Papa Emeritus Iv X Reader - Tumblr Posts

crying is crucial // papa emeritus iv x gn!reader

summary: after trying to keep your emotions under control, you finally break down. copia finds you & tries to comfort you in your pain.

tags/details: sfw. 960 words. angst & emotional hurt/comfort, reader is depressed - their past hurt is alluded to but not detailed. it's basically just copia being a soft, loving angel & knowing exactly what to say.

full transparency - i wrote this during a recent low, after a conversation with a friend, as an attempt to express what i wish someone (namely copia) would say to me in a moment like this. hopefully it resonates in some way & brings some comfort if you need it 🖤

dedicated to sweetest one @conjuring-ghouls for being my ✨ test reader ✨ and really encouraging me. thank you for talking me out of my comfort zone, friend.

a big thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers & to @foxybouquet whose brilliant italian masterlist is incredibly informative & has taught me so many precious new words.

You hadn't cried like this in a long time.

It wasn't unusual for you to feel down. Depression was something you'd lived with for as long as you could remember, but for the most part you managed to keep it at arm's length and not let it rule your life.

Today, though... Today was different.

You don't know what triggered it exactly. All you know is that since you woke up this morning, you had been haunted by that familiar lump in your throat, that burning sensation behind your eyes, the telltale signs of lingering sadness ready to spill over, and just tried to stave it off long enough to get through the day. Until, curled in a ball on your bed that night, you let it happen. You let the sobs come and the tears fall, soaking the side of your face and the pillow underneath you.

And that's how he finds you.

"Darling," you hear Copia call from the hallway, "Where are you amo-"

Shit. You hadn't heard him come in.

He knew you struggled, he knew about the anxiety and the sadness that lived somewhere within you, but he'd never witnessed you in this state. And while everything in you is screaming to not let him see you so broken... you can't move. The sadness weighs you down like an anvil in your chest and you remain where you are, pulling your legs in tighter to yourself as if to become smaller. To disappear.

"Amore?" he says quietly as he steps into the room, softly gasping when he spots you, your body wracked by sobs. He's quickly at your side, trying to disguise the panic in his voice as he asks, "What is it?"

You can only sniffle in response. Your words evading you.

"Oh, amore..." he whispers. You feel his weight shift on the bed as he lays down beside you, brushing your hair from your face and gently encouraging you to look at him. "Please... Talk to me."

You take his gloved hand and hold it against your cheek, still silent, just focusing on the feeling of him while you gather yourself. You can't quite manage to look at him yet, but after a few quiet moments you speak.

"I've just been thinking about how... hard it's all been..." you tell him, your voice slightly hoarse.

"How hard what has been, tesoro?" Copia softly encourages, stroking your tear-stained cheek with his thumb.

"My... life," you say between shallow breaths. "Sometimes... sometimes I wonder why... why all these bad things have... happened and I just..."

Oh no. It's happening. What was left of any kind of composure is gone. Your chest heaves and you begin to choke on your sobs as you try to explain yourself.

"It feels like i-it should be... easy by n-ow. People tell me I'm so strong and... I a-am but... I don't want to... h-have to be... all the ti-ime..."

Copia just listens, offering a gentle shhhh when your tears overcome your words again, pulling your body closer to his and laying your head on his chest. You stay like that for a little while, with him gently stroking your face, your arms, your hair, as you try to follow the soft pattern of his breathing to calm your own.

"We all need to cry sometimes, amore mio," he offers gently, breaking the silence. "It's... You see, cuoricino, I could sit here for hours and tell you how strong you are, how capable and bright you are. I could tell you over and over again how well you're doing, or how I admire you... and all of these things are true, sì? But, sometimes..." he pauses, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes what you really need to hear is, 'That's right. Those things weren't fair, and you are allowed to cry about it'. In fact, you need to cry about it. È cruciale!" he states, the sing-song inflection in his final word breaking through the fog and making you giggle.

But then you really take his words in, overwhelmed by the warmth with which he speaks to you and, as hard as you try to keep it together, you can't help but break down again.

With this Copia sits up slightly, and wordlessly guides your legs over his so he can cradle you properly. He feels your pain so acutely that it makes his heart ache, but he knows he needs to be steady for you right now.

"I'm here," he tells you, his voice shaking slightly, immediately betraying his intended steadiness. "I've got you... This is okay. You're okay... You're okay," he whispers, rocking you gently. "You are strong, amore. Of course you are strong... But you don't need to think about that right now. All you need to do is sit here with me, and let yourself feel what you feel."

So you do. Safe in the arms of your Papa, you let yourself feel. When another wave of sobs overwhelms you, Copia just holds you tighter and continues to rock you against his body. The voice in the back of your mind telling you that you don't deserve this love threatens to rear its ugly head but right now you're too far away to hear it. Not even the loudest, ugliest corners of your insecurity are a match for the peace you feel with him.

You're not sure how long you're there for, but Copia never stops holding you. The physical crash after such an intensely emotional episode hits you hard and you feel your body becoming heavier, imploring yourself to just go to sleep and draw a line under this day. Just as you are drifting off, you hear him quietly repeat himself.

"I've got you. You're okay."

a little birthday snooze // copia x gn!reader

summary: it's copia's day, but he's not quite ready to get out of bed yet.

tags/details: sfw, 500 words, just a bit of fluff with the birthday boy. thanks to @gothdaddyissues for the divider!

hello! it's my birthday! and as a gift from me to you (that's how it works, right?) here's a short little soft copia moment ♡ it's this community that inspired me to write again after a long time, and to share again after even longer, and i just wanted to say thank you, to everyone here who makes this place what it is. i'm one person who feels a lot less Alone than i did 6 months ago and i have you all to thank for that. whether we've talked a lot or a little or are yet to meet, thank you. you're great. ok, love you, bye.

The alarm clock on the bedside reads 8:00am when Copia feels a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you whisper, nuzzling him with your nose. "Wake uu-uup. Today's the day!"

"Hmm, and what day is that, amore?" Copia asks through a yawn, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the light. "I can't remember."

You give a knowing smile, your own eyes still heavy with sleep, and kiss his forehead softly. It's not that he doesn't enjoy his birthday, or that he's particularly concerned about growing older, but sometimes he would rather it passed without much acknowledgement. So many of his days are spent with more eyes on him than he can count, that often he would just prefer as little attention as possible.

He watches you intently as you start to gently brush his wayward bed hair away from his face. "Happy birthday," you say, cupping the side of his face in your hand. Copia closes his eyes and leans into the feeling of your thumb caressing his cheek.

"Thank you, amore," he whispers, turning his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be with it soon enough. Just give an old man a few minutes to wake up."

"It's okay, take your time. Let me go and get some breakfast ready," you say, turning to get up.

"No, no," Copia protests, pulling you closer to him. "In a little while, amore."

"But yo–"

"Just a little while longer, cuoricino. Now, come here to me," he says gruffly, tickling his fingers over your sides and rubbing the slight stubble on his chin into the crook of your neck, eliciting a sharp yelp from you.

"Copia, please," you plead, half-laughing, half-shrieking as Copia's hands continue to squeeze at your waist.

"Say you'll stay in bed with me," he orders through a chuckle before giving a quick kiss to your shoulder, "What do you say? A little birthday snooze with your Papa, eh?"

"Okay, okay! I'll stay!" you surrender, and Copia immediately pulls you to his side, resting your head on his chest and enveloping you in his arms.

"Perfetto," he says with an exaggerated roll of his tongue, and you don't need to look at him to see the smug, contented look on his face.

The two of you lay in a comfortable silence with only the occasional chuckle escaping you as you catch your breath. Your hand wanders over his chest and the softness of his belly, fingers running through the thick hair that covers them. His fingers trace circles over your shoulder, the trail of his touch leaving goosebumps along your skin. You could stay like this all day, you think, stroking and caressing and breathing the musky scent of him.

Just as you are about to doze off, you're brought out of your thoughts by the sound of him softly snoring above you. Stifling a giggle, you raise your head slightly to place a tender kiss to his neck before nuzzling back into it.

Breakfast could wait.

copia knowing you're overwhelmed and taking it upon himself to make you stop and just be with him. you try to insist that you have too much to do but he sees right through it. "no, amore," he says, interrupting your protests. he's not having it. he takes your hand and leads you to the sofa, guiding you to lay down beside him, and holds you. your head on his chest, his arms tight around you. warm. safe. the gentle rise and fall of his steady breaths bring you back to some semblance of calm. "just for a little while," he whispers, softly kissing your head. just for a little while.

la notte che è morta // copia x gn!reader

sfw. 880 words. grief/anxiety. not comfort heavy but a loving reader listening to copia share his feelings about that night in LA.

thanks to @gothdaddyissues and @wrathofrats for the dividers ♡︎

"It's funny, love. That night. The night she–" He doesn't finish the sentence, and you watch him as his eyes scan the distance as though he's searching for the words in the air. It's the evenings he struggles with most; you often find him here, sitting on one of the large concrete steps leading down through the gardens, on the particularly difficult ones. "I didn't want to take off my shoes."

"Your shoes?" you ask, tilting your head curiously and brushing a stray piece of thread from his hair. "Why your shoes, amore?"

Copia looks at you, and his face softens slightly. He studies yours for a second, touched and grounded by the affection with which you tend to him, until his eyes flicker away again.

"It was all such a blur," he starts, shaking his head as he recalls that night. "I don't even remember how I got to the hotel room. But I remember they kept trying to make me lay down, get undressed, go to bed. And it all felt so foolish."

Your eyes move to his furrowed brow, then down to his slightly open mouth. You watch the way he unconsciously runs his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth, how his jaw clenches slightly in the way it often does when he's uncomfortable; you resist the urge to bring your hand to it, to stroke his face and hold him close. You want to give him the space to keep talking when he starts to open up like this, as though any sudden movement will spook him like a skittish animal and he'll disappear again.

"All those little things. I thought, what is the point of it? I suppose part of me thought if I don't do this first, then they can't make me do that," he shakes his head. "I don't know, amore. It's silly."

"It isn't silly at all," you say earnestly, and Copia meets your gaze. "You were reacting in the moment to something none of us are equipped for."

He considers your words for a moment, takes a deep breath and gathers himself to continue.

"I just–It felt like all of those little steps were leading towards the end."

"The end of what?"

He sighs, running his hand through his greying hair and scratching the back of his head a few times. You can tell he's hesitating, still slightly self-conscious about what he's telling you.

"Of the day. Going to sleep was–I couldn't go to sleep because that would mean the day was over. It would mean that she was…" He stops himself. He can't say it. There's a pained determination on his face that breaks your heart, but you stay silent.

"And I know that… I knew that. I knew that she was–I watched it happen, amore, but–"

You can feel the anxiety in him rising. You see it in the way his leg is shaking next to yours, and this time, you can't help but put a grounding hand on his thigh, rubbing it softly and giving a gentle squeeze. Copia stills. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, the sadness in them looks set to overflow. But then he smiles, a small and weary smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He takes your hand from his leg and brings your knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently. Then he holds them there, softly brushing his lips against your skin.

"I knew she was dead," he says firmly, lowering your hand to his lap and holding it in both of his. "But there was a time during that day when she was still alive, amore, and I thought… If I let the day end now, there will never be–" he inhales sharply. "There will never be another day where she's alive."

The word comes out in a choked whisper, and Copia's head falls forward after saying it. Your eyes begin to sting with the threat of incoming tears, but you're brought out of it by the sound of him clearing his throat.

"There will never be another day where she's alive," he states, raising his head to look forward again. His voice is steadier this time, but he says it almost as though he's trying to get the message through his own head.

"Copia," you whisper, taking your hand from his and putting your arms around him. He instinctively wraps his around your waist, pulling you close and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You remember that night. That morning, really. You think of it more often than you would ever tell him. When you were awoken by a frantic call from Ashley. The way you had lost your temper as you begged her to put him on the phone. The feeling of the breeze on your skin as you stumbled out onto the balcony, desperate to reach the fresh air when the bedroom walls caved in. His smell on the robe you put on in a desperate attempt to have him close to you. The sound of his broken voice and the choked, heaving sobs when you finally heard from him.

The steady pattern of his breathing when he eventually fell asleep, somewhere over the ocean, still wearing his shoes.

inspired partly by personal experience and partly by the song 'lucky for you' by novo amor + gia margaret ♡︎

and i'm not what i thought i would be without you i'm not really sure why i slept in my shoes i'm nothing at all

“ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ” Cardinal Copia x Reader

Chapter 1: The First Day Of Light Was In Motion

The world has always been a dramatic mix of things. Good, bad, tolerable, and everything in between. Each day, there is suffering, yet there is also joy. There’s laughter and crying. And, there’s Jesus and Lucifer. Your unholy father, the being who had transformed your life and given it more meaning than you’d imagined possible. The abbey celebrated those, brought good and bad, and the roughest most brutally human parts of the world to light and celebrated it. They celebrated sin, they celebrated darkness, and they celebrated good too. Unlike the other typical churches of the world, they saw good in being human, and acting as such. They taught you to know that you need only draw power from yourself and that you need not beg any deity in order to complete your goals. That you can give yourself forgiveness. That as a human, a beautiful, flawed, human, you can thrive. You made your own kind of grace, much different from the one your unholy father had fallen from.

Speaking of a fall from grace, you stared at the gorgeous mix of glassy colors that depicted that exact thing. Lucifer, falling towards earth, away from the heavens above. The “glorious” light shone from the higher air as he plummeted like a beautiful burning comet towards the world which you and your siblings now thanked him for. The chapel was a safe place for you, you spent much time there, looking at the beautiful stained-glass windows. The collage of colors coming together was beautiful, you always were entranced by it, and you loved it. The abbey had become such a home to you, ever since you joined at a young age, you had flourished. Your past was now just a blur, obviously, you remembered it, but you knew you didn’t have to deal with that part of your life anymore. You were here, in the now. And you were very happy. You had made friends with the other Siblings of Sin, you were even sometimes friendly with the current Papa, Papa III.

You sat there for a while, drifting in your thoughts until a noise shook you out of them. It was the sound of a door opening, of quiet muttering, and footsteps coming down the aisle between the pews. You hadn't heard that voice before. It was new. You didn't recognize the footsteps either. You turned to see who the person was, and it was at that moment, a quiet wonder began to sprout in your mind. The person was a man you had never seen before. He was carrying a binder of papers, which was currently open as he hurriedly walked down the aisle towards the center of the room, the alter, the place where sermons were said by the higher-ups of the abbey. The man was dressed in a red cassock and a matching biretta was on his head, and he didn’t seem to notice you in the slighest. He sounded nervous, the way he was muttering, now approaching the alter. He seemed like he was reading from a scripture perhaps? Or maybe some kind of sermon? You watched as he now stood before the alter, placing the thick binder on it. His hands were twisting together nervously, leather gloves rubbing against each other. You noticed the face makeup and the chain on his front with the grucifix. 

Who is he?

You continued to watch as be flicked the binder until he reached a certain page, and he seemed satisfied with the one he landed on. His eyes scanned the page, as he murmured words under his breath. He had a nervous, awkward air around him. But that didn’t push away your interest-filled gaze. No, if anything it drew you in more. Along with the mystery of who he was. Suddenly, he cleared his throat. You snapped back out of your thoughts to look at him, thinking possibly he had noticed you. But he didn’t. He began to read. It was a sermon, one you had never heard before. You listened intently. You admired the way the light from the stain-glass fell on him from the windows, decorating him in a veil of color. You liked his voice. It was calm and clear and deep. Not like the nervous one you had heard not a minute ago. He continued on as you listened, interested by his words. He spoke of Lucifer, of sin, of how the church celebrates this, and why. You thought he described it quite well. After a few minutes, he seemed to be getting more into it. Stuttering from time to time, but that didn’t matter to you. You were curious. The air in the room was broken as the door to the chapel creaked open. Your head shot in the direction of the sound, annoyed that someone had interrupted your quiet moment, and your observation of this new man. 

“Sister!” called your friend, “Come quick!” 

Hearing the tone in your voice, you quickly rose from your seat and ran towards the door. As you went you noticed the man at the alter had stopped speaking, and was now stuttering something in confusion and surprise. You reached the door and your friend pulled you through. As you turned the corner you got a last glimpse of the man. You knew your place was among the unholy, but you were sure that holy was the only word that described how he looked in that light. Then, he was gone. You didn’t know why you felt this new interest for him, this new strange curiosity. He was interesting. But who was he? Your friend’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, you now were able to process that she had rushed you along and you were now standing in a long hallway, and you were alone. 

“Y/n? Are you ok?” she asked. “Oh! Guess what?”

This was Ava, short for Avarice. She had been raised in the ministry. Her mom came here as a attempt to find a home and a safe place to raise her child, and she had found it. Ava was born here, and had been here for all your time here. She had first showed you around, comforting you, teaching you about life here and the beliefs. She had always been here for you when you needed it, but why did she have to be there when you were so curious as to who that new guy was?? 

“What is it?” you asked her.

“There’s a new Cardinal! He arrived just around noon. People are saying he’s just about the most awkward person they’ve met. So, what do you think of him?” she rushed her words out, all excitedly. 

“I haven’t met him yet, I didn’t even know we were getting a new cardinal. Have you met him?” you replied, very confused. Wait. Unless, oh. 

“You were in there with him when I came to get you, weren’t you? You didn’t talk to him at all?” she asked you. “Really?” 

“He didn’t even notice I was there. I had no idea that’s who he was. Oh for satan’s sake, why is that the first impression I had to make?” you said, now worried about whatever he would think of you. He probably thought you were creepy, or weird, or something like that. You tried to shake it from your mind. 

It was only another cardinal. It can’t be that important, can it? 

What you didn’t know, was that now the Cardinal was confused. He never got a good look at you. And now it was his turn to wonder who this new person was. He felt embarrassed he hadn’t noticed you. But who were you?

A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for reading this first chapter! I might change how they meet, but this works for now. I hope you guys liked it! If you have any suggestions or requests for headcanons or anything like that, my inbox is always open! I hope you’re having a good day! Remember to drink water and get some food. Thank you! 

Hail Satan 𖤐

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒲𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 Papa Emeritus IV x reader

so i’ve had this idea for a while and finally was able to put it into words!

summary: our beloved papa has had a crush on his assistant for quite some time, except there was one issue, he didn’t know it yet. one day, you decide to go to one of his concerts with him. as he’s performing Mary On A Cross, he realizes he’d rather sing this song only to you. that he loves you.

enjoy!

⊱ ────── {⋅.𖤐 𐕣♱ ✯ ♱𐕣 𖤐.⋅} ────── ⊰

“No no, please, cara. You don’t need to do that.” he said, nervously brushing off what you’d just said.

“Papa- Copia, I insist. I’ve already bought the ticket, please, let me come support you. I want to see you, you’ll be amazing, pleasee?” you asked him, looking up at him with hopeful eyes as he turned to face you. In his eyes was a very different look. One of determination but also worry, hesitance.

The tour began today. It was starting that very evening. Copia had been very nervous. He wasn’t always this particularly nervous about performing but for some reason, this time was getting to him. You had racked your brain trying to think of reasons why it could be, but to your utter confusion, you could find no reason whatsoever. Maybe someone had made a rude comment and it got to his head? Maybe he was trying something new? Maybe he had bad memories from the venue? You didn’t know. You may not have understood the reason for his anxiety, but you wanted to support him. You cared for him- deeper than you should, you thought. And you wanted to be there for him. Luckily, this first night of the tour was close to the ministry. By working hard, (and a lot of convincing Sister Imperator), you were able to go! You had been able to scrounge up the money for tickets in the pit, right in front of the stage, where you could see Copia perfectly. You mentally sighed happily at the thought of getting to see him, up close, doing his thing, performing for all the people, being amazing. Though you were snapped out of your happy daydreams by Copia apparently repeating your name.

“Y/n?” he asked, waiting for a response.

“Yes sorry what did you say, Papa?” you asked him, embarrassed he had caught you in your daydream, and that he was needing to repeat himself.

“Please y/n, it’s Copia, I’ve known you far too long and know you far too closely to continue with such formalities.” he said with a smile muttering “Papa..” to himself, as if in disbelief you would be so formal.

“Then, Copia, what did you say?” you said, emphasizing the Copia. You gave him a playful smile as you waited momentarily for his response.

“I asked why you bought the ticket, mio caro.” He said, turning to scan over papers that would he waiting for him when he got back from the tour. And telling by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t exactly bursting with excitement. Since his eyes were busy running over the pages, they were too busy to notice the smile that had come onto your face from the name he called you.

You might as well come right out and say it, you were in love with Copia. Ever since his first days as Cardinal, you had loved him. It had only grown with time. Passing comments between you two had grown into long evenings discussing life, the beliefs of the church and Lucifer, and soon, his role as Papa. On occasion, Copia would invite you to his room and you two would play video games together. Other nights, you’d help him write his next sermon. You both learned so much from each other. You would trade books, discuss rituals. To anyone’s eyes, you two were a match made in heaven- wait no- would it be hell? A match made in hell? Oh well. One thing was for sure, to anyone who had eyes it was clear, you loved him deeply. And he loved you. (Even if he doesn’t know that yet-)

“There’s a million reasons. I want to support you, see you doing your thing, all of those kinds of things. I thought it was a wonderful idea.” you said, looking mildly sad. Did he not want you to go? Was he annoyed?

“Oh y/n, you know I’d love for you to be there.” Copia replied, sympathetically resting a hand on your arm. With his words and the feeling of his leather gloves on your skin, all your worried were relieved from your mind. You felt yourself warm up from his touch. He had always had this effect on you. Some days you wondered if it was really Lucifer you were worshipping or just him. You would’ve been happy either way.

“You would?” you asked, not wanting the happy moment to end. Mismatched eyes met yours, a content air falling around you two in the comfort of his office. It was moments like these when you hoped. You hoped that maybe someday, it would be more than light touches on the arm, more than the longing smiles you gave him, more than the desperate longing to be something more.

“Yes, yes, of course! Come now, do you really think I’d reject your presence carissima?” he responded. You suddenly became very aware of his hand still on your arm, even more aware of the small circles he was tracing into your skin with his thumb. Damn it. Why did he have to look at you like that? His smile was causing yours to grow. Like the sun to a budding plant, he lit you up. You had never been looked at like that. It was a smile of utter comfort and interest. Like he would hang on to your every word, like he was ready to give you every ounce of reassurance in the world.

He didn’t know why, but moments like these- moments with you, warmed his heart in a certain way. One he couldn’t put into words. What was this feeling for you? He wanted things to stay like this, for a long long time. He wanted his hand to stay there. What if he hugged you? No- he couldn’t- not now. You would think him weird.

“Well, it’s certainly nice to be appreciated.” you said softly, not able to look away. Ever drawn in by the mismatched eyes, you loved them. You loved him. In times like this, it felt like the entire world was left behind, it was all so far away. You didn’t care about your anxieties about tonight, you didn’t care about tomorrow’s work, or the day after that’s, or absolutely anything else, until the end of time. You were so entirely wrapped up in who he was, it was hard to see the rest of the world for all the pieces of him were everywhere you looked. He was there in the dark of night, a flickering candle, he was there when you would take your walks at night throughout the ministry. He was always there- in your mind, and your heart. Surely, you thought, this can’t just be only my feeling. He has to feel something, or know I feel something. It was ironic to you, sometimes. To the rest of the world, the person you held dearest would be considered entirely blasphemous, terrifying, doomed to spend a eternity in hell. To you, he was your greatest joy, your safe place, the person whom you loved with your entire mind, soul, body, and heart. You adored him with every ounce of life you had in you. You loved him with every ounce of life you had in you. And if the day came where that life was taken from you both, you would even follow him to hell. To you, true hell was an eternity without him. Not whatever is in the bible, or other ancient scriptures.

“You,” he paused, turning his head to look at his desk, but this time his eyes weren’t scanning over documents or papers or work of any kind. They looked like they were thinking of all the words in existence, trying only to find the right ones for this moment. “You are more than appreciated.”

What did that mean?

He was desperately searching his head for any explanation as to how he felt, what was this burning in his chest, this eternal longing?

Going ahead and speaking your thoughts you shot a question at him. “What do you mean?”

He only looked at you. The room was horribly silent, if only his voice would fill it with noise.

All at once, the door burst open and Sister Imperator practically flew in. Copia removed his hand quickly from your arm, and you two stepped apart as she scanned the room fiercely.

“Ah, there you two are! Wonderful, how do you both feel?” she asked, obviously nervously anticipating your responses.

“Good!” you said, a little anxious under her seemingly ever-watchful gaze.

“Oh, yes, yes good. We are good. Thank you, Sister. Uh, how are- how are you?” he asked, his awkward demeanor emerging dramatically. You couldn’t help but smile internally at this, you thought it was so cute. You also noticed he was much more calm when it was only you two. Did he really trust you that much?

“Perfect, well you both are to leave in an hour. And y/n, I expect you can get ready in that time?” she asked you.

You were surprised at the lack of warning before hand but since she was messing with her hands nervously, you suspected she had her own worries about tonight and decided it best not to argue. “Yes, Sister, sounds good.” you said in reply.

“Terrific, thank you child. Now, uh,” she stepped towards him, as if wanting to say something, possibly give him a hug? You didn’t know. But she stepped away before anything could happen. “Do well.” she said before hurrying out the door, muttering to herself about other duties and jobs she had to attend to, all while being wrapped up in this evening.

You turned back to your dear Papa, “So, we have an hour!”

“That we do.” he nodded, seemingly in thought.

“I’d better go get ready then! I’ll see you soon Pa- sorry, Copia.” you excitedly said with a smile, you turned quickly and left the room, just in time to hear a goodbye from Copia.

He watched as you left, and he was excited too! He wondered what you would wear, how you would look, what you would think. What song would be your favorite? Would it be appropriate to Cirice you? Just like you, many questions ran through his mind. Dancing around like falling leaves, swirling and mixing in a beautiful array of wonder.

You hurried through the halls, excitement burning deep within you along with the need for more air. Damn- habits can be hard to run in. You passed other hallways, leading further and further into the ministry. You passed elaborate paintings depicting Lucifer, worship of Him, Eve, Lilith, and more. Statues of these figures laid about the halls as well. With the ceilings high above you, rushed past many Siblings of Sin. Until finally, you reached your room. Practically throwing the door open, you stepped in. The outfit you had picked out for this evening lay all ready on your bed. You tossed off your habit, tearing off every garment of clothing you wore over your undergarments. Soon, your carefully planned outfit was no longer laying on the bed, but now your body. And you looked…good.

It fit your body just how you had wanted it to, it accentuated every little bit of your beauty. You were certainly not disappointed.

You only wondered what your beloved Copia would think..?

You hoped he would like it.

You were bursting in excitement as you finished with all the little details of your current look. Any makeup or accessories that had needed to have been added were added and you felt you were ready. You only worried lightly about tonight. You were worried about how your love for Copia would grow. There was no way you’d be able to see him up there, with those beautiful outfits adding to his powerful look, singing so wonderfully, without falling even more in love with him. Unholy fuck, you could practically picture it already. And your stomach was filled with a nervous excitement. Or very very aggressive butterflies. Rabid birds maybe. You didn’t know. You only knew you couldn’t wait. And that you hoped that maybe, just maybe, Copia might appreciate your outfit too.

You grabbed what other things you may need from wherever they were, took one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, and headed over to your door. Just as you were about to open it, you heart two short noises.

Knock, knock.

Who on earth would be at your door now? You desperately hoped that the universe wasn’t trying to keep you from going to this concert; cause by Satan, if you needed to go up against the universe to get to this concert, then the universe better be ready.

“Child? Sister Y/n, are you ready?” called a shrill voice.

Oh.

That’s who.

You opened the door to see an even more frazzled looking Sister Imperator. You silently thanked the universe for not getting in the way of your going to the concert.

“Ah, ok. Good. Now, follow me.” she said, nodding a few times before sharply turning on her heel and walking swiftly down the hallway.

You had no choice but to follow her.

You followed her through a couple hallways, expecting Copia to be joining you any moment. When he didn’t, you hurried and caught up to Sister Imperator.

“Sister? Where are we going?” you asked her.

“The car that will transport you to the venue of course, what else?” she asked you. She had stopped now and turned to look at you, a confused look on her face as if there was no other place in the world you could possibly be.

You took a second to process that. You thought you would’ve been meeting Copia.

“So, where is Papa?” you asked

Sister turned and continued walking, her sudden movement caused you to pause then hurry after her.

Damn this woman is fast.

As you followed her, her response rung out through the halls.

“He has already left for the venue. We decided to send him early. Sound checks and all, you must know.”

You couldn’t lie to yourself, you were a bit disappointed that you weren’t able to see him before he performed. But that was ok. There wasn’t anything you could really do about it now, was there?

Soon enough, you and Sister Imperator reached the entrance of the Church. You walked out the doors and into the bright air. It was not yet sunset, but it would be soon in a few hours. A black car awaited your exit out of the church. And in the drivers seat…was a Ghoul!

“Alright. Now then, you have everything?” asked Sister Imperator.

“Yes, thank you very much. I really appreciate this.” you smiled at her, thankful she had helped you achieve getting this opportunity.

“Of course. Well, you’d better be off now, shouldn’t you?” she nodded in return to your smile and you could’ve sworn you saw a small one playing at the edges of her mouth.

“Yes, I should. Have a good evening, Sister.” you replied and opened the door to the backseat of the car, where you assumed it was appropriate to sit since the Ghoul was driving, and it seemed more formal.

The car started and you watched it pull away from your dear Satanic Church. The dark walls which held secrets, had also come to hold your home, your heart. It had come to hold a place of love and beauty. You were allowed to be human there. Good, bad, and all.

You had also been allowed to love.

And oh, how that love burned in excitement as the church grew further and further away.

You swore you could still see Sister Imperator standing by the entrance.

You hummed quietly to the music playing over the radio as you watched the landscape pass by. You thought about the fact that Copia had seen this on his drive too. Oh how you loved him. You wondered what he had thought of the passing trees, the buildings, everything. You wondered if he thought about you. Of course, he had. But you had no way of knowing that yet. All you knew was that he made the world so much more beautiful. You had never understood how beautiful one person could make the world until you met him.

You couldn’t possibly know this, but at that moment, Copia was getting out of his car, thinking about you. Thinking about the fact you’d see all his singing and dancing and performing. It was one thing to come back from a tour and simply tell you about it, it was another to actually have you there. He couldn’t ignore the anticipation that rose in his stomach more and more.

After a few more passing minutes, you found yourself in a slowly stopping car.

You were here.

You could barely contain yourself.

You were surprised when the ghoul came around and opened your door for you. You stepped out, giving the ghoul a warm smile.

“Thank you very much,” you said to him. He nodded, in what seemed like a grateful way and held out his hand. You looked at it, for just a moment. You then put yours in the ghoul’s and the ghoul shook it. It was a small gesture, a polite one. But you felt it meant more than that.

You had always been kind to the ghouls, a sort of friendship had formed between you and them. You were always very polite and treated them as individual equals. Not simply the protectors of Papa or simply things that performed by his side, not as something below others in the ministry or the siblings, but as those who did very hard work, and deserved the right to be treated with compassion. Through your kindness, they had given you respect in return.

Once your hands were separated, and you had made your goodbyes, you walked towards the venue. Unsurprisingly, you were the first one there, other than the workers.

A few of them made small-talk with you, and for a bit you waited around doing typical waiting things. After a bit, other people started to show up. You admired all their outfits, the merch if they had any.

It was the best wait you had ever experienced. And you knew every second would be worth it.

All of this was wonderful and all, until an opening of a gate caught the attention of many. It was a ghoul and a worker of the venue. The ghoul stayed behind the gate as not to get trampled, though getting flooded audibly by the cheers of the thrilled fans. But the worker stepped out through the gates, and headed towards you.

“Are you y/n?” he asked you, seemingly in a rush.

“Yes. Why?” you replied, very confused as to what was going on.

“Alright, please come with me. You’re needed backstage.” he said, and turned. But not before motioning for you to follow him.

You showed the other workers your ticket as you entered, they looked confused too, but they let you pass.

Once you were through the gates, you were led into a building. As you walked through it you saw many other workers, along with a ghoul here and there.

“Where are we going?” you asked the worker who was leading you.

“A dressing room, you will see. He told me you were needed, insisted, actually.” the worker replied to you, not slowing their pace at all.

After a minute, you got to a long row of doors, the ghoul that had accompanied you waved to you, opened one of the doors, then disappeared inside. Eventually you came to a door near the end of the hallway.

“Right in there! Thank you for coming, I’m sure this all seems very strange.” the worker said.

“It’s ok, thank you for coming to get me and bringing me here.” you replied.

The worker gave you a smile and a nod, then turned and walked down the hallway, off to throw themself into some other pre-show chaos.

After watching him leave, you turned back to the door. You took a breath in, and opened it.

Inside were multiple mirrors, a couch, mini fridge, and very, very, bright lights. In the center of it all, was Copia. Beloved, amazing, Copia. You quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind you, that seemed to startle the man out of his thoughts and turn back towards you. You watched as his gaze fixed on you. You couldn’t miss how his eyes widened. Was it wonder, amazement? Unbeknownst to you, yes. Yes it was. It was pure wonder and amazement. And later as Copia would find out, love.

“Ah, cara mia. There you are.” his tone was calm, but his eyes were still wide, he moved towards you, quite quickly.

“Is everything ok?” you asked. You couldn’t hide how your eyes had widened too, he looked incredible.

“Yes, yes, all very good. I was just eh, worrying, and uh, wanted to see how you were doing.” he said, looking at you with such happiness.

“I’m doing quite well, thank you! You look amazing, you’re going to be amazing.” he smiled as you said this

“I can already hear the cheering fans!” you joked and you both chuckled.

“Ah, well, thank you. I appreciate that.” he said. “I should uh,” he motioned to his makeup, which he was just finishing putting on.

“Oh! Mhm, do you need help?” you asked him.

“Sure, uh, ok, so..” As you both worked, his makeup was finished, leaving you two to laugh and talk, and have precious time together. Though, eventually, it was almost time where you would need to leave and take your place in the crowd.

“There was…another thing, I wanted to uh, talk with you about. Before we you know, go on.” he said

“Hm? What is it?” you asked

“Just, nerves, you know?” He asked. And yes, you did know.

“Hey, you’ll be amazing. You always are. There’s not a day that passes where I don’t think that. You’ve done this many times, and everyone always loves it. You’ve got this! You’re gonna take their breath away, Copia.”

And you were right. He would take their breath away. Sadly after you said that, a worker notified you that they would start letting people in the gates in about five minutes. And you had to take your leave.

Within minutes you were in your place in the pit. Right in front of the stage, in the center, right up front.

Soon, everyone else were in their places too.

Next, the opening band started.

After that, the opening band finished.

And then, it was time.

You swear, when you first saw him come out on stage, time was frozen. He looked more amazing than you’d ever seen him. He radiated confidence. Cheers roared louder than you’d ever heard. He was a fire, he was the sun. He was illuminating everything, it felt like.

And of course, he saw you.

Many times, he looked your way, danced and sang in front of you. You loved all of his costumes, his jokes, all of it.

Then the time came for Cirice to play.

Wanna guess what he did?

Ciriced you.

The night went on in a beautiful blur of love and ritual.

Soon, Mary On A Cross began to play.

By the time the first chorus came, you felt you could melt. He was looking at you. He was smiling at you.

In his mind, he was thinking about you. He thought how you’d spent the night dancing and singing, he thought about the way you two were together, how you were to him. And eventually, came in to that burning happiness in his chest.

Soon, the slower part of the song came.

“You go down just like Holy Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a Cross, not just another bloody Mary, Mary on a, Mary on a..”

And with the next few lines, he would realize that maybe it wasn’t only Lucifer he worshipped, but you as well. He loved you. He loved you. Satan in hell, he loved you. He was in love.

You were what had been keeping him going, you were so so beautiful in every way. You brought him to life, you were what he sang every song to. You were his muse.

“You’re beauty never ever scared me,”

With that, he made eye contact with you. There were so many people around the two of you but for those moments, it felt like only the two of you. You two were meant to be. He was yours, you were his.

Your beauty had never scared him.

It had been you, all along.

He loved you.

He loved you, he worshipped you, you were the flame burning deep within him.

As the song came to an end, he kneeled down at the edge of the stage, right before you. Your hand joined his, as he held his out to you. He kneeled down close, close enough so only you could hear.

“I love you,” he whispered to you.

⊱ ────── {⋅.𖤐 𐕣♱ ✯ ♱𐕣 𖤐.⋅} ────── ⊰

a/n : i hope you all like this! i might do a different ending to this. but anyways, i hope you like this. remember to take care of yourselves!!

𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 - 𝒚𝒖𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

pairings: copia x reader

summary: its yule! one of the biggest celebrations in the ministry. drinking, dancing, worshiping the unholy father. but of course, something else seems to be on your mind…a certain papa. maybe he has you on his mind too?

rating: mildly spicy, VERY MILDLY, otherwise pure fluff and comfort

author note: ITALIAN TRANSLATIONS ARE AT THE BOTTOM BTW!!

Snow fell around the ministry, and the world was dark. It was as if the rooms inside the ministry had taken all the light from the world and stored it inside it’s deep unholy walls, filled with sin and the children of the dark.

But tonight? Tonight was a night of celebration. The world outside was a void, only filled with the noise of music and laughter from inside. Snow fell around the trees, covering it in a blanket of white and quiet. Lights from the stain glass windows left a kaleidoscope of colors upon the frosted and snowy earth. Footprints from the Siblings and those who traveled for the celebration marked and trampled some of the newly-fallen snow. In summary, the world outside was currently a wasteland of cold barren trees, but inside was a world of joy.

It was Yule.

A night where many came together, where Siblings danced and thrived under the eyes of the Dark One. A night of blissful sin and devotion, of love. And of celebrating the earth, the returning of the light and the cycle of the land.

Currently for you though, it had begun as a night of distress. You had paced around your room, searching for some kind of clothing to where. It was…irritating. For a night that’s meant to be so full of happiness, it seemed to bring much misfortune to your wardrobe. Eventually, you were able to put your complaining to a ceasing as your eyes laid upon a perfect thing to wear. Something you had purchased a long while back, that had slipped your mind and your field of vision by disappearing into the back of your closet. You thought it was very fitting for the theme of tonight and for the general spirit of things. And you looked..well let’s just say you were very satisfied with how it made you look. You had completed every other aspect of your look for the night, and decided to head on down to join the merriment.

You opened the door of the room that was your haven, and stepped out into the hallway of the ministry. A wall of what you could only describe as Yule hit you. Noise flooded your ears, filling them with the sounds of dancing, laughter, talking. Of course some shrieks of joy, singing, and running was mixed in. You inhaled and you felt the warm air which was filled of the smells of food and incense. And then of course, your eyes took in the rest. Decorations had been sprinkled all over the walls and you were sure that the center of all the festivities was absolutely drenched in them. You smiled to yourself as you began to watch, appreciating how festive they managed to make things look while still maintaining a dark-ish look, a gesture to the general beliefs in the Abbey.

As you walked through the halls, you saw strings of tinsel covering paintings, a ornament hanging off of one of the fingers of a statue of Lilith, and a upside-down star on top of a tree covered in dark red lights. As you came closer and closer to the giant room that held the main party, you were able to identify it as Frankincense. Candles flickered on the walls as you walked through the hallways, making things dimly light but still bringing you comfort. And it wasn’t too dark, as you could still see Siblings running in each and every direction as they prepared for the ongoing celebration. You were happy you were finally able to settle and go revel in the spirit of things. Well, not really settle, knowing the rowdiness of everyone from the Ghouls to even the Clergy on holidays.

As you were thinking, you had lost track of the time, and were surprised to see that you were already in the great big room that held so much excitement. The rest of the building had simply passed before your eyes before you could realize it.

Songs played on a speaker, and Siblings danced wildly. Though some danced slowly and rather…sensually. You chuckled to yourself as you walked over to a group of Siblings you’d grown fond of. Your eyes scanned over the crowd of members of the Abbey, and some of the Clergy. You watched, amused, as Dew chased Swiss by the food table. You wondered why but decided to stay out of it, though you were always entertained by their rambunctious behavior. Phantom seemed to be sneaking around with a few of the Ghoulettes, while other Ghoulettes were dancing. You saw Sister Imperator standing by the long table in the front, meant for the higher members of the clergy. Such as herself, the Cardinals, and of course…Papa. She seemed to look over the room as well, and you followed her gaze. A few small fires (all safe and meant purely for decoration) were scattered through the room, like little fire-pits. You hoped none of them had been started by Ghouls. Dark red ribbons flowed upon the walls, some green and black joining them. Other dark and gothic- and somehow Yuletide- decorations joined them. The entire room looked perfect. You looked back to Sister Imperator and watched as she turned to another member of the clergy, looking frazzled and concerned. You walked a little closer to her table, pretending to be watching what was now a wrestle between Dew and Swiss, and heard her say something along the lines of “Papa” and “where-?”

Ah. So that’s what it was. Papa. You couldn’t blame him for being late, all with Sister’s impossibly demanding schedule. You were friends with Papa. With Copia. You wished the two of you could talk more, but with the extremity of Sister’s demands, there wasn’t much time. So, you found a way. The first time you truly met was in a walk around the Abbey. Well, outside the abbey. You had been walking around with a book, the whether had been chilly and you were ready to head inside and take shelter deep within the comfort of the library. But the sudden warmth you had felt was not from the solace of inside the Ministry, but instead, Papa himself. You had talked to Copia a few times before he became Papa. You’d helped him when he’d dropped his books once, when you’d found one of his lost rats, when you’d randomly asked him how he was once or twice. He’d always been so sweet, so endearingly awkward. But when he bumped into you outside that one day, it felt as if for the first time, he truly saw you. His nose had been in a book as well, and that’s how the accident had come to happen.

“Le mie scuse, sorella! Stai bene?- Uh- Are you alright?” he had said, his face scrunched up in concern as he picked up his book, and yours as well.

“Yes Papa, thank you, I’m so sorry for the accident. Are you ok?” you asked quickly, unsure whether to smile or put on a face of worry.

“Sì, sì, grazie! No need to apologize, I’m- um, molto bene. All okie dokie.” he said, and you couldn’t help but smile at that. It was amusing that the Papa of the entire Dark Church, the leader of all the followers of the Dark One, used the saying “okie dokie”. You couldn’t help but quickly be enamored with his more than awkward charm.

You two had discovered you were both about to head to the library, and decided to accompany each other. You two had smiled as you entered the library, and he had quickly needed to disappear into a separate realm of literature and unholy works, while you had found a nice cozy corner. Since then, you two had found each other often in the library. Sooner than later, you two had begun to sit with each other. Not always talking, but sometimes just sitting them and enjoying each other’s presence. While you had spent time reading, lost in your own worlds, you quickly discovered that less of that time in your mind was lost in the worlds of the books, but more-so lost in your thoughts of him. How his mismatched eyes flitted over words, taking in all types of languages and symbols you couldn’t dream of knowing how to understand, how sometimes he sighed and tapped one of his fingers against the wooden table you two frequented when he was frustrated with some part of the scripture he was reading. How soft his gaze could be, and other times how hard. You took time remembering how when he was a cardinal, how the swish of his cassocks sounded in the hallways. Before you knew it, you were enraptured with him. With how he was as a whole, and in all the little moments when you could see all the different fragments of who he was.

Once, as you two had been sitting at your shared table, as you were looking over the words on the book that had barely held you attention until then, you wondered what he would think of what you read. You thought about all the different pieces of literature you had read in the past while you two had been doing this, and realized a number of little parts that instantly brought him to mind.

The next day, you hadn’t gone to the library at your shared usual time. But instead, you had given a book to the librarian (who had been watching the two of you and decided you were bound to fall in love) and had asked the librarian to give the book to Copia when he came in. She happily agreed and thanked you for coming in so often, and you were on your way.

He had come in, and had been confused as to where you were. He had been handed the book by the librarian, who gave him a smile. And suddenly a tradition was made. You two left books for each other all the time. Genres varied, and notes were left between the pages. You had come to know each other quite well, but you only wished it could be closer. Not just physically, but you longed for him. His presence. All those things you admired while he was reading and so so much more.

As you realized you’d been staring at Sister Imperator while thinking about Copia, you shook yourself out of your thoughts and went to get a drink. You wondered where he was. There were few windows in the huge room that weren’t decorated with stained glass, but through the few clear ones, you could see a heavy snow. It gave you a strange feeling, snow. A feeling of significance. Like loneliness mixed with an intimate comfort. You only wished that a certain Papa was here to share the feeling with you, here in the candlelight room full of both darkness and pure warmth. He always knew how to make you feel better, how to make you feel like suddenly the only people in the world who truly mattered in the moment was you two. He made you feel like your entire existence was burning with passion.

Suddenly, something caught your eye. It was moving in a part of the dark hallway outside the great big room. Seemingly hiding. You got curious and though you hoped you wouldn’t miss Copia’s grand entrance, though you doubted he was the type to really make one. You started moving towards the shape, pausing to survey the room one last time, as if Copia could suddenly pop out of the shadows- not that it would be uncharacteristic for his role in the Ministry. But as you settled upon the conclusion that he was simply not there yet, you decided to head to odd shape in the hallway. Your senses felt stripped of the delight of the party as you stepped back out into the dimly halls which felt as if you’d just been in them, even though by now, it had been a while since you’d been in them. You peered into the darkness ahead of you, not being able to tell if there were any shadows if it was simply the movement of light from the candles which lined the walls. However, as you grew closer you could see that there was in fact a shadow, and it was moving. It wavered for a moment, and you tried walking slower, so whoever it was wouldn’t be able to hear your footsteps and flee the privacy of the hallway. Though the shadow started moving away and you sped up, so did the shadow and it disappeared from sight. At last, you rounded the corner with one last burst of speed and saw..

…Copia?

Yep, it wasn’t just a trick of the eyes. Your unholy Papa was right there in front of you, standing in the hallway, hiding from the annual Yule party.

“Papa?” you called out, and he froze. His back was to you, and he was tense. Though, a second after you said it, he seemed to relax a little bit, as if hesitant to fully let himself relax. But as he turned around and saw you, his entire posture seemed to melt. His eyes softened and suddenly he looked so calm and natural in the candlelight. It flickered prettily across his face, illuminating his eyes so mesmerizingly, and shining off parts of his outfit. He looked like the flame of a candle himself, he had a quiet air of excitement and gracefulness. A slight smile took over his face as you two stood facing each other in the hallway. It had been a while since you’d had a rendezvous in the library or an exchange of a book, with all the holiday preparations and ceremonies.

“Sorella,” he said “You…sono ipnotizzato.”

You didn’t know what that meant, of course, so you simply smiled. “Yes, hello, Copia.”

He took a few steps towards you, but waited. So you took some.

“Mi dispiace, ero...I was hiding from the party. Not uh, not the most noble thing, eh?” he said,

“It’s quite understandable really,” you replied, and he gave a breath, a kind of sigh, and a emotion not unlike relief spread across his face.

“È così? Well, yes, I suppose so, sorella. What are you doing? Out here, I mean.” he replied, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way his Italian accent weaved throughout his words, and how Italian words spilled through more often than not. You found it enchanting. He was enchanting.

“In a way, I was looking for you. I mean, I was wondering where you were, and then I saw a shadow down this hall and decided to go figure out what was going on and here we are really!” you responded cheerfully. You couldn’t ignore the way it felt like your senses were on fire right now, it felt like every breath couldn’t come fast enough and it took all of your might not to practically implode with glee.

“That does make sense. Sì, vedo.” he said and you saw his eyes drift back down the hallway which was behind you, leading into the room of the party. You turned and looked back at it too. It looked so much more inviting now that your beloved Copia was here. Suddenly you had an idea. You took his hand, and decided to put all your doubts aside for a moment.

“Come with me. Back to the party, I mean. We can go together, it’ll be nicer to have you there, and we can hide from Sister Imperator together. And…it would be nice to spend some time with you. I’ve missed you. Plus I’m sure I’d make much better company than Sister Imperator would make if you were to go in there and get swept away by her.” you suggested, with a chuckle at the thought of Sister Imperator and all her flustered pestering.

“Well,” Copia said, and was lost in thought for a moment as he looked at you, then back at the party, then back down the hallway he was heading originally. “Ok, sorella. I would..er, well, yes I would like to go. With you.”

With those words, you lit up inside, a thrill going through you. Apparently, you lit up externally as well, as suddenly you felt a large smile on your face, and Copia chuckled, sharing the smile. You had let go of his hand, but you held it out again, ready to ask another question.

“Well then, Papa! Or, Copia, shall we?” and you let you hand hang out in front of you. He looked at it for a moment, and slowly, but a hand covered in a leather glove, into yours.

“Yes, sorella.” he said, looking from where your hands joined, up to your eyes. Your face lit up again, and you turned back towards the greatly lit room at the end of the hallway. With your hand in his, you begun walking towards it.

“Per te, gentile sorella. Sempre e solo per te.” he said, following you. His eyes reflected candlelight as you led him through the hallway. You only heard a little bit of his Italian words, and you didn’t understand them, but you didn’t recognize their significance. What you were focused on at the moment was the feeling of his hand in yours and the thought that you might get to spend the rest of this wonderful evening with him.

After a moment of reveling in the delight your senses took in being around him, you two were finally in the midst of the Yule celebration. Now that Copia was here, it felt as though your eyes allowed you to take in more, to experience more. You smiled as you looked over the room, trying to find a place where you and Copia could relax, away from the prying eyes of Sister Imperator. Yet your eyes stopped when they reached an ice statue you hadn’t noticed before. It was…a rat? You turned to Copia, your eyebrows raised and a smirk forming on your face. Copia looked at your face and it’s meaning registered in his mind, so he followed your gaze and a wave of realization washed over him when he understood.

“Ah! Si, the ice rat! A uh, nice touch, si? My idea, of course.” he said, and his childlike excitement sent a wave of comforting warmth through you. Oh Copia, dear sweet Copia.

You decided to lead him to the dance floor, where people were still dancing in all types of ways and styles.

You held out your hand to Copia again but he shook his head.

“No, sorella, I couldn’t. Non lo so..I don’t know how.” he quickly stated.

“That’s ok! Follow my lead!” you said, and before he could reply, you pulled him in. Into your arms, and into the mob of dancers. You couldn’t see it, but he both looked at you with immense focus, as he was trying to concentrate on what on earth to do. Yet the look of concentration wasn’t alone, it was accompanied by a look of awe. He thought you looked so beautiful.. if only you could know.

You two whirled along. You knew some people were watching, as you were dancing with Papa for Lucifer’s sake. You knew that on other nights, the feeling of all their eyes would’ve made you uncomfortable. But this time, you could barely recognize the fact that they were even on you in the first place. You were more focused on the unholy man you were absolutely enamored with. You smiled as he slowly began to get the hang of the dance. Within an instant, your feeling of happiness was overpowered by the feeling of pure thrill that was caused by the feeling of his fingers tightening comfortably against your waist, and his gloved hand meeting yours as the music carried on. He gazed at you with a look that captivated you. A smile, an intense one, but it wasn’t a smirk. You hoped for a moment, you prayed to the Fallen One, that maybe, just maybe, it was love. Out of nervousness, you began to talk.

“You know, I would’ve thought you’d have loved tonight! I was surprised when I saw you in that hallway!” you said, trying to speak louder than the music. After you said your thoughts though, you began to understand and realize more of why he might’ve preferred the quiet. You wouldn’t have minded the quiet either. As long as it was with him.

“Oh! Huh, ehehe, why do you think that, sorella?” He says, chuckling at the way the world is spinning around you two, at the joy of the moment.

“Well, because all of the partying!” you say, but quickly you realize how mistaken that statement is, and how you meant something so different.

“Huh? Cosa intendi?” he asked, very very confused, hoping you didn’t misunderstand his personality, his flirting as something different. Though he realized- to his dismay- you had not realized his flirting. It was funny though, because he had not realized yours.

“I’m sorry, that came out very wrong. I just meant that it seems like the kind of holiday celebration you’d appreciate. The closeness, the gift giving, the pretty dark decorations, snow. Oh! And the worship.” you all say, and he loves watching you talk. You watch his face as you say the words too, trying to soak up every single detail of how he processes your words.

“Oh..si, the worship, eh?” He says, quite awkwardly. Worship. Devotion. Giving your all, wishing for the all of another thing. What he felt for you.

You gave him a confused look, “Yes Pa- Copia. Worship.”

“Cara mia, the only thing I’m worshipping tonight is you.”

Your eyes grew wide with that statement, huge. You took in the man in front of you, and you felt your heart soar- did you hear him right? The music was so loud, you couldn’t tell. But the way he was looking at you, dear Satanas. You’d give yourself up at the alter if it meant feeling his soul collide with yours. A loud noise startled you, and the music shut off. The culprit of this interruption? Ah. Of course. Sister Imperator. She stood behind the very long table in the middle of it, facing everyone. She was the face of independence and organization. Oh no, she had a microphone. You felt Copia’s body way lightly next to yours and you realized your hands were still intertwined from the dancing. The thought that the two of you were still touching was seared into your mind. It burned your very existence. Should you pull away? You felt one of your fingers twitch and cursed yourself mentally. He looked over at you and you saw his eyes were also wide. Sister Imperator lifted the microphone to her mouth and the entire room held it’s breath.

“Siblings, Ghouls, Clergy, and others! Welcome to our annual Yule festivities! We thank each and every one of you for attending and giving devotion to the Dark One with us..”

Sister Imperator’s speech went on, but Copia was too focused on you to truly listen to it. Did you hear what he had said about worshipping you? Wait..no. His face burned red as he realized you might’ve taken it in a..different way. A sexual way. That you might’ve thought he wanted you that way. Did he want you that way? Well he knew the answer to that, but did you know the answer to that? Oh Lucifer. He cursed himself for how clumsy he was with his words. He felt himself grow warmer as he thought of how you might think of him now. But he hadn’t meant it in a sexual way. Well, he could mean it that way. If you wanted to- but still it was very early for that- but. All of his thoughts were a mess and jumbled together. He just meant he wanted to appreciate all of you. Give you his all, his devotion, his love. And maybe, have you return that? Though the more he thought about it, the more he realized how unlikely it was. And the sinking feeling he had begun to feel grew more until it took over his every emotion. He reluctantly let go of your hand, and you looked over at him, with a sad face. Wait, a sad face. He was so confused, highs and lows surrounded every thought in his head.

After a minute of blocking out Sister Imperator’s speech, and thinking, he decided that this was Yule, the celebration of the returning of the light, and of the Dark One. That he must have hope.

Little did he know, you were thinking the exact same thing.

You two longed for each other. Must unbeknownst to you both. And soon enough, you both had tuned back in to the speech, as you both processed it was nearing it’s end.

“May this holiday of Yule bring you many joys and connections with our Unholy Father! Nema. Let the festivities continue!” Sister Imperator said. Just as she lowered the microphone from her mouth, and was scanning across the room, her hawk-like eyes finally landed on you two.

“You.” you both saw her mouth from across the room, and your eyes grew wide. You turned to Copia and saw as his eyes widened as well, and he tensed immediately. Suddenly his eyes began to move and you looked back over, to follow them. Sister Imperator had begun to move across the room, and was heading towards you two. And she certainly did NOT look like a ray of sunshine at the moment.

You grabbed Copia’s arm and tugged on his sleeve.

“Copia, go, go!” you said, and begun to pull him along with you. You both raced out of the room, your hearts beating heart, and people parting to watch you two. You entered the hallway and heard Sister Imperator yell something behind you two, but all you could do was laugh. And laugh hard. Suddenly Copia began too. And you kept running, hearing the clacking of her heels on the stone floor a ways behind you two. In all the excitement, you hadn’t noticed that Copia had moved from your grip, and put his gloved hand in yours. You raced through the hallway, making it echo with laughter and your footsteps, running past random Siblings, the occasional pair of people who had abandoned the party to make out in the hallway, you both ran past statues and paintings, through more hallways and past many doors. Before you knew it the sound of Sister Imperator following you two had faded away but either you didn’t notice or you didn’t care. Copia didn’t seem to acknowledge either of those, he was laughing too. Suddenly, you two came to a pair of huge doors. You both slammed into one, and it opened.

A wave of cold hit you, along with a large amount of beautiful snowflakes. You stumbled into the snowy outside world, still laughing. And Copia stumbled with you, always willing to follow. You gazed around as you laughed, then suddenly turned to Copia.

“Come on!” you said, and began to pull Copia along again. He followed and you both raced in the snow, almost tripping, but feeling too free and happy to care. You stopped when you both reached a calm area. The sounds of the party were barely audible. You were by a small cemetery that was on the grounds, surrounded by trees. But you were still close to the Abbey, it was all so connected. You slowed and caught your breath. You looked over at Copia, who to your surprise, was looking at you. He looked happy and free, more carefree than you’d ever seen him. He looked hopeful, and at the same time- hungry.

Much to your surprise, he began moving towards you, the snow falling around you both made it seem all the more important and beautiful. He reached you, and for a split second, it seemed as if your souls really were colliding. Not on the alter as you’d imagined earlier, but here. In the cold snow, in a world of your own with him.

His lips quickly connected with yours as he decided to collide with you in a different way. He wanted you, in any way you would give yourself, he would take any and all of you. His hands came up to your face, as if to cradle it, cherishing every single mark on your skin, admiring how every snowflake looked upon you. He seemed to worship you. As he’d said. You felt worshipped.

This was what he had meant. He moved his lips against yours and he reveled in the way that your body was against him, making him feel warm despite the frozen world around you two. Like you had thought earlier, right now, you were surrounded by a world full of darkness and at the same time, the most comforting warmth. With his arms around you, and a unspoken promise of worship, you felt that feeling the snow had given you before. A feeling of loneliness and significance, an intimate comfort. But this time it wasn’t loneliness, it was love. It was the feeling of having the world all to yourself, with the one person that truly mattered.

So the snow fell around you two, as the world seemed to excuse itself from your minds for a while. Leaving you two to bask in the cold air of winter, on the night of Yule, and simply, wonderfully, and wholly, worship each other.

Authors note: hello! i hope you guys enjoyed this! i plan on making more copia fics very soon! take care of yourself!!

i’d like to give credit to: @gggoldfinch for all their hard work and their amazing fic: Cemetary Gates!! Some themes in this were greatly inspired by their work, and their fic is by far the best Copia x reader I have ever read!

the grucifix artwork is done by the one and only: @gothdaddyissues

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Italian Translations:

Le mie scuse, sorella! Stai bene? - My apologies, sister! Are you ok?

Sì, sì, grazie - Yes, yes, thank you

Molto bene - Very good

Sorella - Sister

Sono ipnotizzato - I’m hypnotized

Mi dispiace, ero - I’m sorry, I was…

È così? - Is that so?

Si, vedo - Yes, I see.

Per te, gentile sorella. Sempre e solo per te. - For you, kind sister. Always and only for you.

Non io so… - I don’t know…

Cosa intendi? - What do you mean?

Cara mia - my dear

imagine the reader is in charge of the floral arrangements for a ritual of some sorts and is working on a big piece and slices their palm open from a missed thorn on a rose (this happened at work today and im dead 😭). What would Copia do when he finds them frantic trying to figure out what to do.

𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘢 𝘹 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵! 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 hc

pairings: copia x reader

warnings: blood, a cut, descriptions of a cut so maybe some gore

authors note: i don’t really know much about floral work but i thought id try!! i’m so sorry for this being so late, i forgot i had it in my inbox! anyways, enjoy!!

ITALIAN TRANSLATIONS AT THE BOTTOM!!

• so as soon as he walks into the room, he’s amazed by your work, he thinks it looks beautiful

• “sorella, this is…bellissima.. sembra mozzafiato”

• he’s looking around so excitedly, then he notices you.

• his eyes widen and his jaw hangs open slightly as he looks over the scene.

• blood is streaming down your forearm, coming from your palm. your other hand is shaking and hanging in the air beside your palm- as if not knowing whether to clutch your wound or to keep your distance. your eyes are very wide and your legs shake slightly, but it’s nothing in comparison to how your body is shaking and your chest is heaving.

• “copia, please..a thorn- what do i do?? it hurts and there’s so much blood, i don’t know what to do, why can’t it just stop??” you say, taking huge breaths in between your words

• copia pauses a moment then grabs a napkin from one of the table displays and rushes over to you.

• “it’s ok, amore, i’m here. be calm, take deep breaths.”

• he presses the napkin tightly against your palm and you wince in pain but you’re drawn closer to him, with his arms around you and him whispering “shhh”

• “Starai bene, bellissima. Stai calmo.” he whispers, his mouth pressed against your head.

• “eh- here, move your arm above your heart, it’ll um- slow the bleeding. it’ll be ok, cara mia.”

• you still are breathing heavily, though the bleeding is calming now, but now you feel bad. some blood has gotten through the napkin and now i’m copia’s skin. he doesn’t care, but you on the other hand feel awful.

• “i’m so sorry copia- i’m sorry. i was making an arrangement for the coming ritual and i guess i missed a thorn, so when i was putting the finishing touches on- it cut my palm. i’m so sorry, ill probably have to redo it!”

• copia pulled away from you, holding your shoulders and looking you in the eyes. for a moment, he didn’t say anything, but he had a sympathetic look in his eyes.

• “Ecco, ecco, tesoro. It still looks mozzafiato, er, beautiful. You did so good, I’m proud of you, sorella. May I see the cut, amore?”

• you peel back the napkin and show him. you can see the wince that flashes across his face as he takes in the damage. but he quickly puts on a soft smile and wraps an arm around your waist.

• “Shall we go get that cleaned up, sorella? I’d be happy to accompany you. I won’t leave your side, carissima.”

• you nod your head as he tenderly takes your wounded arm, keeping it raised above your heart, and keeping a hand on your waist so you stay calm. you two slowly begin to walk.

• “Bene, buon lavoro. Look at you, doing- erm- doing so well, as they say, eh?”

•Once you’ve gotten all cleaned up, you made it back to his room. He places you on his bed and gingerly caresses the skin around the bandage while sitting across from you.

• “Do you feel better, sorella?” he asks, and you can tell he’s truly worried.

• “Yes Papa. Copia. My dearest.” you reply, settling on the pet name since you couldn’t decide between Papa and Copia.

• “Bene.”

• He kisses your tear-stained face and pulls you in close, being careful not to hurt your hand. He kisses your cheeks, then your forehead, and lays you back to rest on his pillow. With a single gloved finger he traces the lines of your face, the outline of your nose, your eyes, your lips. Letting his finger glide gracefully and gently over the skin, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

• The rest of the night was (as you may have expected) filled with loving and pampering.

• Before you knew it, both your hand, and your spirits felt way better.

• And hey, at the ritual you’d been doing the floral arrangement for, they turned out being a hit.

• Luckily no one noticed some of the red on one of the roses wasn’t just from it’s natural color-

authors note: hello!! sorry again that it took so long to make this, i hope you enjoy!! as always, requests are open!!

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Italian Translations:

Sorella - Sister

Bellissima - Beautiful

Sembra mozzafiato - It looks breathtaking

Amore - Love

Starai bene, bellissima. Stai calmo. - You’ll be ok, beautiful. Stay calm.

Cara mia - my darling

Ecco, ecco, tesoro. - There, there, darling.

Mozzafiato - breathtaking

Carissima - dearest

Bene, buon lavoro. - Good, good job.

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

⊱ ────── {⋅.𖤐 𐕣♱ ✯ ♱𐕣 𖤐.⋅} ────── ⊰

FOR GHOST:

Cardinal Copia-

“Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me” - Cardinal Copia x reader: Chapter I

Papa Emeritus IV-

“Nothing Wrong With That” - Papa Emeritus IV x reader

“Come Together - Yule Celebration” Papa Emeritus IV x reader

Copia x hurt florist! reader (headcanons)

Mountain-

Mountain x chronically fatigued! reader (headcanons)

Aether-

Aether x adhd! reader (headcanons)

FOR HANNIBAL:

Hannibal-

cervi e consumo (hannibal x reader): chapter 1, chapter 2,

𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏/𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕!

link to my masterlist: here!

𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆!

hello! i’m pin!

i desperately need a nickname for on here- so if anyone has any thoughts, they’d be appreciated!

pronouns: any!

im a scorpio and an entp

please comment or message me to be added to a taglist for a certain fic or any work of mine!!

taglist currently:

taglist for my hannibal fic: @lokittyy @lazygrungekid

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𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈!

fandoms: hannibal, ghost

ghost: i’ll write for any ghost characters, including the papa’s, ghouls, and others.

i’ll write smut, i’ll write fluff, drabbles, character x character, angst, fics, etc!!

i especially love copia <333

on my obligatory millionth rereading of “i’ll meet you at the cemetery gates” by @gggoldfinch

i kid you not i have actually visited the fic over a hundred times

folks if you want the most beautiful, descriptive, entertaining, romantic, mind blowing copia fic ever, i immediately recommend this

it will always be my favorite

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.”

Tied and begging

Copia x GN Reader

i'm too lazy to make a fic out of it, but we do love a begging papa so there it is :)

Warnings : sub Copia, ropes, edging ?, hand job

480 words

He's panting already and slick with his own sweat. There is red marks at the expanse of his tighs and his shins caused by the tightness of the ropes and his squirms. It must be uncomfortable for him to lay in such a position but he can't seem to bring himself to care anymore, not that he ever did anyway. If you could see his wrists tied behind his back, you'd see the red dots forming at the surface of his pale skin.

You admire him from where you're kneeling between his legs. His chest is red and so are the top of his ears and his whole face. Some rebellious strands of his beautiful hair are falling on his face but it only alleviate your will to play with him. He's just so pretty like that. So pliable. And just to please you.

He helplessly and almost against his will now rut his hips in the air once he loses your touch. 'Amore, please, please. Please. Let me cum, please.' He begs with shiny eyes.

'Ah !' He cries out in surprise when you start kitten licking at the slit of his cock. 'Amore ! I- I-,' His little voice sounds almost alarmed. 'I'm gonna cum ! Stop, please stop.' He shakes his head and closes tightly his eyes.

You retrieve off of him and look at the mess lying beneath you. He's all frustrated grunts and pathetic sobs. Some whines you never thought he was capable of doing before now when he wiggles his hips in the air. Little crescents are forming in his palms from where his nails are digging too deep.

After a few seconds of calm he tries to regain his breath but to no avail. As soon as he tries to inhale fresh air again you remind him of his burden. You grab his leaking cock and start to slowly pump him again. This knocks all the little air he had out of his lungs and Copia throw his head back in a pillow. His legs lock completely outstretched to meet your touch instantly.

'You're doing so good Copia, so good for me.' You keep a slow pace and give twists of your wrist when you reach the head of his cock. You lean down to kiss the 666 tattoo on his chest and he let out a long groan at the welcomed touch of your lips against his heated skin. You trail your kisses higher, passing by his neck and jaw until you reach his ear. Copia's breath comes in puffs and his chest rise quickly against yours.

'Cum for me, Papa.' You whisper.

Copia bites his lip to quiet his strangled moans. His eyes rolls back in his head from the raw pleasure of finally cumming. His stomach jumps with every contraction he has to offer in your hand, painting his stomach and yours with his own seed.

His Eminence. Part I/II

Cardinal Copia x Reader - Masterlist

This one took me so much time jekghoej i'm so sorry Also ! I have a real problem with 'Your Eminence' rn so be prepared ghesties I kind of rushed the end, sorry :[

Warnings : smut, Dom Copia (he's kind of a dick?), thigh riding, orgasm denial cuz im a slut for that lately, also not proofread am deeply sorry

2.5k words

The room was calm, except for the brave few who whispers in defiance of the disciplinary rigor of the Cardinal and his usual bearing. Sitting at the last row of the room, you were diving in your already half-full notebook. You scribbled frantically on the sheet, letting your imagination guide you. You shouldn't do that here, really. You shoud listen to his lessons. Despite what your gut told you though, you were writing yet another daydream about the Cardinal and you.

First, it had began as a simple way of escaping the boredom in your chambers -and also because you found the Cardinal scandalously attractive-. But the more you wrote about him, the more your little crush developed.

You wouldn't dare tell anyone about it. A mix of shame and a fear of him finding out. Rumors travel fast in the abbey. And the Cardinal Copia finding out about your ridiculous little crush about him was the last thing you needed. A part of you was sure he would make fun of you in front of every of the other Sisters and Brothers of sin for that.

So every time someone would ask what you're writing, you just pretended to revise your previous lessons. Siblings would throw you weird look after your admission, although they wouldn't say anything and just leave you be. Who would smile so dumbly at their notebook if they're studying ? Was their first thought.

« Copia's lips were soft against mine. Something you wouldn't expect from him, but it's a pleasant surprise. I let myself get carried by him, his hands secured around my waist-

'Ahem,' Copia interrupts and you close your book at light-speed. 'Sister, what are you doing ?' He asks, both of his hands gripping the edge of your desk and leaning over your smaller form. His face doesn't betray an ounce of what could be in his mind, like always. Although you think you can see some sort of annoyance. Which would make sense since you weren't paying attention in his lesson.

'N-nothing, Your Eminence.' You steal a quick glance around you, only to see each of the siblings already looking at you. Your hold on your habit tightens when Copia let an heavy silence hang. Your face is red and you keep looking down at your book in shame.

Of course that would happen someday. You mentally curse yourself and a million questions rush freely around your mind.

In a quick motion, Copia takes the book from you. You stand up to protest before you even have the time to think it. You lift a shaky hand and lean awkwardly over your desk to try and reach it, but the Cardinal is faster than you and has already stepped back.

Copia wears the smirk of the cat who caught the little mouse it had been looking for after a long moment of longing for it. He opens and flicks through the many pages until pausing at today's one.

You stand there in defeat. A cold chill run up and down your spine as you prepare for the worst shame of your life. Your position is rigid as you await for the Cardinal’s wrath anxiously. Copia looks up from your book and make direct eye contact with you. There is undeniable mirth in his eyes. For a moment you wonder how long he waited for this occasion.

He clears his throat, and you think you're fucked. You slump back in your chair, wanting to make as much noise as possible in an attempt to be louder than his voice.

His smirk doesn't falter however he doesn't read out loud. Which is an actual relief. In all honesty you expected him to, knowing how mean this man could be at time for his own pleasure. He basked in the misfortune of some, it appeared, if it was for his own pleasure. You half expected him to bury you in your embarrassment. To rub the knife in the wound and make fun of you.

After he read a few lines, a deep chuckle rose from his chest and his mustache twitch in crooked amusement. You curse yourself for finding it attractive despite the situation. You try to calm your racing heart but to no avail. Your hands are helplessly shaking on your laps and you stare at them as if it would erase everything around you.

The loud thud of your book on his desk makes your gaze flip up to him.

'You will stay with me after class, Sister ?' Copia asks, his back facing you. It sounds like a question but deep down you know he's not asking.

'Yes, Your Eminence.'

The rest of the lesson has been even more silent than the usual. Every time the Cardinal caught your gaze he will smirk again and again. This bastard even interrogated you a couple of times when he never did before. Just to push you further in your unease. Which definitely worked.

The class finishes after what felt like a long, long time. One of your friend wished you good luck before leaving you alone. Alone with Cardinal Copia.

You're ready to face your punishment, you decide. The sooner you're over with it, the better. Still, you stay sitted, eyes on the table before you and don’t dare to utter a word. Copia is already a few feet away from you. Fitted perfectly in his black cassock and his hands crossed behind his back he approaches you dangerously.

'So,' You can feel his powerful gaze travel on your clothed body without shame. 'What's written in there my child ?' Copia asks, dangling the diary he took from you in his hands.

He knows. He read it, of course he knows. But he wants you to say it anyway. That damn audacious bastard.

'Nothing, Your Eminence.' You repeat yourself. It clearly isn't the best choice to deny the truth and you don't even know why you did that but your faith is sealed now, you just hope he would indulge you a bit.

Your hopes were fragile and vail. This man was merciless and deep down you knew it. Now that he had caught you, he won't let you go this easily. Even begging would be useless, although you could try. He'd find it cute for you to try. To actually beg him. Sooner or later you'd be begging him, he decides.

'Hm, I see.' He says, thoughtful for a second. He spins on his heels and goes over to his desk. He sits in his chair before removing his biretta with extra care and placing it on the wood before him. You finally gather the courage to look at him. He's wearing this stupid smirk that has your mind wandering on his face again. His legs are lazily spread and one of his elbow is propped on his knee. 'You don't mind I read a bit further then ?' He continues, already flipping around the pages. Your opinion actually didn’t matter that much to him, he only asked by pure mockery.

'I-' You try to protest again but this time his reaction is not the same. Copia's previously sly grin falters and he looks at you with a scold which makes you close your mouth quicker than you opened it.

'Come here, topolina.' He beckons you closer to him with this same insistance in his eyes. He's playing with you and you find that strangely arousing. If it was any other man you'd be repulsed. But something about the Cardinal just made it make sense.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself before getting up. There is a stutter in your step and a wobble in your knees that doesn't go unnoticed by the Cardinal.

'Sit.' He commands once you're standing in front of him. You look around, trying to find a place to fit but can't seem to find one. 'Sit.' He says again with a lighter voice, patting his right thigh. This stole the words out of your head and made you freeze. There is a heated embarrassment coupled with a desire for more running under your skin.

So you do as you're told and sit on his muscular thigh. A sharp gasp escape your throat when your groin makes contact with him. You're suddenly aware of how wet the situation got you.

A maddeningly cruel chuckle erupts from Copia's throat as he too acknowledge it. He snakes his hands at your waist and secure you on him, adding small pressure on you. He leans forward, his face settling in the crook of your neck. His nose brush against your breathing pipe and you can hear him breath you in. You squeeze your eyes shut, hasty but afraid of what he might do or say.

'You smell delightful, topolina.' He smirks against your hot skin and press a chaste kiss there. A strangled whine is teared away from your throat before you have the time to enjoy the feeling of him so close when he tenses his thigh under you. One of your hand shoot up to cover your mouth and the other grip at his shoulder.

His mustache tickle your skin for only a second before he leans back in the chair again. The closeness was too much and not enough at the same time. He was making you dangle over the precipice. Keeping you waiting and desiring him just more.

'Ah, where was I ?' He mindlessly asks as if the situation wasn't affecting him that much. His right hand keep your waist in a secure grip and the other one maintain your notebook open. 'Ah, sì. Ready little one ?'

You tentatively open your eyes again but quickly look down, almost failing to supress another whine when you see where your bodies are touching. The hand covering your mouth slowly loosens and it instinctively sits atop his other shoulder.

‘Yes, Your Eminence.' You comply to anything he has to offer with a little voice. He smiles a toothy and proud grin upon seeing your face before tilting the book in your direction. You look pretty he thinks, your face all flushed and your eyes wide with astonishment and a tinge of anticipation of what he might do visibly flashing in your mind.

Adorabile topolino.

He shakes the object in his hand and you quickly understand what he wants you to do. You uncomfortably gulp. You look at him for a brief moment, your basheful face is met with his stupid smirk and his absurd arrogance. Half of you want to insult him for his attitude but the other part, the stronger one, want him to wreck you until you even forget your name. Until your legs are shaking and all your tired body can register are his groans and moans.You suddenly clear your tight throat to escape the zone out you were making in your mind. Reality is so much sweeter right now.

'Cardinal Copia's body hovered over mine. Strands of his hair were falling on his forehead from how worked up he was.' Your voice is fragile and it quivers at the end of each sentence. You try to steady it, you try to build a facade of confidence but to no avail apparently. He hums pleasantly in your ear, encouraging you to keep going. That was also a testimony of his own pleasure of your timidity. You don't know if it's part of his teasing but anyway it has a strong effect on you.

You try to squeeze your legs together, but all your met with is more friction with his thigh. 'His grip on my wrists tighten as he pushes his hips flush with mine. A low growl escapes him helplessly at the contact.' Copia's hand started working your body in circles on top of him, his grip tightening slightly around your curves. Once again you obey his command and follow his lead without a word.

Copia swallows thickly, hoping you won't catch on it. His eyes leaves the book to focus on you. He's already hard but that's not how he wants you. All he wants today is to play.

‘Look at me.’ Copia commands. Slowly, you lift your head to meet his gaze. As soon as your eyes make contact with his, a pathetic whine leaves your needy mouth and your back arch toward the Cardinal’s body. The grip you hold on his shoulders tense.

His own breath grows ragged as he watches you. Suddenly, he pulls your body flush against his in a quick motion that has you seeing stars. Your panties are ruined and you can feel yourself gushing over his thigh. Leaving a dirty mess between you.

His breath mix with yours due to the proximity and you hope he’s gonna kiss you. That’s all you’d need to cum. For him to ruin your mouth as much as you’re ruining his cassock right now.

Soon enough your thighs spasm and you fail to supress the whine bubbling up your throat. He laughs with cruelty and you can feel his hot breath against your heated face. He also takes the opportunity to speed up the pace

'Cardinal-' You pant in his clothed shoulder. He closes the book and grips it tightly, the leather of his gloves creaks under his force.

'Sì topolina, just like that.' Your fingernails digs into the fabric of his cassock when you hear his delicate praise.

His nose is brushing against yours, and it's only a matter of second before you give into the temptation of kissing him yourself. When you finally lean into him to try and muffle your obscene noises, he leans back from you. You're on the verge of the precipice and Copia halts your movements.You whine and wiggle and squirm in his strong grasp that keeps you in your place. Tears wells at your eyes.

'Please,' You whisper, not trusting your voice too much given the circumstances. 'Cardinal-'

'Ah, ah.' He quips with his low voice as soon as you try to start moving again. He manhandles you and in a second you're standing on wobbly legs before him. You immediately stare down at his pants and you're suddenly basheful when you see the wet patch you left on his thigh.

'Shh, it's okay topolina.' He reassures, wiping a gentle gloved hand at your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle and try to calm down, not wanting to seem like a fool to the Cardinal. He lays a soft kiss at the crown of your head.

He wanted to make you cum. Truly, he did. He wanted to see your beautiful face blissed out by an orgasm he would deliver. But oh, how seeing the beautiful tears running down your cheeks, experiencing the shake of your legs around him and because of him was delicious in his vision.

'One last thing topolina mia, hm ?' The Cardinal inquires, brushing a rebellious strand of hair behind your ear. You look up at him with doe eyes. 'Don't you dare touch yourself before I do.' He commands with a quiet voice, tilting your face up to meet his gaze with deft fingers under your chin.

It's all he says, before staring at your lips for a moment and leaving the room with no other words, your book in his hands.