Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
Summary: A birthday present for my dearest @nocturnal-birb I did my best and hope you like it. This also goes out to all you folks who feel this way and need a Papa’s support and reassurance.
Copia x Reader || Papa Emeritus iv x Reader || Fluff || Comfort Fic || Established Relationship || Poorly Translated Italian || WC: 1716
You stand before Copia’s door with a manilla folder in hand full of official documents for him to sign off on. There’s a few about his next sermon, some to do with the next tour, and notices from the clergy.
You gently rapped your knuckles against his door, loud enough to get his attention while your other hand brushes invisible dust off your habit and straightens the small amount of wrinkles. You wish you had more time to tidy up. Your hair was being very uncooperative today and you had been in such a rush this morning that you had forgone makeup.
You hoped he wouldn’t mind that you didn’t look your best. However, knowing Copia, it’s not because of your makeup that he’s always staring at your face with his dopey lovesick eyes. You smile at imagining him getting distracted again in the midst of paperwork coercing you that neither of you get any work done.
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Hi can you pleaaaaassse do HCs about Copias corruption kink I’ll literally die
Have a little short nonny.
Who does Papa turn to for confession with all his predecessors dead?
Copia has to try hard to convince himself once in a while. He’s a good man. He’s an honest man, well, sure, there's a little white lie once in a while, but he’s never hurt anybody with it. He’s never stolen, and he’s worked hard to get where he is now. (Even though he’s almost certain his name was drawn from a hat.) He keeps everything tidy. He’s frank. He’s polite. He’s a good man.
But his eyes are on you.
You’re new to the sisterhood and still wet behind the ears, with your habit on proper and not a hair out of place. You’re bright, you’re shiny, you’re fresh. You have a soft voice, a shy smile, and despite being a Sister of Sin, you have innocent eyes. He always sees you working, helping someone with their tasks or chores, volunteering to do more. You’re wonderful with the children, compassionate with the ghouls, and come up with fun games for both of them. You’re full of energy, your kind, you have such a sweet smile and give it to everyone, including him, you light up like a festive float anytime you cross someone in the halls. You're just so…pure.
And he wants to see you absolutely destroyed. He wants to see your mascara running with tears down your flushed cheeks. He wants to see your lipstick smeared and your lips puffy and kiss swollen. He was to see your neck decorated with a choker of bruises. He wants to see your tits suckled with bite marks. He wants to see your pussy, puffy and gummed with his leaking cum. He wants to take this pure ray of sunshine and turn it into the dirtiest fucking poster whore he can. He wants to wreck you in every way possible. Stain you in such a way nobody else will want you.
He’s a good man. He swears.
But any time he gets alone in his office, he imagines you and his cock throbs. He imagines you in his office dressed in all manner of skimpy things. Sometimes, it's your habit. Sometimes, it's a cute little plaid skirt. But more often, it's something white. Whatever it is he's flipping up your dress to slide off your cute panties (polka-dot, soft little clouds, even kittens) and stuffing his face between your thighs until your legs are quivering and you can barely stand. He imagines fingering your tight cunt and curling his digits until you sob his name just right and licks his lips at the thought of getting you to squelch.
He wonders if you’ve ever sucked cock before. He wraps a hand around his dick as it jumps at the thought that he’d be your first. Your eyes wide in alarm as he reveals to you his thick fat member and guides your hands down to wrap around it and get a feel for just how large he is. He’s the thickest you’ve ever had.
He imagines you swallowing nervously and looking up at him with a hint of fear.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” He promises. Oh don’t worry, he will. He’ll be gentle up until he manages to get half of it down your throat and then shoves in the other half without remorse. He’ll apologize. ‘An accident.’ He swears. But after that first gag and those first tracks of tears down your cheeks you’ll get the idea. You’ll try your hardest to get all of him down your throat, your pretty pink lips stretched around his cock and shiny with precum, spit, and your cherry chapstick.
He’d shower you with compliments and praise. You’d love it. He’ll help you discover your kink for it.
“Doing so good, taking me so well.” Your face would flush, and your thighs would rub together. You gag, you try your hardest to take him but your jaw hurts and he pulls you off gently by your chin and slaps your cheek with his wet, spit slick cock.
“Look at what you're doing to me. All that is for you. You're making me feel so good. Look how hard and wet I am for you." And you're wet and frustrated before he guides you to the bed and has you lay down. He pulls your legs apart and lines himself up.
Belial, you would be so tight, or perhaps it’s just been too long for you. Either way, you grip him like a vice and whimper when he stuffs you with his cock, he can feel your walls sucking him in and flexing around him as he pushes further and further into you and-
Copia grunts as the band in his lower stomach snaps and cum jets from his cock. He tightens his hand over his dick and squeezes before slowly gliding his fist over his shaft and milks himself of his release.
He sighs, slouching on his bed pillows, and lets his orgasm rumble through him. Then he reaches the nightstand and takes a few tissues, and cleans himself up.
This is always where the fantasy ends. He simply can’t help himself.
Satanas, what he would give for the real thing.
He's in the midst of cleaning up for the night when he hears a knock from his door and goes to answer only to finding you there with a flush on your face, that same flush he had been fantasizing about mere minutes ago. You're wearing a simple but thin tee-shirt with cartoon characters and a pair of shorts.
"Hello Papa...do you have a minute to talk?" And you're shifting your thighs just so, and he can't help but glance at your cleavage so obviously pronounced in your shirt. There, he sees a ruby red fabric with white circles, just barrly oeaking out from the low collar of your shirt.
Polka-dots.
And well...
...He does try very hard to be a good man.