synopsis ᯓ Johnny looks irresistible on the jackass: best & last red carpet. But, admiring him from afar isn't enough to satisfy your aching.
tags ᯓ nsfw/18+, smut, porn without plot, established relationship, silver foxville, oral (m receiving), dry humping, v fingering, gentleman johnny knoxville, no use of y/n.
notes ᯓ It's my first time writing in a while and also my first time writing Knoxville. It ain't much but it's honest work.
READ ON AO3
You watch him with butterflies in your stomach and a heart full of love.
Johnny waltzes through the red carpet like he owns the place, dressed down in what you thought might be his best choice of clothes to date: a white suit jacket, dark pants, and black bow-tie. Simple, handsome, and an ensemble characteristically him.
You watch him speak with interviewers with confidence, take photos with the fans, and of course dick-punch his fellow cast-mates when they inevitably found each other in the crowd. You hear his loud laugh through the noise and couldn't take your eyes off that big, proud smile that stayed on his face all night.
You aren't sure how much time you spent admiring him, but the sun had moved somewhat lower on the horizon. And after what felt like an endless photo-op, Johnny approaches you on the sidelines, ignoring the chants from fans and commotion to visit you on the quiet side. Someone gave him a glass of champagne. A bit of it was already gone.
"You shoulda brought a camera," He teases with a voice softer around the edges, one that's reserved just for you.
His hand carefully laces with yours, his body blocking any chance of paparazzi capturing the gesture. A warmth blooms in your chest and he stands so close that you can smell the cologne he had spritzed on earlier. "You've been eye-fucking me all evening."
You let out a flustered little laugh that Johnny perks up on, his smile turning into that shit-eating grin that often preceded one of his pranks.
"You're a sight for sore eyes, Knoxville," You reply, swiping his drink and taking a generous sip of the champagne. He fake whines over you stealing it, pretending to look bothered as you swig half of what was left.
You swirl the sweetness on your tongue for a moment, then add with a knowing look in your eyes, "Wearing this. The fancy shit," You decide to admit, "It's having an effect on me."
"Is it?" He steps closer, taking back his drink and brushing his fingers along yours. He effortlessly downs the rest of it.
He ponders for a second, brows scrunching thoughtfully under his sunglasses, then whispers, "Well, I'll note that for next time. That you got a fancy kink."
He laughs, and you take the opportunity to peek behind him, noticing the cameras are pointed elsewhere. Steve-o and Pontius are in the middle of a typical bit that caught everyone's attention. Now would be your chance.
You tighten your grip around his wrist and pull him with you off the red carpet. You slip away unnoticed, through a blocked-off entrance into the building behind you that no one happened to be guarding.
You swoop through several hallways while Johnny giggles manically behind you like a teenager about to get laid. Thankfully, no bystanders bother to question either of you as you both sneak into roped off area and down an empty hallway.
There's a few unmarked doors and you decide to try the first one, finding the handle surprisingly unlocked. Inside is a small room with some stacked tables and chairs, unused. A motion-detecting light turns on above your heads and reveals the dust collecting on every surface. Not luxurious, but it means the chances of getting walked-in on are likely zero.
"You get a strong arm when you want something," He comments, blissfully amused, but he's not arguing a lick when you drag him along into the room.
You're very aware he knows damn well what 'something' means. There's already a tinge of blush collecting in his face in anticipation for it, and he's unable to hide that sleazy smirk, one you're far too familiar with and have been on the receiving end of.
You ignore him, and once the door is shut tightly, you pin him against it, grab two fistfuls of his front and close the gap left between you.
When your lips meet his (for the first time tonight)— it's like a lit match dropping into a pit of gasoline. He tastes of champagne and sweat and a sweet taste uniquely him. An intoxicating mix on your tongue that you could never get sick of.
A loud sigh escapes you, your shoulders racking forward with the weight of your desire for him. White-hot desire that has been steadily building just from watching him move on the carpet. Watching him strut and pose in that sexy piece of a suit tailored in all the right ways. Not once did you have a pure thought about him tonight.
Johnny reciprocates. Strong and large hands appear on your hips immediately. He returns your ferocity like he's also been starving for it all night. His mouth is eager, all teeth and tongue. He purrs in his throat, pleased, when you part your lips, welcoming him in.
One of his hands skims along your outer thigh, searching for the slit in your gown, once found he shoves his hand up and inside.
You shiver when his hand possessively curls around and squeezes your ass, whining into his mouth when his nails dig crescents into your flesh.
In the next breath, he breaks away from the kiss, barely an inch and reluctant. He stares at you in mild shock when he realizes you didn't have panties on.
A jolt of pride courses through you, smiling in satisfaction, far too proud of yourself for being a step ahead of ol' Knoxville— something very few on this planet could brag about.
"You're fuckin' evil." He rasps, an incredulous laugh and a boyish grin that sends home he's completely unbothered by it and— knowing him— probably very turned on by it.
"And you love it."
You surge forward, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You yank down that perfect collar and force your lips onto a lower spot you know can be covered in case of pictures later.
You latch your lips onto his neck, one hand tangling through his silver hair above, and clamp your mouth down hard with the intent to leave a hickey.
Johnny makes a noise like he's been kicked, a cross between a yelp and a whimper, while his hands tighten their hold on your body.
When he takes a deep breath you feel the shuddery rise of his chest pushing against yours, the strong patter of his heart under his ribs that accelerates.
"Baby." He breathes, already sounding like he's over the moon.
His heady voice is like fuel to the fire, you kiss at his neck harder, sucking and lapping at the fresh marks you've made.
Your fingers thread through a few locks at the crown of his head and pull. Angling how you want him and exposing more of his neck, finding another sensitive spot that drives him crazy.
His hands cradle your backside and pull you closer, bumping your hips together and you gasp out sharply when you feel the straining front of his slacks rut against you.
You smile against his neck. You think it's endearing he's already got a hard-on from some messy necking.
You roll your hips into him again, repeating that same motion he made the mistake of starting.
He lets out another noise, more breathy this time, more heavier, and suddenly his palm is pressing at your jaw, putting pressure and wordlessly asking for you to kiss him again.
You gladly follow, meeting him halfway with an opened-mouth. You savor the weak little sigh he makes when your lips meet.
You love it. Every little reaction he has at your touch, your movements, responses he can't hold back.
There'd be quiet gasps, devoted murmurs of your name between kisses, litanies of endless praise when he got really into it.
You want to hear all of it and everything. You want to watch every effect you have on him and see his resolve crumble.
One hand clinging to his hair and the other twisted up in his belt, you rock your body forward. No desire to stop. You circle your hips against his, pushing up your cunt against the tent in his trousers.
His breathing goes ragged, his hands dropping down your frame. Calloused fingers tug at your ass and push you along, guiding you back and forth, moving you where he needs it most.
You're moaning, getting wetter by the second, the ache between your legs getting close to unbearable.
You're getting clumsy, rubbing against each other and you've already forgotten your surroundings and the fear anyone could be listening.
If it weren't for the hands on your backside holding you down, you'd be bunching up your gown and dragging your bare cunt against his clothed cock-
Johnny's breathing hitches, and suddenly his hands halt on your backside, slowing your grinding.
"You're gonna-" He parts from your mouth wetly, his breath coming out rapid and hot on your lips, "You're gonna make me jizz my pants." He huffs, laughter beneath it. It's a joke, but the visual entices you so much you almost indulge him to see if you can— almost. If it wasn't for the other visual that's been playing on repeat in your head all night.
Pressed against him, you work open his jacket, revealing the embossed material of the soft dress shirt underneath.
It's beautiful. Way more extravagant than what he would normally go for but it really does suit him. A long way off from the beaten up Dickies and vintage tees he seemed to live in, but him.
Your nails tread along the material before drifting south, collecting the fabric and untucking it from his pants.
The pads of your fingers touch the soft skin of his navel. He follows your movements with bated breath and watches your nails tick against the metal of his Knoxville embellished belt.
Before you continue, you look up at him, pause, faces inches apart. His sunglasses are crooked on the end of his nose and you do the favor of taking them off, slipping them into a jacket pocket.
Your insides melt when you finally get a glimpse at those pretty brown eyes, those cursed glasses hiding them from you all night. They're already glassy with desire, and something in them softens at the sight of you.
More. More, please.
You share another kiss, something slower this time, deeper, more sensual, unable to help yourself. Your hands sit between your lower bodies and undo the hefty belt buckle, the clinking of metal loud in the closet.
The big buckle used to be your enemy during your first times together but the motions to open it come like muscle memory now. The belt comes apart under your hands and, in the same breath, you sink to your knees.
"Thought about this all night," You admit shamelessly. You palm the front of his slacks, cupping the weight of him, looking right up into his eyes, "You have no idea how good you look, PJ."
He smiles with teeth, lets out little puffs of laughter. "You don't gotta flatter me now, darlin'. You're already at third base."
That southern lilt coming out is your aphrodisiac. You're entranced, mesmerized, staring up at him as if he's your light.
You open up his slacks with care, revealing more pale skin and faded scars from ages-ago stunts. You trail your nails down the soft hair there that led into his boxers.
Your fingers clip around the waist band and pull them far enough low to spring his cock out. It bobs against his belly, already full and ready for you.
Your mouth waters and your lips part. You look up at him through your lashes, watching him carefully, and trace your tongue along his tip.
You live for it, the sharp, shuddery inhale he makes and the way his eyes fixate on you. The way those brown eyes flutter on command and his mouth falls open. You wet your lips, breathing in as you let his heat pass the seam of your lips. Your hand comes up to stroke his shaft, using your spit as lubrication and the muscles in his abdomen tense.
"Shit," He sighs. He hisses out like it hurts when your mouth easily slides further down the length of him, "Shit. Sweetheart."
You hum around his cock, thighs squeezing together at the unabashed use of your favorite pet name. You decide to reward him with more pressure, a firmer suction that nearly buckles him at the knees.
You allow his breathing to steady out before continuing, your free hand digging into his thigh to keep him stationary, then proceed to take each inch of him carefully.
The head of him bumps the back of your throat and you gag harshly. Johnny's hand instantly curls lovingly through your hair and he lets out a loud groan that you pray wasn't loud enough someone heard.
You relax, eyes closing and focusing on suppressing your gag reflex. You carefully retract back, tracing your tongue along a vein, your mouth pulling back just enough to envelope his head, before taking him all the way to the back of your throat again. His hand tightens in your hair and you moan at the perfect sting of pain and pleasure at your scalp.
He feels your moans vibrate on his shaft and his hips buck involuntarily, briefly choking you.
Johnny immediately stiffens like he's hurt you, babbling out a breathless "sorry" and tries to back up to give you air. You smack his leg, staying put and wordlessly informing him you're fine.
His hand relaxes in your hair and you continue, moving back and forth, each pass getting more sloppier and wet, more obscene.
Your breathing gets more labored, your head starting to spin from the decreased oxygen but your need to satisfy him kept you going.
You go slow then fast, fast than slow, sneaking up glances through your watery eyes to watch him fall apart. Your filthy wet noises and muffled moaning around his dick was enough to get him to spiral.
"Fuck," He gasps. You hear the vague sound of a dull thud and realize it's the back of his head lobbing back onto the wall. "That's it, sweetheart. Just like that."
He rambles almost drunkenly, in a raspier tone that's thick with his Tennessee accent, a telling sign you're giving him a really good blowjob, "Feels so fuckin' good."
His fingers knot further into your hair, into the back of your head and you feel the tiniest pressure of his palm, in time with how you move. You can tell he wants to fuck your mouth with abandon but he's hesitating— ever the gentleman.
There was always a hint of hesitation when he was receiving, always a concern for your own well-being even when you reaffirmed it was about him. He always needed a little convincing to let go fully and you're always willing to entertain.
You pull off his cock, continuing to stroke him lazily as you catch your breath, staring up at him with tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes. You wait for him to look down at you. And oh your poor, poor stuntman.
He looks beautifully spent. So worked up. His silver hair is sticking out in all directions from your earlier petting, a blush all the way to his ears and his fancy little shirt is crinkled and the bow-tie is sideways.
"In my mouth, Johnny, please. I want it." You whimper out the i want it, drawing out the words with a tone full of nothing but lust. You bob his cock against your extended tongue and he makes a noise like the wind's been knocked out of him.
You hum around him, jaw well accustomed to him now, he slides down your throat with ease, and the way his body trembles you sense that hesitation is starting to break.
His breathing is getting labored. His collar feels far too tight. His face feels hot and Johnny can't look at you anymore so he screws his eyes shut.
" 'Course, baby," And there it is. His hand pushes on the back of your head, guides you onto his cock with the rhythm of his hips snapping forward.
You choke, gagging loudly and drool pools onto his cock. Your nails sharply drag along the planes of his stomach, leaving red lines behind and he lets out another deep groan that could be the star feature in a porno.
Gladly taking him to the hilt now, you go in for the kill. You hollow your cheeks, bobbing your head in a way you know he can't handle and suddenly his body shifts back.
His hand loses it's grip in your hair and lands somewhere behind him on the wall. Praises start to pour of him and you know he's not far from finishing.
"Darlin'-" He dares look down at you. His breathing going shot when he sees you, hair sticking to your face and tears streaming down your red cheeks and that perfect mouth of yours flexing relentlessly around him.
He lets out a long, wavering breath, his abs rising and falling rapidly against your fingers, the band in his stomach winding impossibly tight. "I'm fucking gonna- fuck."
Your nails dig into his skin hard enough to draw blood and the pain sends him over the edge.
His whole body goes still, muscles in his body tightening up, his dick buried down your throat as he cums. A long, satisfied groan leaves him when you feel the first hot ropes of his release hit the back of your throat.
You swallow obediently, soothing your hand comfortingly down his scratched stomach, holding him through his orgasm. His hips jerk forward with each wave, worn out groans flowing freely out of him as the aftershocks seem to rack through his whole body.
You stay put, letting him finish fully down your throat, swallowing each spurt of his release with practiced ease. You savor the final bit of his load before parting off him with a soft click, kissing the sensitive head and making him wince.
You sit back on your haunches, taking deep breaths in order to get the oxygen back into your lungs. Your throat feels raw and your knees are aching but you could give less of a shit.
This, the ruined sight of Johnny above you, recovering from a earth-shattering blowjob in a suit more expensive than yourself, this could cure everything wrong with you.
You gently slip him back into his slacks as his breathing quiets. You do up the front of him with extra care and try to flatten out any wrinkles. You wobbly stagger back to standing, in bare feet, your heels gone missing at some point.
He observes the whole thing, a post-orgasmic haze clouding his dark eyes, half-folded against the wall, watching you silently string his belt back together-
Before you can even touch the buckle he's kissing you deeply, capturing your face with two hands and pulling you against him almost clumsily. You kiss him back, sighing through it, still dizzy off the head you gave him.
It goes like that for a minute, heavy and slow kissing, your bodies swaying back and forth until he's somewhat steady on his feet.
Then, he's shoving one hand up your dress, hurriedly and desperate, searching for your bare cunt like a man starved— not very gentleman-like but you love it when he gets handsy, it was rare.
"Johnny," You whine his name when his fingers slip through your soaked folds. His thick middle and ring fingers sink inside you with impatience. He grunts at feeling your walls gripping tightly around him, already warm and slick.
He bends his wrist, barely, and you cry out, hand latching down onto his arm but it's not to stop him and he's a lot stronger than you.
He curls his fingers, massaging your inner walls and you feel the muscles in his forearm tensing with each movement.
He starts a rhythm, fast and unforgiving, the evidence of your arousal becoming audible in the room.
He slots his mouth against your ear. His accent is dangerously thicker post-orgasm. "We ain't goin' back until you cum."
It wouldn't be long. You're way too far gone to have any chance of lasting relatively long.
He sucks your neck while his palm fumbles on your swollen clit. You arch your body into him, your hips moving on their own to ride his fingers. Your head falls into his shoulder and you bite down on the fabric.
His fingers angle inside you and finds the spot that makes you see stars. You feel your wetness pooling onto his knuckles and you can't find your voice to warn him how close you are.
He's well-versed with the signs, and promptly slides a strong arm around your waist to prevent you from collapsing.
"Come on, babygirl. I gotcha." That sweet like honey southern voice, coaxing away lovingly at your ear snaps the coil in your stomach.
You spasm around him, cunt fluttering around his fingers. You let out a choked sob, burying your face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of him and leaking down his wrist. Something that when he notices, he's stupidly proud of.
"Atta girl." He rasps quietly, pride in his tone.
"That's my good girl." He keeps his lips pressed against your ear, murmuring praise and sweet things that leave tingles all over your body.
His fingers continue to pummel you through it, steadily fucking you until you're whining out in overstimulation.
He eventually slips out of you, making a show of shaking off your excess slick from his hand, before taking each digit to his mouth and licking them clean.
You stand in each other's space for a few silent minutes only punctuated by your breaths. Johnny holds your weight and at some point retrieves a handkerchief from a pocket.
He urges you to part your legs in a soft voice and you listen, feeling the silky fabric pad away at your soiled, sensitive skin. You feel warmth pool in your cheeks at the gesture, and remember his belt buckle was still open, and shakily do it up for him in return.
The two of you spend the moment cleaning yourselves up and adjusting your clothes. Helping each other spot any blemishes that would raise suspicions to your activities.
He puts his sunglasses back on as you spike his hair back into place and straighten his bow-tie. He fixes the smudges in your makeup and the frizz in your hair. He holds your hand as he helps you slip into your heels.
"I can't believed you showed up commando." He says, amused and still in disbelief.
He makes a face at you, "Pervert."
You giggle, "Had to surprise you somehow. It's a special night."
Even through his dark glasses you can read his pointed look any day, "You planned this?"
"Yes. Not really. Either way I was gonna take you home to do the same thing. I guess I got impatient from watching you all night."
Johnny smiles and it's one of those smiles you only got to see. The softer kind that brings out the age lines in his face you adore. His hand provocatively flaunts down the front of his suit, wiggling his brows, "I take it I should wear this thing more often."
Once you've decided you both look adequate, Johnny stamps a lingering kiss to your cheek as he leads you out of the room, hand pressed lovingly to the small of your back.
You already anticipate being on the receiving end of relentless questioning from the Jackass guys, about where the hell you two have been.
But you also anticipate Johnny has an over-the-top story already prepared about how you both got lost in the building and had a near-death experience or something. A story he'll defend until he gets the very last word.
summary: y’all read the title, y’all know the drill. let’s go.
tags/warnings: copia being Very horny, gender neutral sex, religious themes, BDSM, gender play
word count: 7.3k
a/n: i am down so unbelievably bad for this little man. got freaky with it bc the voices told me to and i am only a little sorry.
but GUYS MY FIRST GHOST FIC!!! the papas are my current obsession right now so PLEASE flood my requests with literally anything you want to hear about them, sfw or not (i am a HUGE horndog dont be shy). i will happily oblige you and infect you with my brainworms! i physically cannot stop these guys from rattling around in my skull like peanuts in a mason jar. indulge me and i will indulge you, yes?
also i apologize if any of this is hard to read due to the bulky paragraphs, i promise this is not how i write all my fics i just want to keep this in a specific format and ended up getting carried away! if you want me to turn any of these sections/combinations of them into full-fledged fics don’t hesitate to shoot me a request!!
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!
TEMPLATE CREDIT
A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)
☆ Oh, so sweet. Depending on the dynamics the two of you had in place, he will be devastatingly adorable about taking care of you or wanting you to take care of him. If you were more submissive that night and needed help coming back to reality, he would gingerly scoop you into his arms and hold you to his chest, mumbling Italian praises in between kisses to your hairline. He would rub soothing circles up and down your back and hold you so so close, like he was afraid if he let go everything that just happened would be nothing more than a dream. He finds himself at times being in such disbelief that you continue to choose him and treasures every intimate moment shared with you as if it were the last.
☆ On the flip side, if he were the one to submit, he would look up at you with that post-orgasm haze in his eyes and immediately reach his arms out for you with a small whimper. When Copia cums, it's powerful. And when he submits, he submits. As a result, it takes a bit to pull him out of that headspace. Allowing him to cling to you, you smooth his hair back with soft coos of “it’s okay, I’m here” and “you did so well my love, did that feel good?,” and he in turn would gasp out a winded “yes!” and thank you incessantly, unable to keep anything on his mind besides how over-the-moon you make him feel on the regular.
☆ Your post-sex routine always includes a shared warm shower followed by a rather expensive skincare routine (that Copia insists you never spend a penny on). Then, it's fishing out your comfiest pajamas that couple well with your freshly exfoliated skin and crawling underneath the covers together. And it’s off to dreamland you both go, snug as two love bugs in a very comfy rug.
B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
☆ Copia, regardless of the persona he fronts while on stage, is very insecure about his body. Once in a blue moon he will attempt to recognize his attractiveness in the mirror, but more often than not he is trying his best to not pay too close attention. It was just easier that way, lest he spiral into something that he didn’t have time to address. But when you came along… things changed. It all started when you started having sex together, which was at the top of the intimacy pyramid for Copia. You’d give him little compliments here and there, whispering how handsome you think he looked in between open-mouthed kisses and telling him that he was beautiful as you fucked him. In response he would blush and hide his face, a tell that you would soon recognize to be a manifestation of his lack of confidence. And you couldn’t have that happening, now, could you?
☆ Worshipping his body began to become a regular thing in the bedroom. At first, you would slip it in sparingly, not wanting to overwhelm him. While giving him a blowjob you would look up at him through your lashes and mouth over his shaft reverently, gasping an “oh, Copia… so big…!”. When he fingered you open, crooking his index and middle in just the right way to make your back arch off the bed, you would cry out “your fingers, Copia- they’re perfect!” and fuck yourself onto them. And when he bottomed, you would run your hands over every dip and hill on the perfect plane of his body and kiss everywhere you could: his neck, his chest, his face, and his thighs if you had his legs resting on your shoulders. “Your body is a gift, Copia,” you would say after moving his face to maintain eye contact. All he can do is whimper. “And I am going to make you believe it.”
☆ Short answer: he doesn’t have a favorite body part of his until he realizes how much you love every single one. Making Copia feel pretty in the bedroom will make him cum so hard there is a chance he will throw his back out. Worth it, though.
☆ As for you, Copia simply can’t decide! One moment he swears it’s your smile that makes him fall in love all over again every time you flash it to him, another it’s your graceful arms that never turn down a revitalizing hug, and then he will see the shape of your legs free from your daily vestments and have to stop himself from drooling. Every single part of you is cherished by him and he simply cannot stop himself from treasuring the vessel you’ve been blessed to walk this mortal plane with. It’s the very same vessel that loves him so unabashedly and unconditionally. Picking just one part to put up above the rest almost offended him, feeling as though comparing any of them would be an insult to your perfection.
☆ Because of this, he settles on your silhouette. Your outline. Something so very distinct and sacred to him that it’s committed to memory. Committed so well, in fact, that he’s confident he could draw your shape with his eyes closed. He can effortlessly spot you from across the Ministry courtyard even though his eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and he can pick you out of a crowd of Siblings of Sin just from your form alone. When you decide to have sex by nothing but candlelight, he has to stop himself from palming himself over his pants as you striptease him. Your allure in the gentle darkness with that warm yellow glow cast on you from all angles… yeah, it gets him going.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I’m a disgusting person)
☆ Copia cums really quickly (I am very pleased that many agree on this). The poor guy just can’t help it! It’s not a matter of lacking experience, it’s just that no one truly excites him the way you do. You discovered this the very first time the two of you got under the covers together. Atop his lap, you ground your hips into his, savoring the way he panted and groaned when his cock, still clothed, caught against the aching space between your legs. Unable to stop yourself you lift your hips and brace yourself against the headboard, hovering your hand over his bulge and keeping eye contact. Looking into those hypnotizing heterochromatic eyes you see the desperation effectively oozing from his gaze but also… something else.
☆ He would fumble over his words trying to explain to you what was wrong but beg you to continue when you thought of pulling away. His moans had turned into whimpers as he felt you begin to pull down his sweatpants, tucking the waistband underneath his balls. The outline of his cock was prominent, with a wet patch steadily growing at the tip. He looked down at it with you, running a hand through his hair as he mewled. “T-Tesoro… I’m gonna- AH!” One touch to his cock with one less layer of fabric was all it took for said wet patch to grow exponentially. His hips stuttered and he threw his head back, covering his face with his arm in embarrassment. “Ohh-- Oh, cazzo, I’m so sorry! I- I couldn’t-!” Copia sobs. The sweetheart couldn’t even make it out of his underwear.
☆ It would take a lot of gentle coaxing and reassurance for Copia to understand that this wasn’t something he should be ashamed of, something that would deem him an unworthy sexual partner. You would tell him, actually, that you found it attractive. Something about the way you were able to get him so aroused, so sensitive to the point where he simply couldn’t hold back was thrilling. He is just so infatuated with you! And who’s to say you can’t help him last longer in the future? Nothing a little training can't fix (if that’s what you want, of course).
D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
☆ Copia has a very specific fantasy involving gender play, power imbalance, and pretending he is a virgin. He isn’t sure it’ll ever see the light of day but boy, does he think about it often. As thrilled as he is/was with his promotion to Papa within the ministry, he misjudged how much effort it would demand from him. Day in and day out it was mass, rehearsals, and meetings just to name a few, all which threatened to spiral him into madness. The man needed a break. A reprieve. A relinquishing of his duties, one would say. And, in his head, that’s exactly where you come in.
☆ The scene always begins with Copia wearing not his papal vestments but rather a modest and plain habit, complete with a veil framing his paint-free face. He stands before you in the ministry’s church, fingers twitching in anticipation. You, conversely, are sporting a black cassock with leather gloves to match, meeting his gaze predatorily. “Miss Copia,” you begin, and a shiver runs down his spine. “It has come to my attention that you need… assistance in solidifying your faith, yes?” Copia smooths the fabric of his habit and clears his throat, mimicking a breathless somewhat feminine cadence to his voice. “Yes, I do.”
☆ You would then lead him to the altar with a firm hand strategically placed on the small of his back, further immersing him into the scene. The stone is cold against his waist as you press into him from behind, caging him in with your arms by his sides. “Tell me, sweetheart…” you purr, “when was the last time you worshipped through the pleasures of flesh?” He imagines your hand sliding up his front tantalizingly slow, stopping to grope at his chest, imitating the feeling of breasts there. Copia would bite back a whimper and fight against the urge to press the swell of his ass into your crotch. “I have never…” he’d sigh, growing ever aroused by the second.
☆ A low hum against the shell of his ear accompanied with a gentle bite to the cartilage would be all it takes for him to feel dizzy in anticipation. “Don’t worry then, sweet girl, I will be gentle.” Copia would imagine your firm hand pressing his front into the altar and the other hiking up his habit around his hips before smoothing your palm into his bare ass. The foregoing of underwear was intentional, a specific choice made to elicit a response much like the one you would eventually give: “I’d imagine a little more modesty from a virgin like yourself, little dove.”
☆ I think you can imagine how this ends. And when Copia is all alone, touching himself to these scenes he has carefully tailored for his pleasure, he cums every single time (sometimes before he can make it to the end, the poor soul).
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)
☆ Copia is not a stranger to sex. He has had a handful of partners throughout his life and does not mind when Siblings of Sin come to him for a night of fun. He knows how to please all types of anatomy and prides himself on it, even if he knows that all of the sex he’s had before you was very surface level. He had grown used to letting himself be the means of obtaining pleasure for those who seek it and never the one to have his own pleasure put first. But, like everything else, that all changed when you came along.
☆ Consequently, Copia is skilled at all things vanilla due to the lack of a substantial connection with the partners he’s crossed paths with. He knows how to use his mouth, his hands, and his cock in all the right ways to leave the other utterly breathless, drunk on the pleasure they could never get enough of. But anything other than that… he’s gonna be awkward about it, at least. Picture him stumbling over his words and getting too inside his head when a random fling asks him to flog and humiliate them. He isn’t turned off but rather feels pressure to perform up to their expectations when he knows deep inside that play like this requires a strong prior connection for him to achieve full immersion. Imagine all the antics you two could get up to if you give him time to learn you right!
F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)
☆ If you ask the respectful, gentlemanly, mild-mannered Copia he will tell you that it’s missionary if he is the one taking control and cowgirl/boy (still topping) if he is the one giving it up. When he’s feeling more dominant and needs to blow off steam he loves watching you writhe underneath him as he kisses, pinches, and rubs all of the right places. It’s like his own personal slice of heaven (or hell rather?) that he and only he will ever have the pleasure of viewing. His eyes never leave you, never dare to close as he ravages you over and over again. Doggy for when he is feeling so submissive that he is only able to blink back tears and take it as you dish it out the same way he does.
☆ But if you ask the perverted little freak inside of him, his favorite position is on his knees in front of you with his hands tightly bound together with one of his ascots. Specifically, they’re pressed together in prayer in front of his chest and if he dares to move them, it’s game over. You are sat on the edge of the bed and fuck/ride his face with your hands gripping the roots of his hair, reveling in the tears that fall from his pretty mismatched eyes. All the while, he is tasked with reciting the prayers to Satan that he has memorized, forced to power through them over and over again while his mouth muffled with your sex. And if he stops, you stop. Simple as that. To say he finds it addictive is an understatement. Makes him go all soft and pliant in the head.
G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
☆ We all know how endearingly awkward Copia is. And even though I’ve somewhat painted him so far as this freaky pleasure machine in the bedroom, he still finds a way to be silly without even trying. For example, he more often than not will leave his socks on not only because he insists upon it but sometimes because he forgets to take them off in the first place. Expect lots of “okiedokie”s and soft giggles following cheesy one-liners and prolonged “eh….”s as his brain buffers because you’re just so enchanting. If he is truly comfortable around someone he is regularly having sex with (a.k.a. you) he will find the confidence to be himself rather than what the other person wants him to be for the night. And there is nothing you love more than a self-assured Copia in your bed.
☆ However, when the chuckles die down and all that’s left is the lingering tension and everlasting need to be closer, it’s like a switch has been flipped inside of him. Suddenly everything he says is a low rumble in his chest as his worship is murmured against your warmed, flush skin. You wonder to yourself if this is the same nervous, stuttering man you fell in love with. It’s not necessarily casanova-style flirtatiousness or an over-the-top demonstration of sexual prowess, but pure devotion seems to seep out of his pores and onto yours. It’s reverence. It’s worship.
H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
☆ Something I am also glad we all can agree on is that Copia is hairy. It’s mostly concentrated on his chest, forearms, and legs, but he has a beautiful happy trail that ends in a well-groomed patch of pubic hair that always tickles your nose when you take him to the hilt. He is a very clean man and showers daily, taking immaculate care of his appearance. The hair on his head is greying having given up on the regular dye-jobs a few years ago and his body hair is no different. It is still mostly that lovely chestnut brown but as the years pass, the salt is steadily making its way to balancing out the pepper. He loves when you scratch your nails through the coarse curls on his chest, trailing them further and further down to where he’s aching for you the most. And if you help him shape things up down there in the shower, don’t be surprised if he pops one right then and there.
I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)
☆ Oh, how he has craved intimacy like the kind you share, having practically waited his whole life for that “special someone” to show him everything that he has been missing. To him you are the only one who could ever make him feel this way. Like a warm glove that perfectly envelops the shivering hand, you are flawless. A quintessential part of his very being. His love, his light, his world. On softer days where honeyed words lilt through the evening air as gentle as silk, he can’t stop from holding you as close to his chest as your bodies will allow, wishing he could just crawl inside your ribcage and make himself at home there. Those are the days where you two can’t bring yourselves to experiment with something new, to do anything other than ravish each other’s body.
☆ When he’s been away for a while and finally comes home, perhaps from being on tour, he wishes to court you properly (other times he needs to be a pervert, please forgive him). Even if you two have been together for years at this point, there is a very romantic side of him that wants, no, needs to be indulged. Home-made Italian dinners by candlelight where you swear you can taste the love in every bite, shared showers to soothe exhausted muscles, and dozens of I-missed-you kisses before the two of you lay in bed to make the most gorgeous love that even history’s most passionate romances would be jealous of.
J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)
☆ Copia likes to edge himself when he’s alone. Partly because he is still embarrassed about his premature ejaculation but also because he can’t get enough of the feeling. If he is away on tour, he will shut himself in his room and keep himself teetering on the margins of bliss and imagine it’s you who holds the key to his release. That it’s your hands prolonging the decadent torture. He swears to himself that it’s so he can build up his stamina, but deep down he knows that he loves to obey your every whim.
☆ Right when he thinks he can’t last any longer, when he feels that his orgasm is inevitable, he will pull his hand away and writhe in frustration. He wants to cum, he wants to cum so badly, but he imagines you mockingly cooing at him, telling him how pretty he looks when he’s desperate. He thinks about a soft tsk from you and a swat at his hand that unknowingly crept up to try and finish the job, telling him that good boys cum when told to. Sometimes he will spend upwards of an hour lost in this little game he’s created for himself, lost in the throes of denying himself again and again. And when he finally lets himself cum (or rather, the imaginary you in his head lets him), he is so loud that the ghouls can hear him from their neighboring trailers. He must really miss you, they all think.
K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)
☆ As mentioned, Copia enjoys exploring gender play with you and enjoys a good power imbalance. But there is so much more he wants to try, and now that he’s found someone to match his freak he can’t wait to jump into it all! First of all, Copia is a huge slut for being humiliated but only by you. It’s been sequestered for so long, reserved for someone he feels truly safe around. Tell him that he has a pathetic excuse for a cock (bonus points if you call it a clit instead), force his mouth open and spit in it, and manhandle him. He doesn’t care if you aren’t that strong, if the spirit is there he will be leaking at the tip.
☆ In a similar vein, cockstepping/cock abuse drives him crazy. Strip him fully nude but keep all of your clothes on, opting to put on your heaviest boots instead. Make him sit on the floor because he doesn’t deserve to be comfortable (he doesn’t want to be comfortable) and nudge your boot against his cock. Just a little at first, to give him a taste. Do it again and rub the toe up his cock and push, right at the head. He’ll cry out and tears will threaten to spill, but that’s what he loves. Poke fun at him a little, telling him about how he looks like he wants it to stop but that his cock tells a different story. Force him to look down at the way his cock jumps and twitches and make him keep looking as you slap it around, pre flinging from the tip onto his abdomen. Tell him that he loves it and he will sob that he does. Make him beg for you to step on it again, and this time put more weight on it, rubbing the bumps and ridges of the sole on his now irritated shaft. He makes such a decadent sight, pain and pleasure mixing to form a cocktail most potent… but do take care of him after, would you?
L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)
☆ At first, Copia was insistent that you guys exclusively have sex in the bedroom. It didn’t matter if it was yours or his, but he wanted to keep it private. Not because he was ashamed of having sex or felt that he had an image to maintain, but because he worried that the Siblings would look at you differently. Out of everyone in the Ministry to choose from and you landed on him? His insecurities would creep in unknowingly to try and stifle what he really wanted to do: take you on every available surface the church had to offer and not care who saw. A couple of uncomfortable conversations later with reassurance from you in earnest had Copia warming up to the notion.
☆ Flash forward to now and you guys have done it everywhere. The confessional booth, the courtyard, the supply closet, the kitchen… even up against the stained glass windows lining the hallways. He strongly prefers to have sex outside of the bedroom when it is very late at night and most have gone to bed so that chances of getting caught have slimmed greatly but aren’t zero. And whoever may stumble upon you through the act gets a stare down from Copia that reads surprise at first but melts into a steeled determination as he slides in and out of you. He’s gained tremendous amounts of sexual confidence at this point thanks to you, and will allow them to watch for a moment if you are also okay with it. Once that person’s presence has become nothing more than a nuisance, though, he will give an “Off with you, now” in a tone so demanding, so stern that it has you wondering if you could get him to talk to you like that.
M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)
☆ As I’m sure we all can gather at this point, Copia can spring a hard-on just from looking at you for too long. It’s only been a problem a few times, most notably when he was giving a sermon during Black Mass and you happened to be sitting in the front row. You weren’t even trying to get him riled up but you could tell something was amiss with the way his gaze would flit towards you every few seconds and he wouldn’t move from behind the pulpit’s podium. The 20 minutes left of Mass felt like hours before he couldn’t stop himself from bending you over in the sacristy. He didn’t bother taking off his vestments.
☆ But other than that, Copia is like one of those Victorian men who get hot and bothered by seeing ankle. If you prefer more masculine clothing, try wearing a plain dress shirt and make sure he’s watching as you roll the sleeves up to your elbows. Maybe even undo a couple of buttons from the top to expose just a sliver of your chest. On the other hand, if feminine clothing is more your thing, wear a simple form-fitting dress but make sure the first time he sees you is from behind. Then, when you turn around, boom! A slit from the bottom all the way up to your thigh, just enough for your leg to poke out. Whatever your clothing choice may be, he will quite literally be on all fours and drooling like a dog with the only thing on his mind being how quickly he can take it all off of you.
☆ Oh, also call him Papa in the bedroom. Especially when/after he becomes Frater. He will quite literally lose his mind and all responsibilities will be thrown out the window as his mission now becomes making you cum so hard you don’t remember your name. Only his. Only Papa.
N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
☆ Copia isn’t a fan of biohazards in the bedroom. So anything that has to do with vomit, scat, or even blood (although this is a grey area) will be a hard no from him. Piss is probably the only exception. And even though he enjoys being punished and humiliated, he would never want to do anything to you that would gravely injure you. The only thing I see him being okay with is slapping, hair pulling, biting, and perhaps some light breath play. But he needs to know you’re okay before, during, and after. Call it a buzzkill if you want, but constant check-ins are really important for him when delving into heavy BDSM. And safewords are non-negotiable. Also, once he is made Frater, please don’t include his demotion from Papa in your humiliation towards him. It’s a sore spot.
O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
☆ Copia is a master with his mouth. Regardless of what hardware you’re working with, his tongue will, without a doubt, send you into orgasm after rapturous orgasm (if you’re capable). Whether it’s long flat-tongued laps, little flicks with the tip, or him just rubbing the length of it up and down your sex, he knows how to expertly time every single movement. You can expect him to also just straight-up make out with cock/vulva, drunk off the taste of you with little whimpers and gasps peppered between his unabashed slurping.
☆ AMAB anatomy:
One of his favorite things to do is to kiss up and down your shaft, making eye contact with you as he sticks his tongue out and flicks at the tip with feigned kittenishness. He loves to look up at you through his lashes as he grabs you by the base and slaps you against his tongue. His lids would flutter closed as he nuzzles his face against the shaft and breathes in deeply. He is crazy for your scent.
☆ AFAB anatomy:
Man is a MUNCH. Expect lots of aforementioned making out with your vulva to start. He would pull himself as close as possible and rest your thighs atop his shoulders as he licks and tongue-fucks your hole. He loves to take as much of you in his mouth as possible and suck before pulling off and listening to how slick you’ve become. I mean, it’s practically dripping down his chin at this point. He seems to have a Pavlovian response to eating you out, immediately making your cunt all messy with his drool.
☆ When it comes to receiving, Copia is putty in your hands. The foreplay is everything to him, so the more teasing over the fabric the better. Tell him how you can’t wait to have him in your mouth, how badly you need to feel the weight of him on your tongue where it’s supposed to be. Regardless of how much of him you’re able to take, he will praise you the whole time and fuck into your mouth at a pace that’s enjoyable for you both. Also, please moan around his cock. The vibrations are enough to make him cum sometimes if he hasn’t already from just the sight of you.
P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)
☆ Depends on the vibe and how much teasing you two have done to each other throughout the day. If you’ve thrown him lots of sultry glances and he has left touches that lingered just a little too long, he will waste no time practically pouncing on you when he comes back to his quarters to find you already there. At times like those, he will definitely be more antsy to just be inside you already, driven by pure unbridled lust in every sense of the word. Picture messy kisses pressed against feverish skin, hands groping and sliding everywhere they can, and desperate moans muffled by insatiable mouths. His pace is definitely faster and a little more unforgiving when nights unfold this way, all the way down to the stereotypical creaking of the bedframe.
☆ But if you both have had a long day, exhausted by the life that the Ministry demands of you, there’s nothing Copia wants more than for the two of you to fall into each other’s arms and just make love. Imagine slower, more appreciative touches coupled with languid kisses over everywhere your guys’ lips can reach. His whispers are feather-light against your skin about how much he’s missed you and how badly he’s wanted this, wanted you all day. These nights his pace is gentler and he takes his time with you, explorative with his hands and tongue. This sex is quieter, maybe even a bit sleepy as he hugs you flush against him and thrusts lazily into you. Neither of you can bear to part from that embrace.
Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
☆ He’s warmed up to them. As mentioned in “Location,” he can see the appeal in having sex outside of the bedroom and exercises those opportunities often. He appreciates quickies when he is having those days where you are just too tempting for him to resist (even if you aren’t trying to be), but doesn’t like them to happen too often. As fun as quickies are for him, at the end of the day he will always prefer the privacy of four walls and a locked door. This is why he almost always sticks to vanilla-esque activities when having quickies outside of the bedroom, not wanting to expose something that only the two of you should be privy to. Quickies inside the bedroom are a thing, but he doesn’t like to spend too much time in his room unless he is finished with work for the day. It keeps him on track and focused on his papal/administrative duties.
R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
☆ Aside from his hard nos, he will try anything once when the both of you have crossed a certain threshold of comfortability with one another. Copia believes that part of the appeal of sex is exploring your compatibility with your partner, so he is game to try anything you want to. And if he doesn’t end up enjoying it, he will let you know. In the past he may have been hesitant to bring up when he didn’t want to, having conditioned himself to put others’ needs above his own. But ever since you built him back up again, he is more vocal about what he likes and what he doesn’t.
☆ That being said, though, he is still a little pervert through and through. You want to hogtie him and paddle his ass until it’s black and blue? Please, make it hurt! You want to explore pet play? He’ll be your good boy (hello fellow puppyboy!Copia enjoyers!). Maybe some bathroom control? He is so game to try. You would be surprised as to how much he will say “yes” to, if I’m being honest. But when it comes to how risky he is down for being, the quickies outside of the bedroom are probably the furthest he will take it. Almost anything behind closed doors, however, is fair game.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)
☆ Listen. I know how badly some of us want to go at it all night with this guy. But at the end of the day, he’s approaching his golden years. His body has grown softer (mmm) and easier to tire. This isn’t going to stop him from showing you the time of your life, but don’t be disappointed when he wants to save his own release until the very end. Because once he cums, he is down and out for the count. It’s like his body hit ctrl+alt+delete and the exhaustion makes itself known, weighing his bones down like lead. This kind of crash is still unwelcome to him, his pride getting in the way of the necessary acceptance that he just can't do things like he used to. It troubles him.
☆ This isn’t to say that you shouldn’t pay attention to him or tease him a bit, just that he prefers his own climax to be the finale for him. So expect a lot of focus on you in the beginning and plenty of time spent on foreplay. He knows after a certain point how many orgasms you can take (if you can) and will put you through the fucking wringer before turning the focus on his own stimulation. The orgasm(s) you’re able to eke out of him are mind-numbing to say the very least but they also are a full-body experience that always leaves him utterly spent, but it’s so worth it. As they say, good things come to those who wait (no pun intended)!
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)
☆ Oh, plenty! If you can think of it, he probably has it. Dildos and vibrators of all shapes and sizes, plugs, body-safe wax, paddles/floggers, strap-ons, clamps, rope, handcuffs, blindfolds, gags,… the list goes on and on. He even has some for pure novelty purposes, enjoying being able to just look at them. He prides himself on his collection and firmly believes that toys are meant to be a tool, not competition. More like a trusty sidekick than the main attraction.
☆ His personal favorite to use on you is a vibrator, of course! Regardless of which style you’re rocking with, he knows how to use it in all the right ways that leave you breathless and writhing in pure ecstasy. He enjoys using it on you in tandem with his mouth, creating a dangerous mixture of vibration and that wet, soft warmth of his tongue. The only analogy I can think of that could accurately depict what this does to your brain is when you pour water on cotton candy. If he’s feeling more bold, he will restrain you or deprive you of your senses (or both!) while he works his magic.
☆ His favorite toy that you use on him will depend on whether he is feeling dominant or submissive as well as if he is topping or bottoming. So, let’s go through all of the combinations!
Dom/Top: He will be more keen on using toys on you only. Not because he thinks that toys are only meant to be used on submissives, but because in his dominant headspace he simply cannot think about much other than you and how far you are willing to bend until you break. Additionally, if he fucks you he will not stop until he finally cums inside you so toys aren’t exactly at the forefront of his mind.
Dom/Bottom: A simple wand vibrator used sparingly up and down his cock while he’s commanding you to fuck into him will be more than enough for Copia. He’ll be a little teasing about it, telling you things like “go on, don’t be shy” or “I’m gonna take what I want from you, capisci?” while he’s bouncing on your cock, bucking into your lap.
Sub/Top: If you are riding him, restrain his hands. Trust me, just do it. He will whimper and squeal and pull against his bindings, just so desperate to feel you and prove his devotion to you. But there’s an appeal for the both of you for him not to be able to. If you’re in missionary, smack a paddle against his ass anytime he dares to slow down. It will make him cum so fast.
Sub/Bottom: I have SO many thoughts about this, walk with me. This is when Copia loves toys the most. Force him (consensually) to bounce on a dildo with his hands behind his back and a vibrator tied to the tip of his cock while you’re holding the remote control. Egg him on to keep bouncing on it, to keep making those pretty sounds while you edge him for as long as he can take it. Conversely, make him ride it while wearing a cock ring and make him beg to cum all over you. He’s so cute when he begs.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
☆ He can only tease so much before he just has to have you. He’ll rile you up with a ghosting of his fingertips or maybe a feather over your sides, your chest, and where you need him most, savoring the way you twitch in anticipation. If he’s going down on you, he will kiss your inner thighs and trail his kisses upward and upward, slowly, right up to the crease where your pelvis and upper thighs meet. He loves to watch as you roll your sex up to his face and hum at the contact it may make with his nose or lips, but pulls back with a “not so fast, cuore mio, let me look at you first.” It sounds innocent enough in nature, but you both know that he is just trying to prolong the foreplay to get you dripping.
☆ He has a preference for teasing through actions rather than words due to his awkward nature, though. He often (but not always) will fumble over his words during dirty talk if he is feeling more dominant (submissive Copia is a different story) and will let the way he keeps you teetering over pleasure’s edge speak for itself. Like an incessant tidal wave, he will pull your orgasm right within a hair’s breadth of release and then let it roll away once more. He can’t help it, he just adores the way you look and sound when your resolve to cum for him is unyielding.
V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)
☆ Dominant Copia will be a little more subdued in the noises that he lets himself make. He will grunt with little huffs in between but they won’t be too loud at first. The only reason you’re able to hear them in the beginning is because his head is usually buried in that spot where your shoulder meets your neck. He’ll lavish it with kisses and sucks and gentle nibbles as he pants and groans. You can swear that you feel the vibration of his voice against your skin all the way down between your legs. When he starts getting closer to coming undone, he will get louder and will trade the little “uh, uh”s for longer, more ecstasy-laden “ohhhhhh”s and “ah!”s. You will be able to tell when he is seconds away from release because everything will jump in pitch and his throat will sound like it's constricting on itself when he cums, all garbled Italian nonsense but still filthy.
☆ Submissive Copia will be whinier from the get-go. Already he’s mewling and whimpering regardless of what you’re doing to him, and the further he drops into subspace the more focused he is on feeling good and making you feel good. His noises become more unabashed and unrestrained because of this. If you’re delving into some pain play, the way he cries out is addictive and you can truly tell how lost in all of it he is. When he feels his orgasm approaching, his voice will get squeakier and he will gasp a lot. It’s the kind of gasp that’s audible and higher in pitch, like when you come up for air after being underwater for too long, but they’re less panicked and more surprised. Cuter. Softer. And when he cums he will be loud, his orgasm igniting his body with a sensation of relief that is so intense, yelping and crying about how much he loves you.
W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
☆ He has a little curtain fixed on the outside of the cage he keeps his rats in and will close it if the two of you have sex in his room. He doesn’t need his babies to be seeing all of that. In his words: “I know I eh… don’t mind being watched but… they are too innocent.”
X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
☆ He doesn’t necessarily pride himself on his size but he is all about how “it’s not how much you have but how you use it.” He’s packing a solid 5 inches that's a little on the skinnier side and is uncut. When he is erect and standing it sticks straight out perpendicular to his body and will more often than not be drooling at the tip if he is aroused. Definitely a grower.
Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)
☆ Pretty damn high. In a perfect world, he would have some form of sex with you almost every day. He knows that the duties demanded of him from the Ministry should take top priority, and they do, but that doesn’t stop him from becoming… distracted. Everything is always consensual though and he will either increase or decrease the times he initiates sex to match your libido. If it’s lower, he won’t be upset! He’ll let you initiate when you want to have sex regardless of how infrequent it may be. Just talk to him about it first and be clear about your own needs when it comes to intercourse. He will not be offended as he knows it has nothing to do with him and would never want to do anything to make you uncomfortable.
☆ If yours matches his or, dare I say, is higher than his, he will accommodate your desires in earnest. Sext him throughout the day and watch as he struggles to maintain his composure in front of his flock, constantly shifting his pants and throwing you glares that read “you’re getting it later.” If you wear an outfit that is a little more revealing that day (on purpose, obviously) he will coax you into an empty supply closet and press his hard-on into your ass, his voice a seductive rumble against your back as he mutters into your ear about how crazy you drive him. At that point, he’s already tugging at your clothes and nipping at wherever he can reach with his teeth, needing to not only fill you up but also get a front row seat to watch you be stuffed full.
☆ When he’s feeling subby, he won’t let it slip outside of the bedroom, but there will be signs. He’d look at you all doe-eyed and resist the way his feet want to carry him to wherever you’re going next, all while an adorable pink blush dusts his cheeks and neck. His voice, only when speaking to you, will be meeker. And when he retires to his room for the night to find you already there on his bed, he’ll nearly collapse at your feet and start clumsily shucking his clothes off, whimpering and humping your leg as he babbles about needing you to use him.
Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
☆ It’s hard for him not to minutes after orgasming, especially if he has had a particularly tiresome day. But he knows the importance of aftercare, though, and wills himself to stay awake to take care of you and prepare the both of you for bed. This hasn’t stopped him from being unable to fight the clutches of sleep occasionally and be intensely remorseful the second he wakes. Regardless of whether it was minutes that passed or if he slept right until the next morning, he will be that person who wakes you up just to apologize. You know it’s something he would never do on purpose, though, especially as he ages. And Papas need their sleep, do they not?
for your soft request, how about Frater Imperator with an anxious reader ft. cuddles in bed or on his couch. You decide the direction and what calls to you!
if you need a prompt to get you going: A sibling of sin is worried about losing Papa IV (completely optional)
Content: 1.1k words, Copia x gn!reader, soft and sweet, naked cuddling, softness with a spinkle of angst, anxiety, overthinking, SFW but some suggestive playfulness to help lighten the mood.
“Are you feeling ok, amore?”
The question trailing on the sentence he’s been reading catches you slightly off guard, rips the warmth you’ve found cuddled up in bed away like someone’s stolen the blanket.
A small noise of acknowledgement leaves you before you respond.
“Yeah, why? I’m just listening to you.”
When he doesn’t answer, you tilt your head against one freckled shoulder. He’s so handsome, your Frater, even when frowning and fixing you with that questioning brow-raise. His specs balance on the end of his nose, and his white eye is so piercing in the light of the flickering fire that it looks like fresh snow.
Copia hums, that telling sound that you know means he knows you are absolutely lying through your teeth.
“What was the last thing I read?”
And welp, he’s caught you hook, line and sinker.
“I… don’t know.”
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Lucy found the wardrobe.”
You pout and look away from his gaze to where your fingers are buried in that lovely, silken carpet of salt and peppered chest hair of his. You flex the digits, sighing. Your head is simultaneously so full and so empty all at once, too many ghosts crammed into a space not meant for them, and yet you don’t know how to be rid of these phantom worries that mean nothing.
“I can hear you thinking,” he whispers with a bit more of a playful edge. “It’s rather distracting.”
“Sorry.”
Copia tuts affectionately as he closes the book, sets it by his hip, pulls off his glasses, and then readjusts his hold on you. His thick fingers slide along your scalp, lips grazing your hairline in a light kiss.
“Non esserlo. Do you want to talk about it?”
Before the words even leave his mouth, the tears are already threatening in your eyes. Not quite falling, but you know it won’t take much more.
You shake your head, sniffling even as you say, “It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid as always.”
“Nothing is stupid, amore. Never stupid, especially not you.”
You know he’s dealt with and still deals with his own set of anxieties; you just don’t want to add to them.
“Do you need advice or for me to listen?” He then asks, and some of the weight lifts enough for you to think.
“Both. Words.”
“Then speak to me,” he says in a voice an octave lower than his usual.
It’s his Papa tone. You almost laugh at the small amount of joy it unearths. You adore his voice, no other word for it. It’s like a warm blanket around your shoulders, an embrace after being out in the chilly winter air that frosts the glasspanes of his room in their icy spiderwebs.
It makes you feel safe, wanted, and most importantly, heard.
You know you can be honest with him, that he has never and will never judge you or disregard the things you say, no matter how ridiculous they may sound to you. You readjust your head on his shoulder, and he tugs the blanket higher, arms around you, swaddled by his heat and pliable body that dips and bows beneath you with each breath.
“I just… I worry that you hate me or that you’ll realise you hate me one day,” you force yourself to speak through the lump in your throat, the pressure building behind your eyes. “I worry I’m not good enough for you or that I’m going to wake up one day and you will be gone. I know it’s all in my head, but I…”
“It doesn’t make things easier,” Copia finishes for you.
You nod, sniffling again and biting down the sorry that sits on your tongue.
His cheek presses to your forehead, cradles your skull, and he nods, rocking you both ever so slightly.
“Have I done anything to make you feel this way?”
You shake your head.
“Bene,” he caresses your temple, breath puffing hot across your brow. “Has anyone said or done anything to make you feel this way?”
Again, you shake your head.
Copia sighs. It’s not a sound of frustration or irritation, but one of relief.
“One of those days, eh?”
You nod, eyes burning harder. He clicks his tongue again, the sound filling you with an overwhelming sense of care.
“Il mio povero amore,” he speaks gently, “if I could burn these foul thoughts from your head, I would do so in a heartbeat.”
You know he would, that he would burn the world for you. He wipes away your tears when they eventually do fall, shushing you and eventually getting you to giggle when he reminisces about your first date. How wonderfully, awfully comedic it was due to a few unforeseen mishaps. How he had fallen for you the moment you spoke his name and shook his hand, and how he has not stopped pining for your attention every second since.
It’s been hard, but it’s been worth every second of agonising bliss.
“I like to think I am a good Boss and that I take care of everyone. Especially you, amore. You are at the top of my to-do list.”
“Oh stop it,” you shove back gently, voice raw even as you laugh and sit back to look at him.
He continues to wipe your cheeks with the same tenderness, capturing you with that crooked smile until you’re mostly free of tears.
“But I am not the Boss here, yeah? I mean, I know you like the boss stuff in bed—“ You roll your eyes, and sigh. “—but I am your amore.”
“You are,” you say, warmth blooming in your chest like a rose unfurling in the sun's rays.
He holds your gaze, smiling sympathetically, and you let yourself collapse into his embrace once again.
“And I love you, amore.”
“I love you too.”
And you do. So much. So intensely that you’re afraid the bedding will catch fire with how raw and volcanic your feelings are for him. You’d let him carve you up, slice down layer by layer until you’re bleeding, bare and vulnerable beneath him. It’s scary just how overwhelming it all is sometimes, but perhaps that’s why it feels like the world is ending every time you fear the dying of its flame.
Once you’re sure you’ve stopped crying and breathed a sigh of relief, Copia untangles himself from you to fetch some water, a cool wet cloth and then tucks you back under the blankets together.
The specs are back on his nose, and you spend the rest of the evening listening to him read about the four children who step beyond the wardrobe into another realm.
Because the place where I host the images for AO3 is currently messed up, I had to improvise quickly and do something with less skin that can be uploaded to Tumblr safely
this is the full version, but it's still uploaded to AO3 too.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
vaporwave
areudirty
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
kianamaiart
titsay
