This has been on my mind since yesterday... How do you think mornings with Copia would look like? Cause I can imagine it either being the fluffiest shit on this planet or straight up nsfw.
How about both?
18+ MDNI. Copia x GN! Reader. Fluff, intercourse, aftercare.
The shrill ring of Copia's hundred year old alarm clock swiftly pulls you from sweet dreams, and you groan softly as you turn in the warm, well-used sheets, pressing your nose into the pillows. A low grunt, and the dip of the mattress betrays your partner's wakefulness as well, and the sudden silence of the alarm makes you sigh in relief. You bounce a little as Copia falls back flat on the bed, and you both settle into a silence, trying to hold on to those last few minutes of rest before the work day.
You open an eye, peeking at your bedmate, and you smile, soft and sleepy. Copia in the morning is precious. His hair is always such a mess, sticking in every direction and plastered to his forehead. His face is quiet from sleep, those worry lines and signs of age carefully nestled and soft between warm skin. You know his brow will furrow deeply as the day passes, his bottom lip chewed to bits because of a budget issue, or the Ghost project, or whichever other nonsense that falls into the lap of Papa Emeritus IV. But you've always told him to wear his face proud. He's earned it.
You reach up to smooth the hair back from his forehead, and Copia catches your hand, bringing it to his lips to press little kisses to the tips of each of your fingers. "Good morning, amore," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He turns, his hand falling just behind your thigh to drag you toward him across the mattress. He hikes your leg over his hip, sliding his leg beneath to hook around your other. Copia tucks you against his chest, dropping more kisses onto your forehead. "I dreamt of you."
"Good dreams?" You ask softly, nuzzling into the soft skin of his neck, and pressing your own kiss to his throat.
"Oh, sì," he responds, his hand working under your sleep shirt to knead the flesh of your side, dropping lower to curl beneath your waistband. "My dreams are always good when you are there. But I will tell you something even better, eh?"
He pulls back just a little to look into your eyes with that familiar crooked smile. His thumb finds your cheek, drawing gently over it. "Reality," he finishes.
Your lips meet as the final word slips from his mouth, tender and sweet, the last vestiges of sleep hanging on just a little beneath the embers of passion. You're obsessed with his taste, even when neither of you have brushed your teeth, and it appears that Copia agrees as he licks into your mouth with abandon, swiftly taking dominance and curling his tongue around yours. Your hand slides from his chest to his stomach, finding purchase in the soft skin to pull yourself closer. You can feel him, ready for you, and you wonder how long he's been standing at attention with the way it pulses insistently against the material of his shorts.
Copia captures your chin in his hand, tilting your head in the way he wants it best to further plunder your mouth. "You can take me, hmm?" He murmurs against your lips. "You can take your Papa?"
You nod, desperately, and he's pulling at your clothes, lazy and unhurried, adjusting you both until he's deep, filling you, loving you, no barriers between you. He cradles your face, never breaking eye contact, and his other hand falls to your hip, pulling you against him again and again and again.
"Ti amo, oh, amore mio, oh, my baby," he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours as he catches each of your moans with one of his own. "So good, so good for me. You feel me, sì? You feel me so deep."
His words alone are enough to take you over, your trembling body held so protectively by the man you love, and he follows you swiftly, hips grinding achingly slow against you as if trying to prolong your connection in such a state of bliss.
You lie together, a heap of tangled limbs in the sheets, the morning light shining so gently upon your bodies. It would be so easy to go back to sleep, lulled into peace by your shared passion, but the alarm rings once more.
Muscles loose, and unable to part, you join Copia in the shower, taking your time to run a warm, soaped cloth across every beautiful inch of his body, and in turn, he holds you under the warm stream, gazing into your face with adoration. A perfect morning.
Dude, I loved the lightweight fic so much!!! Copia was so sweet in both and I just can't. I've always had in the back of my mind that Copia has to be a lightweight...but I'm lowkey a heavyweight so now it's got me thinking about a lightweight Copia with a heavyweight reader 🤣 Like he tries to keep up but absolutely can't and refuses the fact and pouts.
Copia x GN! Reader. Inebriated Copia, alcohol.
"One more."
"No."
"Just-just-just one...just one. I gotta...we do together. We do-do-do....we do..."
Your jaw drops a little and forms an incredulous smile as Copia throws a hand out, his head tilted as he looks at you with flushed cheeks and bleary eyes. He's acting like you're the one who needs convincing, although your third glass sits nearly empty on the bar table in front of you. You reach across the table to take his hand, bringing it down to the tabletop. Your thumb strokes over his knuckles, and his shoulders fall as a deep sigh bursts from pouting lips.
"Amore, I can do it," he says, using his free hand to take another sip of his swirling purple drink. "We have fun, sì?"
"We have fun, Copia," you confirm, giggling as he smiles, wide and dopey. He presses his tongue against his teeth and you have to lean in a little to catch the happy noise he makes. But then your hands are coming up as Copia sways dangerously, his expression darkening. He drags his drink toward him and dips his head so low, his nose is practically in the cup.
"Leccaculo," he growls into the liquid, and your brow furrows. That's a new one.
"Are you angry at your drink, sweetie?" You ask, and Copia sits ramrod straight, his eyes wide.
"He...he mocks me, amore. Do you see?" Copia gestures at the drink, and then gestures at the drink, and you glance quickly around the bar, lowering your head and laughing. "OH," Copia's voice is devastated. "He even turns my...my....," his brow turns in and he squints at you, leaning forward a little. He looks blank, but then waves his arm dramatically. "You! Against me."
Copia breaks out into little sobs, dropping his head into his arm, but then he's right back up again. "I can't. Amore, I can't. Mi dispiace. I'm so drunk."
"I know, my love," you coo, standing from your chair and coming around to drape an arm over his back. "Let's go home, okay? Go home and snuggle."
"I'd like that so much. I love you so much," he says, wrapping his arms around you. He nearly tumbles from the chair, and you lift, your legs buckling under his dead weight. He's half on top of you and you're practically on the floor, but you meet his eyes, and Copia is smiling so sweetly, his nose tucked into your chest, and you decide that a little back pain is definitely worth it.
But I read your "copia x reader who sleeps with their face covered" and I found it really cute:))
I was thinking if you could write headcanons about a reader who likes to be the big spoon and hold copia and maybe copia resting on the reader's chest?
Bonus points if the reader is tall
No pressure tho:))
<3
Copia x GN! Reader. Little spoon Copia headcanons. Fluff.
There are days when Copia wants to be the big spoon. He loves to hold his lover close, cradled in his arms because it is the surest way to remind himself that...you're really there. And you're breathing. And you're okay. He can protect you like this, adore you like this.
But Copia needs that, too. Countless decades of being alone, of hugging his pillow against his chest and dreaming of someone who'd stay just a little longer than a night, makes him yearn to be the little spoon. To feel safe, and loved, and apart of something.
He delights in the feeling of your chest against his back, and if you are taller than him, he burrows down into the covers, just to tuck his head under your chin. To feel entirely encased in your warmth. Secure in the arms of the person he trusts more than anyone else in the world.
But of course, toward the end of the night, when the morning rays flutter between the curtains, you'll have become a tangled mess of limbs, sheets half on, half off the bed. But your arms remain around him, his head resting so peacefully against your chest, right over your heartbeat. His symphony of peace.
Hello there! I’m not sure if you are accepting writing prompts at this time. But please entertain my curiosity if you are. Imagine this: female reader X Copia, but one of them (or both) are unable to sleep due to insomnia. Relatable tbh. Thank you!
Copia x F! Reader. Fluff, insomnia, happy dreams.
"Do you think there are adults in the world who wait all year to sit in Santa's lap?" You ask, turning to look at Copia in the darkened bedroom. "Like it's a kink?"
Your husband stares at you for several seconds, his brow turning in, deepening the wrinkles on his forehead. He reaches out a hand to lovingly touch your cheek. "Amore, you need to sleep."
You glance at the clock on the bedside table. 3:27 AM. You smile and return his touch. "So do you."
"Ah," Copia says with a small shrug, leaning back against the headboard. He draws you close, tucking you against his side. Copia takes his time to tuck the blankets around you both, sighing deeply. His fingers glide across your forehead and flutter sweetly down your cheek to tuck a few hairs behind your ear. "Let us see what we can do to change that, eh?"
"Not work so much?" You quip, laughing when he squeezes you and growls playfully in your ear.
"Sì, sì, I know this," he says, a smile playing at his lips. He drops a kiss on top of your head. "We need a vacation. Somewhere far away."
"A cabin, just the two of us," you murmur, turning your cheek into the warmth of his t-shirt.
"In the mountains. Surrounded by snow, and trees. We'll build a fire, and make s'mores. Lie in a nest of blankets and pillows," he whispers, his accented voice soft and dreamy.
"With kisses?" You breathe, your eyelids growing heavier the more this precious fantasy is weaved.
"So many kisses." Copia slips further down the bed, adjusting you to rest on his chest. He yawns. "Hanky panky..."
You giggle, your eyes closed. "That sounds nice..."
You're both asleep within minutes, dreaming of a cabin for two.
How do you think Copia would react to a reader who covers their face while sleeping? Like each night they'll curl up against him underneath the sheets and cup their hands around their nose and mouth, loose enough to breathe but tight enough he can't see the bottom half of their face. Sometimes they'll bury their face in a pillow, blanket, or stuffed animal- sometimes they'll even bury their face in his chest. And every time they cuddle he can tell when they're getting sleepy because they will start to curl up and cover their face, and they can't even deny it (though they still try)
sorry I have copia brain rot and I love your writing ADJAMSNS
This is so relatable because every time I imagine sleeping in bed with him, I just want to shove my face into his body and cocoon myself as close as possible LOL.
Copia x Reader Who Covers Their Face When Sleeping
🐀- There's going to be a couple of times in the beginning where he panics because he thinks you're going to suffocate.
🐀- Especially when waking out of a sleep to find you plastered so close against him that he can't see your face, and maybe you look a little too still, and he is a flailing mess as he rockets out of bed to grab you, body shaking in relief when you open your eyes and stare at him entirely bewildered.
🐀 - But that's just Copia being the sweetly nervous wreck he is, and after that...oh, after that, he thinks you're the most adorable thing he ever did see.
🐀 - Imagine his face when he glances over at you, watching you curl around your object of choice that evening, hoping desperately that you'll use his chest instead. His eyebrows furrow for a moment as a bubbly rush rises from his stomach to his chest, a hitched breath escaping his lips as his heart begins to beat just a little faster. His eyes shine with adoration, bottom lip trembling just a little as his mouth stretches into a smile.
🐀 - He'll smooth your hair away from your face and place his palm atop your head, his thumb reaching down to softly stroke against the skin of your forehead. Just to let you know that he's there, that he wants you to have the best sleep full of the sweetest dreams. That maybe you'll even dream of him.
🐀 - When you're sitting on the couch at night, watching something mindless, and he sees that content, sleepy look in your eye, he'll merely reach over and guide your head to his chest with a quiet, "Vieni qui, dormiglione mio," adjusting so you can bury your face into the fabric of his shirt.
🐀- And when you get a little embarrassed, denying that you need such a thing to sleep, he'll merely tut and kiss the top of your head before bringing all your favorite blankets or pillows or stuffies to bed so you have ultimate face burying opportunities. Doesn't stop him from opening his arms with a smile and a wink, encouraging you to use him instead.
🐀- Copia will love you for any quirk you have. Whatever makes you comfortable is vitally important to him. And maybe he starts to bury his face into the crook of your neck, or when you've flipped over in bed, he nuzzles into your back. Being this close to you is like a balm to his soul. You definitely have the right idea with this face burying business.
Tonight I’m thinking about the Italian tradition of La Serenata, with Copia. I’m also being very normal about this thought. Totally totally normal.
EXCUSE ME?
Imagine you’ve left your window open to catch a midnight breeze. Snuggled down in your bed, you listen to the gentle swaying of the trees, rustling in nature’s dance. It’s your wedding day tomorrow, the tying of two souls brought together under his Infernal Majesty’s grace. Your wedding to Copia. Beautiful, adoring Copia, who spent the entire rehearsal dinner staring at you in wonder as if he couldn’t believe you existed, as if he couldn’t believe you chose him.
Your eyelids grow heavy, eager to sleep and eager to wake…but then you hear a voice. Crooning sweet and soft, then rising, your body immediately becomes alert. You would recognize that voice anywhere. Jumping from your bed, and nearly tripping over the tangled sheets, you rush to the window, the voice beckoning you, singing of love and eternity.
Copia stands below your window, his voice warbling slightly when he sees you, overcome by the sight of his bride, yet he manages to sing on. Determined to do this right. It is La Serenata. Something he has waited his entire life to do, had given up hope to do. He pours out his very soul into the words he sings, reaching for you, wishing to wipe the tears that match the ones streaming down his cheeks.
Perhaps then, when the song is over, when only the leaves sing once more, anyone out for a nightly stroll will ignore the groom scrambling through the window of his bride.
personally ,, i feel like fucking copia today idk idk
You see there’s a reason for that. It’s called being Copexual. There’s a special lobe in our brains that is shaped like a C and when it’s stimulated by the images of a Cardinal or an Antipope, it causes us to want the fuckening. It’s the latest in science. You are not alone.
