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Papa Emeritus IV Copia x gn!reader (no description, no pronouns, no use of 'y/n')
Rating: G
Word Count: 3,300
Warnings: Author really winging how the Ministry works, references to the current state of the world, crying, brief reference to cannibalism (it's really not as intense as that sounds), embarrassment, overheard conversations, struggling with new authority and a lack of affirmation, and ambiguous relationships.
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Prompt: "Tell me you meant every word."
Sometimes, you weren't sure how the Ministry managed to function.
Beyond the confusing power structure and dubious funding, you just really weren't sure how you were earning a place to live and three meals a day by doing random bullshit chores. It was also incredible that none of those chores seemed to be done on a regular basis, given the sheer number of Siblings who lived in the Ministry.
Fortunately for you, you had a friend with you that day. You and Nina had been banished to the far reaches of the Ministry, sent to clean one of the rarely used storage areas. Judging from the thick layer of dust on everything, no one had bothered storing anything in this room in quite some time.
You had been there for the entire morning and the rumble of your stomachs said that lunchtime had to come soon. Nina gamely went along with your methodical nature, helping you move all boxes and shelves out of the room so you could thoroughly dust and clean it before moving things back inside.
You had dragged a ladder in to change some burnt-out lightbulbs, but had to remove the glass covers before you could get to them. Nina was wiping the dust from each globe that you passed down to her, intermittently handing you fresh lightbulbs and cleaned covers so you could reinstall both. Even the insides of the covers had been caked in so much filth that you didn't know whether the lightbulbs had actually burnt out or if the light just couldn't get through.
"We should have started with this," Nina told you, handing you one of a dozen tiny screws so you could reattach the cover.
"It's definitely getting easier to see the screws as we go," you agreed. "Maybe we'll even find some of the ones we dropped earlier."
"I'm just hoping it'll stop smelling like hot dirt in here."
Something in the phrasing or the disgust in her voice struck you as being funny. Your amusement made Nina laugh and soon you were both in tears - you clinging desperately to the ladder so you didn't fall off.
"I wou-wouldn't hold my breath," you gasped.
Nina snorted hoarsely, handing you another screw. "I don't think I have much of a choice until it stops stinking in here."
You shared another weak laugh, both exhausted by the random fit of laughter.
"Shit, I needed that," Nina told you, wiping her eyes on her forearm to avoid the grime on her hands. "I've been so stressed lately."
"Stressed?" you repeated, carefully threading another screw into place so the light fixture could support the cover's weight without you having to hold it. "My dear Nina, we live in the headquarters for a fringe segment of the Satanic Church during an upswell of Christian nationalism and fascist ideology. Whatever could you have to be stressed about?"
Nina rolled her eyes pretended to kick the ladder out from beneath you. "Uh, for starters… our new Papa and Frater?"
"What about them?" Two more lightbulbs and you would be done with the fucking fixture. Your arms were burning.
"Pretty sure Perpetua is a vampire."
You barked out a laugh, glancing down at your friend in surprise. "What?"
"He's super pale, even without the makeup and I'm pretty sure I've only seen him at night." Nina frowned, shrugging a moment later. "Well, never in the sunlight, anyway."
"Again: Satanic. Church. I've never seen anyone in the sunlight." You beckoned for another lightbulb. "Except Nihil. Interestingly, it was after he died."
"See?"
You shook your head at her. "Vampire or not, he's the head of the Ghost Project now. And the Skeletour was popular, so people must like him."
"Well, I'm still worried," Nina decreed. "What if he shows up in my room the next time I get my period?"
"Judging from the stories, say 'Thank you, Satan,' and enjoy the ride."
You were busy laughing at your own joke when she added, "And don't get me started on Copia as Frater Imperator."
"What's wrong with him?" you asked, caught off-guard at the change in subject.
Nina shrugged. "I don't think he knows what he's doing."
"Well, he's only the second person to have ever done the job. Give me the last lightbulb, will you?"
"He just doesn't seem confident," she concluded, handing you the lightbulb.
"I… actually disagree," you said, putting in screws one by one to hold the last remaining cover in place. "Think about how well he did as Papa."
"Longest-running for sure," Nina admitted after a moment of thought. "But you're saying he was better than Primo and Secondo? Better than Terzo?"
You shook your head fondly at Nina's unending devotion to Terzo. As you climbed down off the ladder, you continued, "Primo was unholy and got the whole Ghost project up and running again. Secondo was cool - still is cool, actually. Terzo is flirty, and I know everyone loves that, but Copia is the one who led the Ministry through the biggest growth period it's ever had."
"The church grew a lot during Terzo's run." Nina folded the ladder and moved it out into the hall before you could answer. As she came back, she added the most oft-referenced Terzo achievement: "He won a Grammy!"
You handed her a dust rag and said, "Yeah, but could he have kept that kind of growth and success going during a global pandemic that shut down live shows for a year?"
"Probably."
You grinned at her. "Your obsession with Terzo aside, he was good at making everyone feel wanted. Copia makes everyone feel seen. He appreciates the unappreciated. That's what I like most about him: he cares."
"Yeah?" Nina asked, laughing openly at your passion. "And how many conversations have you had with your boyfriend the Frater?"
You tossed your own dust-crusted rag in her direction, but it fluttered harmlessly to the floor before it got even halfway between you. "You would treat me this way, Nina? After all the times I've listened to you wax poetic about Terzo's ass?"
"It's a great ass." Nina sighed dreamily. "Copia's isn't bad, either."
You snorted at that and the dust in the air made you cough for a moment. "I'll agree with that. If we're listing qualifications for being a good Frater, having a nice ass isn't high on the list…"
"-but it sure doesn't hurt," Nina chorused, finishing the statement along with you. It had been something of a running joke between you for all the years you had known each other.
"Let's sweep and pull the furniture back inside before lunch," you suggested, swiping your wrist across your forehead. "I don't want to take care of it alone. I don't even want to try."
Nina agreed gamely, offering another apology for not being able to keep helping, but you shrugged it off. She had an appointment she needed to keep and you didn't begrudge her a few hours of personal time. Especially since you got all the large pieces of furniture dusted off and rearranged in the room before you took a break to grab lunch.
And so, full and cozy and trying not to stop for a nap, you went back to the storage room alone that afternooon. Everything from that point on was simple - take a quick look through each box in the hallway. If something looked interesting or important, set it aside to be looked at by a member of the Clergy. If not, close the box back up, dust it off, and put it back in the room. If you could manage to arrange the boxes using some kind of organizational system, that was a bonus, but not an expectation.
It was slow going and you started to wonder why you weren't writing the contents on each box. No one was going to ask you about your organization and it would make things easier when the next person came down here ito look for something. Judging from how things had looked when you and Nina started, it would be at least a decade until that happened, but still.
There was a small supply closet down the hall from your storage room, and you were sure it would have a notepad and pen, along with tape so you could add the makeshift inventory to the side of each box.
Visions of a beautifully organized and unrealistically clean storage room danced behind your eyes as you picked your way through the detritus on the way to the supply closet. Your memory had served you well, and you quickly located the closet, grabbed a stack of supplies, and retraced your steps back toward the storage room.
Something odd caught your attention. A noise.
The Ministry was full of strange sounds. It was an old building full of strange people and everyone was fairly sure it was haunted anyway. But this noise had sounded slightly less typical than the random chanting or creaks that happened to fall like footsteps (both typical for the building). It sounded like the hiccuping breathing that happened after a crying fit.
You froze, one foot still in the air as you listened intently. The sound came again, interspersed with one loud sniffle. Definitely someone crying.
It wasn't your business.
If someone had come all the way down here to hide before they started crying, they probably didn't want to be comforted. You weren't going to interfere.
It really wasn't your business.
There was a particularly piteous-sounding sniff, followed by another shaky gasp for air. Your heart gave a pang for the stranger.
It wasn't your business, it wasn't your business, it wasn't your business…
"Hello?"
You were already cursing yourself as you ducked back into the supply closet to snag a box of tissues. There was no sound, but in a startled way, as if you had surprised someone who would rather have some space.
"Where are you?"
No answer, but you hadn't really expected one.
"I understand if you don't want to see anyone," you said loudly, over-enunciating each syllable so they could understand you through the echoes of the empty hallway. "If you don't say anything, I'll just leave this box of tissues in the middle of the hall so you can get them after I leave."
You had set the box down on the floor and taken a half-dozen steps back toward the storage room when you heard a congested voice say weakly, "In here."
In a matter of seconds, you had snatched up the box of tissues and tracked the voice to where it had come from - another storage room. This one was full of books, held on floor-to-ceiling shelves that may have been wood or metal or papier-mache. It was impossible to tell under the thick layer of dust that coated every surface.
The mysterious person was tucked somewhere between the seventh and eighth shelves. They were hunched over and facing the shelf in front of them too closely for you to see their exact features… but they were instantly recognizable all the same.
"Pap- uh… Frater? Is everything okay?"
"Yes!" Frater Copia said quickly, swiping at his eyes before gesturing to the books in front of him. "The dust, you know. It's… eh, my allergies."
"That happens to me sometimes," you agreed magnanimously. "Here, take a tissue. If you wipe your eyes with dust on your fingers, it'll just make things worse."
Copia sheepishly accepted a tissue, dabbing carefully under his eyes to avoid smearing the black Frater paints. With a quick little fold to keep from depositing any paint elsewhere on his face, he blew his nose in a few loud honks that made you half-turn to hide your smile.
"Thank you," he said stiffly, shoving the used tissue into his pocket. "I had no idea this room was unused this long."
You chuckled. "That seems to be the norm for this part of the building, Frater. But I'm surprised someone so busy bothered coming here personally. What are you in here looking for?"
"I… Oh, I-" Copia glanced around himself, obviously caught off-guard by your question. It was a little cruel, asking that while knowing that he had been having a private emotional moment, but it would have been weird if you hadn't asked at all.
Just when you were ready to take pity on him and excuse yourself to finish with the storage room, Copia snatched a thick book bound in black leather from a nearby shelf. "This. For reference, you know."
Your eyebrows shot up before you could bite back the reaction and Copia twisted his wrist to look at the cover of the book. It was an ancient copy of Liber Necessitatis Et Famis - or translated - the Scroll of Need and Hunger. This had to have been one of the first versions to be bound in a book rather than a scroll and would be interesting for that alone… but not as interesting as the content itself.
Half Kama Sutra, half Hannibal Lecter, Liber Necessitatis Et Famis was famous within the Ministry as being the ultimate guide to kink of all kinds. And while the Ministry frowned upon cannibalism in general, some of the recipes in Need and Hunger were supposedly quite good. Tested with pork or other proteins, of course, but everyone thought the same thing when they tried it: these recipes had been created with a different meat in mind.
Copia blanched when he caught sight of the title, but he gamely tried to keep up his charade. "For- for research purposes, of course."
"Of course," you agreed with a half-hearted nod.
He seemed to realize that using Need and Hunger for research was probably only slightly less creepy than using it for its intended purpose. He placed it gingerly back on the shelf, posture slumping as he admitted, "That is not the truth."
You smiled gently. "That's probably for the best."
Copia's answering smile was weak and anxious. "The truth is that I came here to check on you."
"Me?" you echoed in surprise. "Why?"
"You are efficient. Decisive." He allowed the fist he had clenched with the last word to lower to his side. "I admire it, but I worry. You so rarely ask for help. So I came down here to make sure you did not need anything."
Your face went hot - partially because of the idea that the head of the Ministry not only knew who you were, but knew enough about you to know that you wouldn't ask for help. However, you were filled with horror remembering the variety of expletives and colorful phrases you had used that afternoon when you were fighting the Ministry's lack of organizational system. Hopefully, he didn't think less of you.
"Oh, uh… Frater, I'm sorry. I said some things I probably shouldn't have…"
Copia's expression inexplicably fell. "That- that is fine, my dear. When one is speaking with a friend… Well, it is different. Sometimes you say things- eh… Hmm. Yes."
You hardly heard his nonsensical rambling, all of your attention on the horrible dread bubbling in the pit of your stomach. "Wait, a friend? Frater, how… Um, how long have you been down here checking up on me?"
"Since late this morning."
The way he avoided making eye contact with you told you everything you needed to know about how much of the conversation between you and Nina he had overheard.
"Oh. Frater, I'm sorry," you apologized instantly, letting all of your desperation for his forgiveness seep into your tone. "We didn't realize anyone was listening. We probably got a little carried-"
"You said I was a good Papa," Copia interrupted, taking one of your hands and cradling it between both of his. The cool leather of his gloves felt buttery and soothing against your skin. "That I- I would do well as Frater."
You nodded, breathless at the way his thumb brushed over your palm.
Copia's tone went utterly serious, his mismatched eyes burning at you from within their rings of black face paint. "Tell me you meant every word."
All the air seemed to have left the room. Copia was ever the friendly face around the Ministry, bumbling and silly but always genuinely kind. But now… the Copia standing in front of you was closer to his onstage persona, commanding and utterly sure of himself.
"I did, Frate- Copia," you amended, feeling the sudden but undeniable instinct to use his name instead of his title. It was a fairly intimate conversation and something about dropping the 'Frater' just felt right. "I mean it. I believe it."
His gaze stayed intense as he gave a slow nod. You nodded along with him exactly once before his face crumpled and he began to cry again. Before you could think better of it, you wrapped the venerated head of your religion in a hug.
Copia wasn't the tallest man, nor the most muscular, but he had a comforting warmth and solidity. He immediately latched onto you like a drowning man clinging to an outstretched hand. This close, his hair and clothes held a hint of spicy scent, though you were at a loss to tell if it was cologne, the soap he had used during his last shower, or the lingering smell of a breakfast cinnamon roll.
Abruptly, Copia was a real person to you in a way he hadn't been before that moment. As you rocked the sobbing Frater in your arms, humming soothing nonsense, your stomach panged with guilt.
"We all pile a lot of expectations on you, don't we?" You said it using the same reassuring tone in which you had said everything else, but you knew Copia had processed the words when his posture stiffened. You rubbed his back, adding, "That's a lot of pressure. I hate to make assumptions, but… Well, if no one has told you directly, you're doing a great job."
He pulled back far enough to give you a watery smile. "You're going to make me cry again."
After a millisecond of thought, you realized that it would be less than helpful to point out that he hadn't actually stopped crying yet.
"I don't want to make you cry," you promised. "But if you heard Nina and I earlier, you know I said that you appreciate the unappreciated. It's not okay with me if you're the one left feeling unappreciated."
Copia smiled - not the polite grimace he gave to the Clergy or the mysterious half-smile he gave when he was amused by something private, but a real smile. You had only seen that smile once before, when it was directed at one of his rats who had hidden away in a pocket of his robes.
"Thank you, my dear." He took your head again, giving it a little squeeze. "It is lovely to feel… seen. It has been quite some time since I felt- felt as if someone… believes in me."
This time, when Copia started to cry, he was the one who initiated the hug. With his head tucked over your shoulder, he said, "And it is always nice to hear that I have a great ass."
You straightened up, shocked by the reminder of yet another ill-advised piece of your conversation and by the casual tone in which Copia mentioned it.
Copia's genuine laugh was a nice sound, especially so close to your ear. And, after you got over the pulse-pounding fear of being excommunicated, you even managed to join him.
---
Author's Note - As I put in the warnings, I'm definitely flying by the seat of my pants about how the Ministry is organized and what the Siblings' daily lives would be like. I also refuse to believe they wouldn't each have a favorite Papa and argue about which one was/is best!
As I also put in the warnings, this is another very ambiguous one-shot where Copia and reader's relationship is concerned. You could read it as pre-relationship or just bros helping bros (gn) and either one would be valid!
Thank you for reading! I'll be back next week with Perpetua fluff (as soon as I write it, oops). If you have any thoughts about Copia or advice about writing him, I would love to hear it!
Walking in on Copia who is wearing your fishnets and a tight skirt he found in your closet
Oh, this is going to be pure FILTH. Thanks anon. <3
rating: e for engorged with explicit content 18+
tags: humiliation kink, anal play, masturbation, cock milking
He knew you wouldn't be home for at least another 30 minutes. Enough time to fulfill his latest growing desire: self-degradation.
This is what he ruminated on after coming across your fishnet leggings and a burgundy pleated miniskirt in your closet.
Copia carefully pulled your fishnets up his legs. Fortunately, the holes were just large enough for him to squeeze his now-hard cock through, caging his balls snug inside the fabric. Next was the miniskirt. A deep burgundy color, size medium, suiting his tanned skin beautifully, and it fit incredibly tight on hips.
He fished one of your panties out of the laundry basket, adding another layer to his desired humiliation. Kneeling on your bed, throwing the used panties onto your pillow, he dove his nose down into the panties, leaving his ass up and exposed, and began stroking his cock hanging heavy between his legs. He groaned helplessly as he breathed in your scent, aching with pleasure and bucking his hips into his fist.
You arrived home earlier than he expected. As you mindlessly drop your things inside the door from your work day, you head up the stairs, curious as to why Copia hasn't greeted you yet. You round the corner to your bedroom, and gasp at the sight in front of you.
The love of your life, adorned in your fishnets and your favorite burgundy skirt, bent over on the head, with his face buried in a lacy black thong, fucking his fist.
"Copia?!"
Startled, he bolts up out of his sinful position, locking eyes with you, not knowing what to say that could possibly explain himself.
You immediately feel bad, knowing he looks so vulnerable -- but maybe he wanted this? Considering his chosen attire and position he put himself in. You decide to play into it, hoping it will ease his evident embarrassment - and maybe even excite him further.
Your expression turns to a naughty smirk, and you slowly saunter over to him on the bed. "No need to get up, darling. You looked so pretty... bent over like that."
Copia's eyes grew wide, his hand returning to his achingly hard cock, as he bends back over. You approach him from behind, and he continues slowly stroking his cock. Your fingers run all over the back of his thighs, feeling the holey fabric combined with his silky body hair, and squeeze his tight ass.
"Your ass looks so perfect like this. Perhaps it needs a bit more attention."
Copia groans in anticipation. You grab some lube and a modest dildo from your underwear drawer. He is still bent over, not wanting to break this charade, but pauses his stroking to stretch his back out. He's not a young man anymore, after all. And he knows he is about to get his ass fucked and cock milked.
You lube up two fingers and begin massaging his tight ring. "As much as I wanna fuck you until you see stars, I'm not that cruel."
Copia moans, hard. He wants this so bad. He wants you to be unforgiving; the humiliation from him, a 55-year-old clergyman, wearing your fishnets and a miniskirt, is overwhelming him. He needs that sweet spot in his ass to be fucked into oblivion, to have his cock milked and come spilled all over your bedspread.
He turns his head around, his white eye piercing right through you through heavy lids, and finally says his first words to you: "Tesoro.... please....fuck me..."
You plunge your fingers inside him, your other hand holding onto his lower back for leverage. Your fingers go as deep as possible, up to your knuckles, over and over again, pounding into him, as he screams your name.
"Yessss....yes yes yes!!", Copia pants. You curl your fingers upward, finding his prostate, and massage it in circles, the repeated sensation driving him insane. Your other hand is applying pressure to his taint, with the end goal of milking as much come from this man as possible.
Copia's left arm is supporting his head, as he hides his face in overstimulation, with his right relentlessly stroking his cock. He feels it...the most intense orgasm of his life is approaching.
"I need... I need... MORE!!"
Time to deliver the final blow. The hand massaging his taint grabs the lube, squirting a generous amount onto the dildo. You remove your fingers from his ass, replacing it slowly with the dripping toy. Your other hand reaches around to bat his hand out of the way, taking hold of his cock.
You find a harsh rhythm between your hand pumping his angry, red cock, and the hand plowing his ass with the dildo. Meanwhile, Copia is completely unraveling. Eyes closed, whining, drooling, groaning, and nearly in tears, he feels himself about to fall over the precipice. The thick dildo hits his sweet spot in his ass over and over again, and his balls become painfully tight.
"FU-UUCK!" Copia screams, chest heaving as he works through his orgasm. Endless ropes of come shoot lightning fast, all over the bedspread beneath him. You failed to notice sooner that your used thong ended up in his mouth at one point, like a gag.
Copia collapses fully on the bed now, smiling wholesomely when you curl up next to him.
"My darling," he begins, between breaths, "Thank you. I...I needed that."
You giggle, nuzzling your nose into his. "I wasn't kidding. You really do look good in these."
~~
Tagging my favorite fellow whore for Copia @copiasslut <3
The Cardinal has been offering his services to you behind closed doors. Nothing more than a discreet, mutually beneficial transaction. But could it ever be that simple? A night of drinking and avoiding each other at a Ministry event lead you to reassess those lines, if you had ever really drawn them in the first place.
Cardinal Copia x Reader. Terms used for reader: clit, cunt. Wearing a dress and heels, has long hair. Is mildly intoxicated. Explicit 18+ MDNI. ~3.5k words. Implied poorly thought out dom(Copia)/sub relationship. Outdoors, rough sex. (mild?) Degradation. Glove used as a gag.
You had it almost down to an art. Watching him without actually looking. As you had bounced from conversation to conversation and from the bar to your table, you had never lost sight of him from the corner of your eye. Clinking glasses and laughing politely in the right places, you had managed a rather convincing social butterfly act and had even entertained some lighthearted flirtation, much to Copia's chagrin.
It's a dance you were becoming accustomed to, keeping your distance and keeping any public interaction minimal and dull. You stored away each furtive glance and plausibly accidental touch to build the anticipation of your next evening alone, the knowledge of having something that belongs only to you both adding to the thrill. The thought that, even if they caught a glimpse of his marks all over your skin, no-one would ever guess that the Cardinal was the one inflicting them on you. But on this evening, there is a different sort of static in the air, prickling your skin as Copia's agitation grows.
Luckily for him, his inability to pay attention to those around him did not raise many eyebrows. His awkward eccentricities being understood along with the fact this was the first Clergy celebration he had bothered to attend in months bought him some grace from those he was tuning out. Even if a few would become frustrated having to repeat themselves and notice his attention wander, none of them seemed to realise exactly where it was wandering to or the way his teeth set on edge if they dared to block his view.
He hovers in your periphery and manages to inch his way closer but your resolve to avoid eye contact seems unwavering. For whose benefit at this point, you are not totally sure. You feel his eyes bore into you as you feign interest in something on the other side of the room while taking another swig of champagne. Copia knows it's your fifth glass and isn't surprised you're leaning against a table instead of trusting your feet to stay steady. He watches intently as you swallow, captivated by your throat pulsing around the liquid. His gaze follows it down your neck to your chest and then eventually down to the swell of your hips, wondering if you can still feel the imprint of his hand on that perfectly formed ass of yours.
What you can feel is a heat flushing through you. Not helped by the champagne but mainly from his intense attention which is only getting harder to ignore. It creeps across your chest and up to your face and you think some fresh air might be needed to cool down but, before you can think about it much more, a commotion behind you has you turning on your heels. You see the back of Copia's head through the crowd moving towards the patio doors of the function room, and your feet move.
The evening air almost knocks you over, earning a few looks from the other guests who have also spilled outside. You plant your feet and take in a deep breath, the mix of flowers and cigarette smoke filling your nostrils. You scan the small crowd but there is no sign of Copia, and so you decide to find somewhere quieter to sit for a while. You ignore those trying to pull you into conversation, trying to convince you to huddle with them for warmth, and slip past to head further into the grounds.
You turn a corner, disappearing behind the building's side. In its shadow, you feel a chill and with the fading light of the party now firmly behind you, you sway even more now in the dark. As you reach out a hand, leaning on the rough brickwork, you sense movement and see a vague figure in front of you. You squint into the dark but before you can rein in your senses, the figure grabs you by the wrist and shunts you against the wall.
"Do I have your attention now?" Copia pins you with a firm grip, one gloved hand on your waist and another on your neck.
You smirk in response, waiting for his lips to crash to yours but instead he lets you squirm. Your defiance wobbles as his stern features come into focus. Seeing up close how tense and riled up he is has you rubbing your thighs together already, relishing the anticipation of him taking it out on you.
"I was just letting you enjoy your evening," you retort confidently, but find your gaze drifting to his lips, hovering tantalisingly close to yours.
You wait for his grip to tighten, for his touch and his mouth to claim you, but he stays infuriatingly still. As does his withering stare, the only thing really keeping you in place and only threatening you with what you want. He looks terrifyingly handsome like this, half his face shrouded in the dark leaving only his white iris visible, with the other half scarcely lit by the distant patio lights.
Determined not to break first, you try to steel yourself and force a carefree smile but the way your body starts to lean in to him betrays you. Your breath hitches as you feel leather brushing over your thigh, pushing up your dress just an inch and letting the cool breeze reach a little higher. The light sensation, as close to tender as you can stomach, almost makes you wonder if the rules have changed. Can they change when hardly any have been truly set? You think that maybe, outside of his quarters, he might struggle to follow the usual routine. He might not want to. You don't want that. Do you?
You try to shake off the thought but the only other thing to focus on is him. Him not kissing you. Not grabbing you. Not taking you. The crackling tension makes your head swim.
"Maybe I should go, then," he offers. "Enjoy my evening."
A dare. A bluff, you hope. He leans in close enough for you to taste the alcohol on his breath - sweet wine and the whiskey he was too polite to decline - and you feel his moustache bristle just above your lip. The corner of his mouth curls briefly but he quickly steps back. He smooths over his clothes and, before he can change his mind, turns to walk back to the party.
Copia barely manages a few steps before you lurch after him, grabbing on to him and pushing him into the wall with as much care as he had shown you. Your hands find his face, pulling it roughly to yours to start a fiercely passionate kiss. He freezes for a moment, either from shock or the will to make you wait, but he cannot seem to resist the demand from the bruising pressure and when your tongue slips in against his, he knows it is futile to carry on any pretence.
He only lets you take control for a minute, allowing your mouth to swallow his laugh. It falters as you press against him harder, chuckles becoming muted moans as one hand pushes into his hair and the other slides from his hip to his cock. He groans as you squeeze and he shivers as your mouth begins to travel to his jaw, down his neck and then to the centre of his throat. He feels the slight scrape of teeth as you suck over his Adam's apple and he starts to wonder how he can convince you to be in charge more often.
You feel the jagged stone against your back again, Copia spinning you and caging you in with a leg between your thighs. His breath puffs out, small clouds of warm vapour splitting over your pink nose. You glance to the corner of the building as you hear laughter, the murmur of conversation from the gathering much closer now. You turn back to Copia just in time to see a glint in his eye that tells you whatever he had in store for you - torturous payback in one form or another - may have just changed.
You jolt as Copia forcefully cups between your legs before a satisfied grin spreads across your face, proud that your game seems to have worked. But when he only ghosts his fingers over your already damp underwear, you feel a mixture of confusion and disappointment. He's gentle and excruciatingly slow, barely applying enough pressure for his gloves to disturb fabric as he studies your expression. It's now more of a scowl and, even as the seam of his leather clad hand presses into your clit, you try to stay defiant. But as Copia experimentally increases the pressure, your eyelashes fluttering and your teeth sinking into your lip gives you away.
You snatch at his wrist but he swats it away and, just like that, you surrender. Your only reward is Copia closing his lips around yours, sucking lightly,only for a second before pulling away. You don't know whether to slap him or start tearing off his clothes but, as if he senses it, his fingers begin a steady stroke. Your whimpering earns another smirk but his amusement doesn't last long.
When you feel the pressure lessen, your hand grabs at his wrist to keep it in place. It's one bold move too many, one you would never dare try behind closed doors. You don't ask for anything, you take what you are given. That's how you had wanted it to work and Copia had been willing. As willing as he seems now to remind you of that fact.
"Feeling brave tonight, hm?" He cocks his head. "You would like to be in charge instead? Tell me - are you getting bored of our, ah, little arrangement? Perhaps you would like it to come to an end."
"No!" You say it a little too loud and a little too fast. Even the suggestion of it winds you, and your eyes dart frantically over his face as you try to read into him.
He sighs, "Good." You think he is sincere. You hope. Was his brief hesitation a hint of disappointment? "Then you know I should correct your behaviour."
You nod although he did not pose it as a question.
"The fact you have ignored me all evening," he continues, "thinking you can tease me… thinking YOU decide when you want me? Grabbing at me like some sort of animal…"
His jaw twitches, and he pauses. "You have been taught better than that." He tuts and thinks for a moment. "What to do with you…"
"I'm sorry, I —ahh!"
His hand slaps sharply against your cunt and your knees almost give out. "I entertained it for a second. Which was wrong of me. Gave you ideas. Made you forget, hm?"
Any answer you try to give dies in your throat, your heart hammering as he roughly shoves three fingers inside you. The stinging fades quickly, making you realise you're already soaking his glove and more than ready for whatever he decides you deserve. You are unsurprised when he decides you deserve to wait a little longer, removing himself to leave you clenching around nothing. He runs his tongue along his finger, chuckling at your frustrated whine.
He makes a show of peeling off a glove. Lifting it towards the light, he inspects it, admiring the way you have coated its material, making the edges almost glisten where your slick has gathered. He bends slightly, gently lifting the fabric of your dress as if investigating where the wetness had come from. You hold it when he hands it to you, baring yourself to him. His breath gives a brief respite from the brisk evening chill when he squats in front of you. He inhales sharply, humming into your scent.
With a flick of his wrist, the glove whips against you. The sound of leather and wet skin bounces off brick and concrete, echoing over your exasperated moan.
"Quiet," he snaps, springing back up to his feet. "They do not deserve to hear you." He slams his body into yours. "Only for me." He reels back and slaps you again, harder this time directly over your clit. As your body quivers, you bite down hard on your lip to stifle a yelp. He seems satisfied this time.
He fumbles with the cumbersome cloth of his cassock and his hand disappears under its folds to stroke his length. His other travels a deliberate path up your thigh, taking time to prod at the welt only he knows is there before trailing over your hip to settle an another of his hand prints. A twitch of his fingers signals you to wrap a leg around his waist and brace yourself. However, his tip catches and he sinks into you torturously slow, at a rate of millimetres. You watch each other's mouths, lips parting further as he sheathes himself.
Once still, he looks deep into your eyes that shine back at his with desperation and just the right amount of apprehension. You tighten around him, muscles in your core pulsing to plead for friction.
"I can feel you," he says, unsteadily through increasingly affected breaths. "Your body, begging. I know what you need." His voice cracks. "Say it."
"I'm yours to use. However you see fit."
The first roll of his hips rewards your declaration but his up until now domineering stance immediately starts to disintegrate. His head rests on your shoulder and he whines into your neck.
"What are you?" He rasps, struggling to restrain himself.
"I'm just a hole for you to fill."
You earn another roll, a little more forceful this time - hearing those words always does something to him, regardless of how many times he denies it. You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the bite of the brickwork digging into your back and focus on the feeling of him stretching you instead. His movements start languid and deliberate, gradually snapping harder, then thrusting deeper until your teeth slip off your lip. You hardly recognise the sound you let out.Copia's whole body tenses. He takes your chin in a vice-like grip and you freeze under his glare, pupils blown until an idea strikes him. He lifts a balled fist and shows you his earlier discarded glove, wrinkled and still damp. You smell yourself mingled with the faint scent of conditioning balm used to treat the worn leather. You don't realise your mouth is open until the glove is lodged between your teeth.
They grind down into it, the tang of your own arousal settling on your tongue, while all Copia can do is stare. There's an uncertainty in his eyes, logically understanding the purpose of his action but knocked off balance by the result. He studies you as your jaw settles, your mouth moulding around the intrusion as you continue to groan without him having to move at all. Lust twists his insides as your eyes flutter shut, and his restraint shatters.
The glove doesn't do much to quiet you when he finally gives in. You cry out with each slam of his hips, each thrust emptying your lungs, but Copia no longer seems to care if anyone hears either of you. Unbridled need taking over him, any inhibitions disappear in his punishing, pounding rhythm which is only encouraged to escalate as you completely come undone. With grime and dirt smudged across your arms and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, you still try to scream out a song for him. But, for now, he is more than happy to sing loud enough for you both.
There is a swell of noise from the party - the patio doors perhaps opening and letting more revellers outside - and your attention is briefly stolen by it, noticing the defined shadow of a guest become enveloped by the growing crowd. Everything suddenly feels louder, harsher. Panic rises in your throat but it's hard to separate the fear from desire as Copia moves faster and harder, his moans blending into the distant, raucous voices.
Naturally turning towards the noise, Copia easily guides your body using the momentum to face you towards the wall. Grit scratches your cheek as he presses against you, slamming back into you before you can think. You try to reach back, clumsily managing to find what feels like the side of his thigh to grip, encouraging him the only way you can. He obliges, willing his body to move faster and find more strength, already panting hard into your neck.
His chants between thrusts are mostly unintelligible until he settles on one word: "Mine." Torn by needing to keep himself steady and wanting to claim every inch of you, his touch becomes frantic. He grabs and gropes everywhere he can reach, too fast to feel enough of you, which only makes you both frustrated. Every part of you is on fire, and the way he is completely losing control of himself only stokes you further.
By the time you try to reach for his hand to pull it between your legs, you don't need it. With his hand now tangled in your hair at the base of your skull, he thrusts up hard and your pathetic whimpering becomes a continuous drone. It breaks with a muffled shriek as Copia sinks his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from wailing. Your legs shake but with his full weight pinning you in place, there is nowhere to fall. You try to brace yourself against the rising pressure in your core but it rips through you as you climax. You seize as your vision blurs, heat flooding right through to your extremities as everything else fades to black.
Copia isn't far behind; it's only clear in the moment he breaks how hard he had been trying to hold on. As his violent shuddering begins to calm, he lurches into your back, supporting you even as your limbs go limp, keeping himself seated deep inside you until he is spent. You bask in bliss for a few minutes in the safety of his arms now wrapped around your waist, your delirious smile made only more deranged by the way the makeshift gag warps it. You cough into it, and suddenly your surroundings feel a bit more in focus. It also seems to remind Copia where you are.
He hurriedly removes the glove and spins you around to face him, propping you against the wall while keeping a relatively steady hand at your hip. He frowns while wiping your tear-streaked cheek and tuts as he thumbs over a tear at the seam of your dress.
"I'm good," you somehow manage to croak.
"You're a mess."
"I know." You grin, still coming down from your high, and it's enough to ease Copia's concern for a moment. He leans in to rest his head on yours and lets out a hint of a chuckle as you massage your aching jaw.
"It was… maybe a bit much, I—"
"It was exactly what I needed," you interrupt and, before he can argue, you pull his lips to yours to offer reassurance. The kiss is overwhelmingly delicate, tempered by your exhaustion and his caution given your current state, until you both break apart at the sound of someone tapping a glass.
"Yes but… still. A bit much given where we are," he whispers, feeling more exposed now that the nearby crowd is quietly listening to an on-going toast. "We need to get you out of here."
"I'm fine. Give me a few minutes and I can sneak back to my room. You can't leave, you have ass-kissing to do."
"Yes, well. I will have to catch up on my ass-kissing later. I'll take you to my room, it's closer." You sigh and throw him a familiar side-eye. "Just to get cleaned up! You do not have to stay. But you can, if you wish."
You shrug in agreement, quietly dreading the long conversation which will be on the agenda later tonight. You concede to yourself that you need to discuss where the lines are when you are outside of the confines of his room, at the very least. But you know another discussion will inevitably follow at Copia's behest. One that scares you but can't be avoided much longer. One that will inevitably lead you into a quiet morning sharing coffee in an all too saccharine, domestic scene.
You want to keep the boundaries solid but, especially after tonight, they feel anything but. And as he helps you out of your heels and slings your arm around his shoulder to guide you further into the dark, you know your resolve to keep him at arms length is already crumbling. By the time he's outlining his plans for the evening, which include helping you into his tub for a long, luxurious soak, you might be ready to admit that thinking you wouldn't allow yourself to become attached to the Cardinal had been incredibly naive.
You huffed shifting around the covers to face him now, he was already looking at you.
“Answer the question…”
“…Don’t most men want sons?”
He buried his head into the pillow, exhaling. His mind was else where.
“A bambina.”
He turned his head back towards you.
“How come?”
“Well, a figlio would be the son of the church. Whisked away from us from birth. Based off a promise one of my ancestors made to the olde one generations ago.”
“Bred into an imposition, molded to be something against his will. And that’s assuming he can develop little feelings to fester before they’re snuffed out.”
“But a little girl…” He spoke softly. His eyes drifting from yours to the air around you.
Prompt 11 (new territory) with Copia/Papa IV/ F.I. ?
Well apparently I'm incapable of writing things in short snippets but this was mega fun.
[11] pulling back from a kiss to look at them, then immediately going back in.
In the time you'd know him, he'd gone from a Cardinal, to Papa, to now Frater. You'd been with him every step of the way, giving assistance as needed and offering assurance when you could. While it was a role you sort of fell into, you were happy to help because regardless of his role, he never treated you as anything other than his equal. Not only that, but he was overtly clear that he wanted you to know you could trust him, that your safety was never in question in his presence. While previous holders of the coveted Papa role weren't necessarily shy about their encounters with other members of the Ministry, Copia was always quick to make sure you never felt that was part of your duties. In fact, when he'd asked you specifically to call him Copia instead of his title, he'd explicitly stated that this was merely because the formality of “Imperator” when you were helping him figure out his new espresso machine was simply too uncomfortable whilst bickering over instructions poorly translated from Japanese to Italian. Yet even then, you felt he wanted you to be certain this was still a platonic decision, one without ulterior motives.
Tonight was no different; you were waiting outside under the protection of the patio while the rain bucketed down around you as you awaited the Ministry car. By now he was at least 45 minutes late and while you'd learned that the Ministry typically had its own timeline with official matters, you were admittedly growing concerned. He'd asked you to wait for him so he could attempt to decode his notes from the Clergy meeting into something more legible, but after seeing the garage door close nearly a half hour ago, you couldn't help but wonder if something more serious had transpired.
Just as you were readying yourself to give up and retire to your dorm, something on the rain-soaked horizon caught your eye. Squinting, you were just barely able to make out a form angrily traipsing towards the courtyard.
“Frater?” You called out, your voice muffled by the downpour. “Copia, is that you?”
The only thing you heard in response was a string of curses colorfully mixed in English and Italian, your cry seemingly falling on dead ears. As the distance between you closed, you watched as the figure held up a hand to shield the rain from his eyes and upon seeing you, started to awkwardly jog towards you in utterly drenched clothing.
“Sorella, forgive me! Cazzo, the damned car blew a tire and while our ghouls are good at many things, mechanics are not one of them. My sincerest apologies for making you wait, I hope- what? What are you laughing at?”
You'd tried, truly you did, to keep a hand over your mouth to mask your chuckling, but the sight of your beloved leader standing before you in absolutely sopping wet clothes, the black paint smearing around his eyes, he looked positively absurd.
“I'm so sorry, Copia, I just… pardon the expression but right now you really do look like a drowned rat.”
For a moment he stared at you in sheer seriousness, but his true feelings betrayed him as his mouth twitched into a grin, holding his arms out as water dropped from the sodden fabric.
“Ah, yes, I suppose you are correct, sorella. I must look completely ridiculous.”
While you nodded sympathetically, you ushered him towards the entryway.
“Let's try and get you dried off at least.”
It hadn't even occurred to you until you were pulling an oversized towel out of his bathroom cabinet that it was the first time you'd actually been in his room. You'd dropped off things at his door before; paperwork, files, the random cup of tea when you thought he'd been working too hard, but you'd never crossed the threshold before. While you'd stepped into the bathroom, Copia had immediately gone into his bedroom to change and you'd actually heard the wet clothes hitting the floor with a loud shlump. As you stepped out of the bathroom, Copia stood sheepishly outside of his room in a red sweat suit, trying to shake some of the rain from his dripping wet hair.
“Here,” you chuckled, draping the towel over his head and ruffling it. He stood unmoving in front of you as you worked, his hands flexing at his sides.
You tried to ignore the intimacy of not only being in his private chambers, but also seeing him stripped down from Frater to simply Copia. Your Copia.
“There,” you said, letting the towel fall around his shoulders. “That's a little better.”
“You are too good to me, sorella,” he gave a soft yet somewhat strained laugh. “I do apologize for keeping you. I truly do not mean to be so careless with your time.”
“I didn't mind waiting.” Without thinking, you picked up a corner of the towel and wiped it under his eyes to clean the dripping paint. “You were expecting me and I said I would be there.”
This time as you let the towel fall limply against his shoulder and you moved your arm back to your side, you were surprised as he caught your hand in his.
“Your kindness is a gift,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping to his thumb stroking against your knuckles.
Had he ever touched you before? Surely there must have been a moment of contact, however brief, when your fingers had collided but for the life of you, you couldn't remember that ever occurring. Quite the opposite in fact. Almost like he tried hai hardest not to touch you. Immediately your heart began to pound in your ears, your eyes going wide. How had it not occurred to you until this moment how badly you wanted to be close to him?
Slowly, he brought your hand to his lips, gently kissing your fingers as his eyes fluttered closed. You swallowed hard, eyes jumping from his mouth to the thick wave of dark lashes. As he looked up at you, you nearly jumped back, but upon seeing how obviously nervous he was as well, you hesitated.
“Sorella…” he began, his voice weak and raspy.
You dared take a step forward, closing the gap between you as you tentatively reached up to stroke his cheek. Before you knew it, you leaned in close, your eyes locked on his.
When his lips finally pressed against your mouth, the warmth coursing through you felt like an electric current, shooting directly to your core. It was cautious, not intense or probing, but carefully measured. You didn't know which of you was more concerned about the other's consent, but the shared trepidation felt like more like a kiss after a middle school dance than one between two full-grown adults.
Risking the possibility of rejection, you brought your hand to the back of his neck, wet hair tickling your fingers as you pulled him closer. Immediately his hands found your waist, fingers splayed against your sides as he gently caressed your delicate curves. Softly, his tongue brushed your lip, coaxing your mouth to open as he deepened the kiss, a quiet moan escaping his throat.
The sound seemed to jolt him back into the real world and he pulled back instantly, his eyes darting between yours, frantically searching for any show of doubt or disgust. As you caught your breath, you held his gaze, surprised by his hesitancy but also finding it met with the same energy you'd come to expect from him. He was confident when he needed to be, when it was expected, but when it was just him, just you, he was simply Copia. Your Copia.
Slowly, you nodded your head, offering a small smile. Please, you thought, desperate for him to read your mind. Please.
It didn't take long after your agreement for his lips to collide against yours, the intensity skyrocketed at an alarming rate but one you were glad to meet. You wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders as he gripped your waist, pulling you even closer against him.
Certainly not how you expected to spend your evening, but you somehow had a feeling you wouldn't have any complaints.
