: 90lbs

BIRTHDAY: June 9th

PERSONALITY: A happy go lucky girl who has a knack for playing games, Tokika is a ball of unmanageable energy! She's good at what she does, creating games of any variety to keep everyone capable of playing, and the stakes to stay high! She's having fun if everyone else is having fun! She gets along well with her older siblings, and at times she does drag them into playing dolls or boardgames- but they're happy to do so! 

Tokika is good at mediating conflict on the playground, your so called 'recess referee'. Though at times she does let both sides play out to find a middle ground so everyone's happy. 

EXTRA:

• If she had a highschool level Ultimate she'd be either the Ultimate Gamemaster or the Ultimate Devil's Advocate.

• She shares a birthday with her father, Mondo! 

• She's the one organizing family game night, and she INSISTS on it each and every time. 

• Tokika stems from the word 'Toki' (time), and 'ka' (fun). 'Ka' can also come off as a question based statement at the end of sentences, so whenever she asks 'time?' it's like she's saying her name, asking if it's time to play.

• Her eyes flare-up whenever she's on a winning streak. 

• Bit of a devil in disguise?? Just a smidgen.

====

The family's all here <33

I definitely need to post more, I'll try to post some stuff about them, I have some art in the folder kek :33

[aliciavance4228]

If the Greek Gods Would be Birds:

Note: This was purely made for the sake of humor.

Zeus: The Philippine Eagle

Poseidon: Shoebill

Hades: Dracula Parrot

Hera: The Himalayan Monal

Demeter: Rufous-Crested Coquette

Hestia: Pygmy Wren Babbler

Athena: Harpy Eagle

Hephaestus: Hooded Vulture

Aphrodite: Pigeon With A Curly Perm

Ares: Northern Red Cardinal

[angry-geese]

Cardinal Copia x Reader

Warnings: not osha compliant//nsfw. fluff and smut; oral (cunnilingus), overstimulation, afab reader. use of petnames (ex. my love)

synopsis: copia and the reader decide to spend a morning in :) i just wanted an excuse to write smut tbh

word count: 3.5k

Rain from the previous night has carried well into this morning, and shows little signs of stopping. Dawn is bleak and gray as it crests upon the horizon. In your state—stuck between the waking world, and sleep—you reach out for him, finding the bed beside you cold. The little villa Copia calls home lies empty, save for you, and the constant tick tick tick of the clock on the wall.

Despite his absence, you’re in no rush to get up. On a Saturday morning, there’s little more to do than basic chores, or lazing around the house. Maybe you’ll catch up on some reading, or perhaps some leftover paperwork—Sister Imperator seems to love her paperwork. Perhaps you could start with the sweeping, or dishes, but both tasks sound especially dull. Staying in bed sounds like a preferable option.

Outside, the incoming storm has rendered the sky dark, and the cobblestone path shiny. Fat droplets of water race down the window pane, spilling into the rocks below. Clouds are low enough that the tops of trees are obscured. Somewhere, not too far off, the abbey’s bells ring out, signaling the hour. Nine O’Clock. Various siblings will be gathering for mass soon; an optional ritual which only the most devoted—or those with nothing better to do—will attend. Copia will most likely be there. Certainly Sister Imperator will be.

When the door to the bedroom finally cracks open, the most movement you’ve made is that of rolling onto your side. The bed dips under his weight as he sits. A hand smooths over your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear.

It’s about that point in which you roll over to face him. Copia’s red cassock is replaced with a much more casual button down, and trousers. Black, although some red stitching is visible as he rolls up his sleeve. A nice touch. 

“I didn't mean to wake you,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn't.” You say. “I’ve been awake.”

The yawn that leaves you seems to say otherwise. You scoot back a bit on the bed, and he sits, tugging his pillow away from the headboard. Copia sighs, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. He doesn't seem to quite know what to do with his hands as they switch between laying limply at his sides, and fiddling with the top-most button of his shirt. 

You reach out to him, and he takes your hand, only to be pulled back to bed by you. A soft “oof” leaves him as his head hits the pillow, mere inches from yours.

“You’re back early today,” you say, “was there no meeting?”

“Terzo was terribly late,” he says, “and Sister had other important matters to attend to.”

“So you skipped work? How scandalous…” you say flatly.

Copia makes a show of rolling his eyes, though a small smile tugs at his lips. “Says the one still in bed. Isn’t it nearly ten?”

“Does our dark lord not revel in sloth?” You ask.

In reality, you have kitchen duty this week, and you’re dreading it greatly.

In theory, you could use your position so close to someone in the upper clergy to your favor. Little things like job assignments, roommates, special meals. Names could be swapped, tabled tipped in your odds. You know better than to do such a thing. Sister Imperator’s ire isn't something you want to earn, and she is aware of most things in the abbey.

Copia must not find it within himself to argue with you. And though his eyes are closed, you know very well he’s awake. You move closer to him, seeking the warmth of another body. He accepts you openly, allowing you into the space directly against him. You lean forward to kiss him—just a quick peck on the cheek. Copia catches you on your way back, pulling you in for a proper kiss. The taste of coffee lingers on his lips. 

“Is there any left?” You ask. “Coffee, I mean.”

When his eyes open, a look of guilt is visible within them. “I’ll make more.” He says.

And though you wish to stay in bed just a little while longer, you trail after Copia. The hallway leads directly into a small, but cozy living room. Shelves are stacked floor to ceiling with books, some old, some new. More wood goes into the fire, and the kettle is set on the stove to boil. The remnants of last night’s tea remain on the coffee table, aside half-read books, and video game controllers. You make yourself comfortable on the couch, shifting pillows and blankets to make room for yourself. Copia settles onto the couch beside you not long after, fishing the TV remote out from between two pillows. At this hour of the morning, nothing interesting is going to be on cable; shopping channels and reruns of game shows are the only programs available.

“What a dreary morning,” you comment, resting your head in your hands.

“I like the rain.” Copia says.

It was his timidness, and devotion to his work that first caught your attention; the passing glances in the hall, the looks that lasted slightly longer than they should have. By all accounts—his upbringing, his way of life—Copia should be a different kind of man. Sleazy. Lecherous. Rough around the edges. Someone who takes more than he needs, and does so greedily. But behind his strange exterior lies a timid, sweet man. A strange tenderness is behind each of his actions.

You never would have realized it if it weren't for Terzo’s scheming nature. Maybe one day you should thank him.

This rare, quiet moment is interrupted by the whistling of the kettle. Copia hops up to attend it, returning later with two mugs. Before, you never were much of a fan of coffee, but countless late nights and early mornings in the clergy gave you a new appreciation for it.

“How do you take yours?” Copia asks, although he already knows the answer.

“Sugar and cream if you have it,” you say.

He does.

Maybe a minute passes before he returns to the living room, carrying a mug in each hand. He settles back onto the couch, and when the opportunity to sprawl out presents itself, you take it, laying your legs across his lap. One of his hands trails along the curve of your leg. The other finds the remote, mindlessly flipping through channels. Copia eventually settles on a cooking show, although neither of you are paying attention to it.

Moments like this are fleeting—something to be savored—and that adds to your reluctance to get up. His hand ghosts up the side of your calf in slow, repetitive motions. Soothing. The pads of his fingers are rough, but gentle. Copia’s attention turns from the TV, back to you. The corners of his lips twitch upwards in the slightest hint of a smile. 

“What?” You ask quietly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Who knew one little librarian would corrupt me so much,” he says.

That earns an eye roll, and a quiet laugh from you. “Me? Really?” You say.

“I used to be a pious man,” he says, “deeply devoted to my work and…”

“And I showed you there was more to life than work.” You say, and he nods.

What is the fun of the clergy if you can't relish in life’s luxuries? Much of your life was spent burying your own needs for the sake of others. Once you found a place you belong, and could truly, freely exist, you had years to make up for. A life to live freely and love fully.

Of course, Copia was born into this life. Perhaps he doesn't know the difference.

You tuck your legs back under you, leaning against his shoulder. Copia is quick to make room for you, looping an arm around your waist. His gaze falls to the bare curve of your legs. Nothing too scandalous. At least, not more scandalous than being found barely-clothed in his bed. Yet if you ask him, he’ll say something about appreciating the view regardless.

It’s a dangerous game you are playing, tangling your limbs with a member of the upper clergy. The various cardinals and papa’s are no stranger to casual relations. Casual sex, and one night stands come with the position. People love shiny, new things. They love to feel in power if only for a night. But to form a long term relationship—let alone one with the son of Sister Imperator—would be to put a target on one’s back. Not a great idea if you wish to fly under the radar.

Copia is not papa, and you will not be his prime mover.

This time, when he kisses you, there’s more of a need behind it. A set of warm hands find your cheeks—then your hair—pulling you impossibly close. The cardinal is typically a patient man, but today brings a strange desperation.

You can't help but wonder just what happened in the meeting this morning. Did Terzo say something to him?

When he pulls away, a line of saliva connects your lips to his. Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading out into your extremities. You pray he can't pick up on your racing heart. Probably not from such a distance, but the feeling of it beating within your chest is too much to ignore.

“Sister Imperator is less than pleased with how distracted I have been from my work,” he says.

So it was Imperator then?

“Was it not you that first distracted me from my work?” You ask, a coy smile spreading across your lips. “If my memory is correct, it was you who instigated that night at the library…”

If anyone is to blame for this, then it is Terzo. Without him, your little crush on the cardinal would have gone nowhere.

Copia separates himself from you just enough to slide off the couch, coming to rest upon his knees. “And who would I be to resist such sweet sin?” He asks.

Was it not the forbidden fruit that tastes most sweet?

He sits on his knees before you like a man bowed in prayer. Truly blasphemous. Your legs part just enough to give him room to settle between them. Copia moves slowly, achingly slowly. It’s not in his nature to be so direct; he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to make the first move.ands trail up your thighs before coming to rest on your hips, pushing up the hem of your—his—shirt. A small hum of approval leaves him as he realizes you have nothing on underneath.

A set of mismatched eyes meet yours, clouded with lust. His shoulders are hunched forwards slightly, head tilted down, gaze trained on you. An expectant look. From here, the once powerful cardinal looks vulnerable now.

If he ever asks, you’ll say you didn't plan this. Really, you didn't, but one has to be a little scheming to last within the clergy.

“What is it, Copia?”

He swallows hard. Your eyes follow his adam's apple as it bobs in his throat. “My love, I wish to taste you,” he says, voice low. “May I?”

“You may.”

He hooks his arms around your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch—that draws a small gasp from you. Now, your legs hang mostly off the couch, coming to rest on his shoulders. Copia’s stubble is rough against your skin as he presses his lips against it, trailing kisses up your thigh. Three on the left, one on the right. Achingly slow. You don't think his movements are meant to be so—you truly think he’s trying to pace himself—but they all feel teasing in nature.

You wish for nothing more than to lean down and kiss him. To hold him gently in the same way he holds you. His tongue traces up your slit once before you can no longer contain yourself, and pull him close, hands guiding him by his hair. From him comes a small, muffled noise of approval.

Copia is a man who claims he is not skilled with his tongue, although that couldn't be further from the truth. He’s no stranger to your taste, your feel, the subtle movements of your body. He laps and sucks like a man starved for weeks, finally presented with a meal. A tongue devoted in total worship, for such reverence can only be that: worship. Moans spill past your lips and you do nothing to stop them. There’s no reason to be quiet in here, nobody is around to hear you. They only seem to make him more eager to please.

You’re reminded of a sermon from a few nights ago. Terzo led it. He would soon become intoxicated, but not before bestowing the crowd with a few words of wisdom:

Our pain, our pleasure…

One finger presses into you. Then another. Curling and pumping into you. The leg that’s no longer supported by his shoulder hangs loosely at your slide.

We devote ourselves to Him…

Sister Imperator looked about ready to strangle him once he started bringing up female orgasms. Maybe he had a point. Maybe Terzo was just alluding to what was going to happen at the afterparty.

The nails on Copia’s free hand dig into your skin. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to leave little crescent shaped marks. It’s enough to bring your attention back to him, and his mismatched eyes.

A low noise rumbles up from his chest as your grip tightens on his hair. Your own release comes upon you sooner than intended. Copia seems to notice it before you do, continuing to lap at your poor, sensitive clit. You can only writhe helplessly before him as he works you up to—and through—your release. Even then, he is unrelenting, continuing to work you over with his tongue; a mix of lust, pride, and gluttony in their most primal forms.

When Copia does finally pull away, his chin glistens in the low light of the room. You’ve done quite a good job at messing up his hair. It sticks out at strange angles now, and is only slightly fixed when he runs a hand through it. Something in Italian spills past his lips, although you can’t tell if it’s a prayer, or a curse. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, moving to sit beside you on the couch.

Once your shirt comes off, you’re left bare before him, nipples stiffening when exposed to open air. Copia takes you in greedlily, admiring the curves of your body. The angles. The softness of it—you—all. His reverence is a form of worship in its own right. He must be painfully hard now—the bulge in his trousers is a telltale sign of that. Copia palms himself through them, before you lean in to take charge, straddling his lap. Off comes his shirt, a task that takes both of you to complete, your hands fumbling for buttons in unison. His neatly tailored slacks are the next to go, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. Your discarded clothes go into a pile on the floor, tossed aside carelessly.

If the circumstances were any different, you’d go through the effort of finding a condom. Today you don't, though, it’s not for a lack of abundance. You wish to feel him in his entirety; limbs tangled, bodies becoming one. Like a pair of horny newlyweds, you’re all over each other. The first kiss he gives you is soft—gentle—but grows more needy as your hands brush across his erection. He lifts his hips just enough for you to tug down his boxers, freeing his hardened cock. Copia must be painfully hard now, yet he still tries to contain himself.

Copia leans back just enough for you to straddle his lap, and you do so, with your thighs on either side of his. The redness on his cheeks has now spread to his chest, and the tips of his ears. His breathing has evened out now. His lips find your neck, but not in a kiss—no, he’s savoring your closeness. His hands find your hips, and yours find his chest, guiding you as you lower yourself onto his hardened cock. There’s a slight sting as you do so—a stretch—although it’s the kind of pain that inevitably feels good. The two of you just fit together so perfectly, you can't help but think. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, combined with a mix of gasps, and moans. Copia’s hands wander up and down the length of your body, finding your hips, thighs, breasts, but never resting in one spot for very long. Your arms wrap around his neck, wrapping around them as you try to find purchase against his body. The couch creaks in protest underneath the two of you. Quiet, nonsensical words of praise spill past his lips, only muffled further when his face is shoved against your breasts. Copia doesn't seem to mind.

“Beautiful—” he huffs, “you’re so beautiful.”

You’d say it back if you could form any words. And he truly is; skin flushed, and slightly shiny with sweat. The veins in his hands are more prominent now—you’ve always had a thing for his hands. The feeling of them around your neck, or down your body. Gloved or not. Taking one of his hands in yours, you bring it to your lips, wrapping them around his pointer and middle finger. He still tastes of you.

Copia’s breath catches in his throat—the muscles in his thighs tense—all telltale signs that he’s going to cum. His nails dig into your hips hard enough to leave little crescent shaped indents. Maybe they’ll bruise. Maybe not. And when he finally cums, he cums hard, spilling into your unprotected womb.

Your second orgasm isn't far off, and you’re still oversensitive from the first. You’re content to chase your own release, grinding down against him. Copia helps you along with his thumb, toying messily with the bundle of nerves. Broken strands of sentences spill through you, and Copia seems to take that as high praise of his work. It comes upon you all at once, like a wave rolling over you, pulling you under and spitting you out wrong. Your thighs are a mess of his cum, and your own. The couch is certainly a mess.

Once again, you feel his stubble against your neck as he presses a kiss to it. Then your cheek, then your forehead. A hand smooths over your hair as your head falls into the crook of his neck.

It’s another moment before you remove yourself from him. If you had any say in the matter, you’d stay like this for the rest of the day. Copia guides you onto the cushion beside him, taking a moment to admire his work; the red nail marks, flushed skin, and cum seeping down your thighs.

“Eh, sorry my love,” he says, and you assume he’s referring to the mess.

“It’s okay,” you say, “it’s not my couch anyway.”

Copia groans as he stands, heading for the kitchen. When he returns, he has a washcloth in his hands. Patting the inner part of your thigh, he motions for you to lay back. Copia takes great care to clean your thighs, dragging the cloth across them. The damn cloth is slightly cold against your skin, although the chill feels nice. An ache has settled into your hips from the events of the morning. Nothing that some ibuprofen won't fix. 

“Maybe we should do that in Terzo’s office,” you say, and you swear you feel him twitch beside you, “teach him to miss a meeting…”

“Unfortunately, I think this is something that happens in his office often,” Copia sats, “not much work gets done in there regardless.”

That draws a small laugh from you. You can believe it. You’ve never been to one yourself, but you’ve heard stories of the afterparties Terzo throws. Calling them extravagant is putting it lightly.

Sleepy, and sated, you curl up in the space beside him, and the arm of the couch. The warmth of his body, combined with the smell of his cologne threaten to lull you to sleep. Your body seems to associate him with safety, and as such, staying awake becomes a challenge. You sip from your now-cold coffee, turning your attention back to the TV. Outside, the rain grows heavier, tapping against the windowpane. Fog leaves the outside world in a hazy, dreamlike state. You know at some point in time you’ll have to get up and begin your daily chores. For now, you’re content to stay by Copia’s side.

“I guess the rain isn't so bad,” you say.

“Is that so?” He asks.

A small hum leaves you—a nonverbal confirmation. Maybe the rain isn't so bad. Maybe it was Copia who taught you to like it.