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honeyynymphh · 1 year

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Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader rating: E word count: 10k tags/warnings: dom copia, voyeurism, masturbation, teacher/student (sort of)praise kink, dirty talk, glove kink, choking, dom/sub, google translated italiano

A secret passageway. A far too ditzy curious reader. And a very naked Cardinal.

Hmm.

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“Where is it!?”

“Shh.”

You raise your hands apologetically at the ghoul currently glaring at you. The library is full of the muted sounds of turning pages, sporadic coughs and then the squeak of the old trolley as another ghoul returns books to the towering shelves. Maybe you should ask the ghoul if there is a spellbook full of incantations to help you remember where you left your belongings. You huff out a breath, you were certain that your prayer book had to be in here. It had been only an hour ago that you had been in here studying and there was nowhere else it—

“Fuck,” you say, voice echoing in the large chamber of the library.

“Shh!” The ghoul glares at you again, its eyes burning in the sockets of its mask.

Guiltily you scurry out of the library, wincing as the door clangs shut behind you. You hurry through the warren of halls and towards the old rooms along the eastern wing of the abbey. There were many rooms along this part of the old building, most empty and filled with dust. But many of the lessons taught by the Clergy were held here. The large rooms were filled with rickety old desks and large chalkboards. Once upon a time, they all would have been in use, but not these days. There were definitely more new members as of late—a testament to Papa Terzo and his charming nature—but there were still too few students.

You make your way down to the second door on your right, the room where you had your demonology lesson earlier this morning. Darting in, you head to the back of the room and find your desk.

There’s no prayer book.

Another curse leaves your lips and your brow furrows in annoyance as you stare at the wooden desk, as if you could bring it into existence through pure frustration. You couldn’t ask for another one. You had already lost three. Sister Imperator said if you misplaced another one she’d have it nailed to your hand.

You were pretty sure she had been joking. Fairly certain. Most likely…

“Are you looking for this?”

Fuck. Turning, you find Cardinal Copia standing there in his neat black cassock with his gloved hands in front of him. And they were holding—

“My prayer book!”

Rushing towards him you go to take it gratefully but the man raises it above you, cocking his head to the side as he watches your face frown in confusion. Standing so close to him makes you realise how tall he actually is. It was customary to see him hunched over books in the archives, his desk, and or even the pulpit during mass—leering down at the congregation as he talked of sin and destruction. Most times you’d seen him, he was always scribbling away, taking his meticulous little notes. Not now though, right now he loomed over you.

“Can I have my book?” You hold out your hand expectantly.

“This may be a satanic church but you are still expected to have manners, Sorella.” He tuts at you, the look in those odd eyes gleeful. “You are meant to be saying, ‘please, Your Eminence’, si?”

“Can I please have my book, Your Eminence?” you say, trying to keep your voice respectful.

He smiles. Sort of. His lips quirk up at the sides but it makes him look slightly demonic. It makes your stomach flip. The book is placed in your outstretched hand.

“Good girl, was that so hard?” he says.

Okay, you were going to completely ignore how that made you feel. The man should not be allowed to make your skin prickle or have the power to make you flush with sudden arousal at a few words. What in the name of Lucifer was with this man? And why were you suddenly having very inappropriate thoughts about Copia. Copia?

What he did next surprised you more than anything else he’d done so far, he suddenly strikes out a gloved hand and lightly grips your throat just under your jaw. His thumb nestles below your ear. You must be staring up at him like a stunned idiot.

“Lucky your head is attached to your neck, eh?” He gives a light squeeze and looks at you with another one of those off-putting smiles. “Otherwise it would fall off and you would lose that too, Sorella.”

He chuckles as if he’s just heard a rather amusing joke and then sweeps out of the room without another word.

What. The. Fuck.

It’s a few days later when you find yourself back in the library. You’d been assisting Cardinal Giorgio with some archive work—well more that you’d been sneezing violently away surrounded by the thick layer of dust while he hastily moves any ancient texts out of your path. It was always interesting seeing some of the old texts, and you’d been so careful while leafing through them with your soft cotton gloves. But the dust was everywhere.

After a while, the hot stuffy room makes your skin begin to itch underneath your wimple. It wasn’t a requirement that you had to wear it, but most siblings did. The church only expected full dress during mass and special unholy days. It made you feel like part of a family wearing it, united with the other siblings in this strange world—besides, it saved having to figure out what to do with your hair every day.

You want to take it off but you just knew you’d misplace it. Begrudgingly you did have to admit that Copia had a point: you would forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body.

Your fingers go to your neck at that thought and you idly touch the skin where he had held you the other day. It was strange. You’d never really given him much thought before, he was just The Cardinal. And it was completely warranting of the capital T. There were a few other cardinals that floated around the abbey, old men with their faded paints and tired faces. But Cardinal Copia didn’t float, he stalked through the building as if he owned it. He was Nihil’s right-hand man, yet he managed to keep to the fringes of the abbey and stay in those shadowy corners. He wasn’t frightening. Well, perhaps he was a little frightening. But more in an “if I do this wrong he’s going to embarrass me in front of everyone and then assign me some horrible back breaking task”. When other siblings grumbled under their breath about a cardinal, it was always Copia. Nobody wanted to get on his bad side, but it didn’t stop everyone from wishing him ill health at any chance they could and comparing him to the rats that he seemed to favour. You just found him utterly unfair, strict and so…dry. Like the books he always had his large nose buried in.

Admittedly for the past few days, you’d been thinking about that nose buried between your thighs.

Which was a horrifying thought. Admittedly, the man was attractive. You would sit there during lessons, idly admiring him, until he made everyone repeat all their prayers perfectly—in Latin!—before leaving class or, hell forbid, assigned homework. Any feelings of admiration would immediately evaporate. Homework? What were you, twelve? Sometimes being part of the Clergy felt like you were back in your snobby Catholic school but instead of Sister Lavinia making you repeat bible verses you were being bored to death by demons and debauchery. How was that even possible?

The man talked and talked and talked. His pleasing voice combined with your attention span like that of a goldfish just made you zone out. You had fallen asleep during mass once because it was some unholy day and Copia had spoken for nearly an hour. Sitting there in the dark church with the unholy candles lit, the incense burning and the echoing vibrations of his low voice, how could you not slide away into the glorious embrace of sleep?

Sometimes, it was clear Copia wasn’t going through the motions and was truly excited to teach—though, the rest of the class was clearly not interested and only listened out of fear of being reprimanded.

He was such a strange man.

“Sister?”

You glance up from the old tome you staring at unseeing for the last five minutes. Cardinal Giorgio is looking at you expectantly, his overgrown moustache and large eyebrows always made you feel like you were talking to a rather large muppet. Except Cardinal Giorgio was about as fun as a wet paper bag.

“Sorella, I am having a meeting. I will be returning in one hour.” He pointed a withered hand at a small stack of books. “Please be returning these.” You sneeze, knocking some empty ink wells to the ground, and he sighs wearily. “Carefully, per favore.”

He shuffled out of the room. Shouldn’t a satanic church be exciting? Yes, the ghouls were fun and there was the old magick with its ancient rites and rituals. But after a while it just became normal. Lessons were still lessons and church was still church. The most exciting thing that had happened recently had been Copia wrapping a hand around your neck.

Maybe you needed to get a pet. Or a hobby. You sigh and pick up the little stack of books and wander down the aisle. Perhaps if you happened to forget something again in one of Copia’s lessons he might touch you again. You were too busy daydreaming about what he’d do if you left your knickers in his classroom (probably nothing, you were certain he had no interest in anything unless it was in a book and involved a lot of suffering and sin) when you tripped over the uneven stone and went flying, the books in your hands dropping to the ground with a thud. Your hands fling out desperately as you try to grab anything to stop you from face planting onto the floor. Surrounded by shelves in the dim room, your fingers find the corner of a book, which shouldn’t have saved you yet somehow does. The book tilts forward, a click sounds out and you are left hanging from it as a bookshelf next to you swings open on well oiled hinges.

Now, that was interesting.

Righting yourself, you pry the shelf open further and peer into the small passage behind it. Cardinal Giorgio and your task forgotten, you step into it without a second thought. It's not very wide and there is little light so you keep your hands in front of you as you shuffle down. It isn’t very long until you see a small beam of light shining through a small gap in the stone and hear the sound of muffled voices.

Closing the distance, you peek through the small hole and can just make out the corner of a large table and someone’s head.

“Where is Papa?” someone asks.

“He will be late, as usual,” someone else mutters.

There is a snicker and then a reedy voice says, “I saw him talking to some belle ragazze earlier. He will be busy hearing their…confessions.”

There is the tittering of old men laughing and you roll your eyes.

“Si, si, si,” says a bored voice. You recognise that one immediately. It was Copia speaking. “We do not need Papa here to get to business. Besides as treasurer, I feel we must address his spending habits. He’s been wasting half of this church’s money on those ‘belle ragazze’.”

The reedy voice man laughs though it sounds more like a wheeze. “Jealous, Cardinale?”

“Pah.” Copia sniffs. “I am not jealous of Terzo Emeritus.”

The man wheezes again.

“Perhaps,” says Copia, his voice suddenly a menacing purr, “Father Mancini, you can tell me why there has been a—quite frankly—indecent amount of money spent on a certain blue pill?”

Now you could hear the reedy man, Father Mancini, spluttering. You try to get a better look but the view is incredibly limited. There were so many members of the clergy but you were pretty certain that Father Mancini was about as old as Papa Primo, maybe even Papa Nihil. You could picture him in your head with his vulture-like appearance and watery eyes.

“Copia—”

You hear Copia clear his throat pointedly.

“Cardinale,” corrects Father Mancini hurriedly in low whisper. “The brother in the hospital wing assured me it was confidential.” There was a snicker from another clergyman. “It’s for my health! He prescribed it!”

“Mmm.” You knew that low hum. For a moment you felt a wave of pity for Father Mancini, but not much. Copia’s needle-like venom was always fun when it was pointed at someone else. “You must know by now that I am all eyes and all ears, brother.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.”Were you hoping it would help you rise within the ranks? How long have you been a priest for now, Father?”

Strained laughter broke out after that and they resumed their bickering over the money that Papa Terzo had been spending. Wishing to explore further, you left the clergymen behind and followed the passageway along.

As you idly wandered through the tight passage, you couldn’t help but wonder about the lives of those that instructed and guided you and your many siblings. It was quite clear from the way they all spoke that none of the others liked Copia. But it was also evident that they had no choice in having to do as he said.

It was fascinating.

You keep walking, stopping every so often to peer through a gap in the stone. Most are hard to make out details through the tiny gaps but the last few had all looked like bedroom chambers and sitting rooms. You don’t even know how long you’ve been walking but you stop when you hear a shout and a loud knock. Ahead of you, a small beam of warm light is piercing through the passageway and you shuffle up to it.

“Torna qui!”

It’s Papa Terzo’s voice. You press your face against the cold stone and look through. From what you can see, you’re peering into a small sitting room. You could see a small settee and a large wingback chair in a deep red across from it, the corner of a worn-looking writing desk where a lamp sits and ahead in the distance a closed door. Perhaps it is Papa’s room but nothing in here screams Terzo Emeritus. It’s all dark wood and everything you can looks neatly organised—not something you would ever associate with dear Papa.

“Copia!”

Oh. Of course. The closed door ahead of you snaps open and Cardinal Copia stalks past, out of your field of vision. You hear a door click open and press closer to try and hear—but there is no need as Papa’s voice carries with ease toward you.

“You can’t restrict me!” he says.

“Si, I can,” you hear Copia reply in a bored voice. “I just did.”

“I am Papa, Copia, and you can’t be doing this things,” Terzo says.

“Andrai a lamentarti con tuo daddy come un ragazzino?”

A growl leaves Terzo’s throat. “Che cosa? No!”

It was utterly fascinating listening to them argue. Papa Terzo was always so smooth and charming when he spoke. He never raised his voice! And Copia was always so respectful when interacting with other clergymen. You’d never heard him speak so flippantly toward other members of the church before—and certainly not to a Papa.

“You can’t keep wasting this church’s money on women, Terzo,” says Copia irritably.

You can’t see the door from where you are, you can only see part of the cardinal and one of his gloved hands. The fingers flex, as if wanting to grab hold of something—and you have a feeling that something is Papa’s neck. You idly touch your own.

Papa snorts dismissively. “It is never a waste of money to lavish the beauties in this world, Cardinale.”

“You do not need to spend thousands of dollars on bottles of champagne.”

“But my tesoro is deserving the best!” says Terzo, his voice becoming angrier with each word he utters.

You’d never heard a Papa so angry before and while you can’t see Terzo right now, the sound of him is a little frightening. It was very easy to forget what he was capable of. But it’s clear Copia isn’t phased at all.

“Stop wasting money,” Copia snaps and then you see him come back into the room.

He comes closer toward you and your hiding spot but he keeps walking past until you can no longer see him. He must be close to the other side of the wall. You can hear him pouring a drink and you see Terzo stride into the room, his face set in a deep frown as his papal robes flap behind him.

“You’re just jealous I have those ready to kneel before me,” growls Terzo, coming to stand just in front of where you are hidden. “You wish you had them all kneeling before you!”

“Of course, they must kneel,” replies Copia smoothly. “How else are they to be eye to eye with you, Terzo?”

It’s impossible to tell with the paint but you’re certain that Papa’s face has gone red. The scowl on his face deepens and you hear him snarl.

“Vaffanculo! Sei uno stronzo, Copia!” Terzo throws his hands in the air and storms out. You hear the door slam shut but then there is a click as it opens again a second later. There are footsteps and you see Terzo angrily stride past and hear a rustling clink before he walks by again, now holding a bottle of wine in both hands. “You are not wanting me to be spending the money? I’m taking these!” The door opens. “Ciao!”

The door slams shut again.

“That little shit.” you hear Copia mutter. “Quando sarò Papa, gli farò ricucire la bocca…”

You press closer, trying to see further into the room. Copia comes back to where you can see him, his gloved fingers flexing as he mutters words you don’t understand under his breath. You nearly gasp when he walks right up to you and instinctively you hold your breath. He is merely a few inches from your face, and all you can see are the tiny neat buttons on his cassock and his jewelled grucifix as he peruses the wall you are hidden behind.

You hear a few squeaks in the distance and realise it must be Copia’s rats.

“Si, Rigatoni?” he says pleasantly. “I will feed you soon, piccolino mio.” He chuckles when another soft squeak fills the room. “Ah, you too, Fettuccine!”

The rustle of fabric as he moves and the gentle clink of his grucifix against those tiny buttons are oddly soothing. And this close you can smell him, the scent reminding you not of sleepy lessons in a warm classroom or echoing words of the unholy during midnight mass but instead of the delirious arousal imbued by a hand around your throat.

You suck in a breath. And Copia freezes. As quietly and as quickly as you can you duck down and cover your mouth with your hand, heart pounding in your chest. He must dismiss it and you hear him walk away, talking to his rats in Italian.

It is definitely time to leave, so you hurry back to the library hoping that Cardinal Giorgio hasn’t noticed your absence.

With luck, you made it back to the library archives and continue with your task, head still full of thoughts of Cardinal Copia. You want to explore more. The unending curiosity is making your skin itch. Not really thinking, you’d stolen a key to the archives when Cardinal Giorgio hadn’t been paying attention to you.

And it’s now that you sneak through the abbey’s silent halls on light footsteps until you are slipping back into the library. Making sure to close the door carefully, you then make your way to the back of the library where the depths of the archives lay. You unlock the large padlock before tucking the key back into the pocket of your habit, it clinks gently against your rosary beads as you step into the dark room. You flick on a small lamp and then make your way past the towering shelves to the little nook at the back, your eyes scanning the shelf as you approach.

Which one had it been? Your hands reach and tug at the worn corners until you finally have the secret passageway before you once more. Quickly you shuffle through, heart racing with anticipation. Why? You aren’t sure. Earlier today had been fairly boring—well, not completely. The little glimpse into the world of the higher clergy and their lives had been fascinating. The polite facade they projected to the siblings hid a boiling pot beneath.

As you finally reach the little gap in the stone that peers into Copia’s room, you let out the breath you had been holding. Face pressing against the stone, you drink in the details. The single oil lamp that sits on the old writing desk casts its warm glow over the room. You could hear the rats, Rigatoni and Fettucine, scurrying away on what must have been a little wheel in their cage. And then there was the rustling of pages and the occasional irritated grunt as Copia sat in the large wingback chair; one hand holding a pencil while the other balanced a book on a knee. He had a small side table next to him where he would scribble something down, brow furrowing in concentration as his lips moved soundlessly. You aren’t sure how long you watch him. There must be a clock on the wall you spied through as the gentle tick is close to your ear, the sound and vibration of it lulling you into something of a stupor.

With a heavy sigh, the man closes the book. The snap of it shutting makes you jump. His head glances in your direction and you hold your breath, hastily pulling your head back from the cold stone. But he merely stares a moment before he must dismiss you as nothing but the settling of old abbey walls. You shut your eyes in relief—Lucifer below you needed to be careful if you didn’t wish to be caught. Copia’s hands smooth his hair back and he stands, walking out of your sight. You hear him say something in a low voice, and with a smile, you realise he is once more speaking to his pet rats. The sound of answering happy squeaks and a cage door opening and closing signalled that it must be dinner time. You hear the cardinal laugh, a low pleased rumble that you had never heard before. It makes your stomach flip.

He walks past your hiding spot once more, heading towards the closed door. It opens and you can see a bed in the distance, the tension in your stomach tightens even further when you realise he’s undoing the buttons of his cassock, shrugging out of it before carefully folding it and leaving it on top of the bed. He wears a pair of suit pants underneath and a neatly pressed black button down. Your hands are either side of your face as you press up against the wall, trying desperately to get as close as possible. Those gloves that you’d been thinking of for the past few days join the cassock on the bed and you’re hypnotised as you watch him unbutton and then shrug out of the shirt. He has a white undershirt underneath, the sight of his bare throat and the dark hair that curls out from the underneath it has your mouth hanging open. Sometimes, it was so easy to forget that Cardinal Copia was merely a man and not just some looming entity that stalked the abbey halls and made your tongue trip over itself in an effort to not irritate him.

His hands rub at the nape of his neck while your eyes roam over the bare skin of his arms, shoulders and throat desperately—as if you were to be tested on the placement of every freckle and hair. But you are suddenly deprived of the vision when he moves further into the bedroom and then out of sight. Your ears strain to listen, and then above you a pipe clangs before the loud sloshing of water surging through comes hurtling above you. You can just hear the running sound of a shower in the distance and your mind is so busy imagining him naked and wet that you forget how uncomfortable and stuffy it is in the cramped passage.

When he finally emerges, your face flushes anew and you suck in a breath, your throat immediately filling with dust. You try to cough silently and clear your throat as Copia wanders back into the sitting room. You had never seen a member of the clergy without their paints. It was just like another part of their face. Seeing the cardinal without the darkened lips and hollowed eyes felt so strange and yet it sent a thrill down your spine; had anyone ever seen him like this? But it wasn’t just the bare face that held your attention, his wet hair that he’d slicked back was dripping down his naked chest and disappearing into the towel wrapped snugly around his hips.

Your nails were already digging into the stone as you watch him come closer to your hiding spot. He was once more a few inches away and you could see the droplets of water on his chest and smell what must have been his soap. How you want to reach out to him. Of course, you don’t—you can’t. You merely swallow back the delirium and try to keep your breathing even as you hear him move about. A clink of glass and then liquid sloshing before he walks away from you and slumps back into the armchair with a glass of wine in hand.

He sips at it, a sigh of pleasure escaping him as he relaxes in the chair. He takes a few more sips and you decide to call it a night but you pause when he places the half-drunk glass on his little side table and relaxes further into the chair with a moan. One of his hands reaches for the towel and you have to cover your mouth as he unties it and exposes himself completely.

You can’t look away as you watch him gently palm his cock, utterly entranced at the sight of it swelling beneath his languorous ministrations. Copia has his eyes shut and lips parted as he works himself with slow strokes. You really should leave. But nothing could have pried you away as his breathing starts to become uneven. The sight of his swollen head, precum already beading at the tip, has you licking your lips. How you want to be there on the floor between his legs, your hands gripping his thighs as you lick and suck along his cock. His hips snap erratically and you wonder if he would fuck your face with such abandon. Would he have the free hand that was currently gripping the armchair tightly around your throat? Or would he wind it tightly in your hair as he forced you to take more of him down your willing throat? That thought had one of your own hands reaching under your habit and hastily rubbing at your own sex as you watch.

“Cazzo!“ he growls, the sound sending a hot shock of arousal between your thighs. “Sei così bella in ginocchio per me come una brava sgualdrina.”

His hand was furiously working and before he can utter another word, he comes; the white ropes splattering over his stomach as he moans. The sight and sound of him losing control has you over the edge and you come hard and fast, legs shaking as you try to keep yourself upright.

You must have been too loud as he’s looking in your direction again, his brow furrowing. But he’s distracted when a knock on his door reverberates through the room.

“Pah!” He snatches the towel and strides toward the bedroom, your eyes glued to the sight of his naked body.

Another knock on the door.

“A moment!” Copia yells out.

After a moment, the man walks back out, hastily doing up the buttons of his cassock as he walks to the door. You hear it open and the demonic drawl of a ghoul speaking fills the room.

“Papa needs you urgently.”

“What in the name of Satanas does he need at this hour?” snaps Copia. “Tell me quickly, ghoul.”

A huff. “He just said it was urgent.”

Copia grumbles, striding back into the room and grabbing his biretta before the sound of the door shutting signals he’s left.

You try to collect yourself by taking a deep breath. Pushing off the wall, you go to leave but your fingers graze against something. A snick sounds out and suddenly the wall is moving and you’re falling forward as you are thrown off balance.

With a thud, you’re on the ground. Sitting on your knees, you rub at your elbow and look behind you to watch the wall swing around to reveal a bookshelf before it clicks shut. Your eyes dart to the door you can now see. But nobody comes running in.

You see the archives key has fallen out of your pocket, you grab it quickly and shove in back in. Really, you should probably leave. However…

Getting to your feet, your eyes soak in the details of the room. It smells like wood and incense here, reminding you of chapel. But the scents overlap with the leather from the books lining the wall you’d just fallen through and the scent of the man that has just left. You stare at the chair he has just vacated, and as you come closer you can see little teeth marks on the arm which makes you laugh.

A little squeak catches your attention and you wander over to an overly ornamental rat cage—well, rat palace. A furry face peers up at you and you smile.

“Your home is more decadent than the entire abbey!” you say to the little rat.

It just squeaks at you again before disappearing into its gilded home.

Really, you should be trying to open the passageway again and not heading into the cardinal’s bedroom. But it’s too late. You’re here, and you may as well take the chance to learn more about this illusive man. Most of the furnishings in this room are old, as if from another time. But everything has a worn quality to it; nothing in the cardinal’s rooms was for show.

When your eyes land on his bed and see his black leather gloves you pause. Staring at them for what feels like an eternity before you throw all reason out the door and pick one up.

Fuck. The leather is insanely soft on your fingers and the lingering warmth is there. You aren’t thinking when you place your hand in it and then wrap your own fingers around your neck. Was that insane? Perhaps. You hear someone shout something in the distance and you jump and stack it against the bedpost whacking your elbow in the process. Blinking back tears, you hastily taking the glove off and throw it back on the bed, only for it to fall to the floor. But there is no time to grab it and put it back. You run to the hidden passage, rubbing your arm and nearly stumbling again on a rug. When you reach the bookcase, you start pulling at books in a frenzy as your heart races. The door unlocks just as the wall opens and you slip in, scurrying none to gracefully down the narrow passageway and back to the library.

The next morning during chapel you realise you don’t have your rosary. It doesn’t occur to you that you might have lost it in Copia’s rooms. Losing things is just your usual state of being. So when chapel ends, you sigh and go walk up to the front where Papa Terzo stands talking to another sibling.

“Excuse me, Papa?” you say.

The man smiles at you and you try not to blush, but it’s impossible not to be affected by his charm. It’s hard to believe you’d seen him so angry and flustered the other day.

“You can interrupt anytime you are wishing, bella!” he says, spreading his arms wide so that his papal robes swish and catch the light from the many candles bathing the chamber.

You smile in response. “I need a new rosary, I lost mine,” you say sheepishly.

“Ah, these things are happening,” he says with an understanding nod. “I am always losing my er panties?” You hold back a laugh and so does the other sibling while he just frowns softly. “Though I am thinking this is not losing but the stealing…it is not matter.” Terzo points behind him. “You can get one from the Cardinale—he is in the vestry.”

The Cardinal. Your face falls and Terzo just pats you on the shoulder.

“Do not be worrying,” Papa says jovially, “he can help you, Sorella.”

On heavy feet you trudge to the vestry, knocking on the door before opening it. Copia is there, his hands busy with refilling the wine in the large silver decanter. He glances up at you with a scowl.

“Terzo, I said—” He stops, frown fading away to be replaced by a raised brow. “Yes, Sorella?”

You stand in the door and hesitate. All you can think about is his cock and the noises he had made last night. Your whole body flushes.

He snaps a finger at you. “Sorella, I am busy, what is it?”

You stumble. “I—um. I need a rosary. I lost mine. Papa said you can give me a new one.”

His whole demeanour changes, going from irritated disdain to a strangely gleeful smile. He puts the wine down with a deliberate thunk and rummages in a small chest, pulling out a set of rosary beads.

“Come in, please, dolce.”

You walk toward him and stand there awkwardly. The vestry is strong with the smell of old relics of silver and brass, and the heady incense that is always burning in the unholy rooms of the abbey. But in the midst of it all, there is him. That magnetic and tempting scent that you had basked in while in his rooms.

“Closer, per favore.”

You take another step and he instructs you to put your hands out, palms facing up so that the necklace can lie against them—the silver grucifix heavy on one palm. He briefly turns away to grab a small bottle of unholy water.

“Keep still.” He uncorks it. “They need to be blessed.”

You just nod, staring at the small purple beads as he sprinkles some of the water over them. It splashes against your hands and wrists, goosebumps breaking out against your skin.

“Alvengeful Lucifer,” says Copia in a low voice, “we seek out your divine grace and ask that you offer your unholy blessing to this rosary which the Church has sanctioned for the honour and praise of the Most Unholy of Lords.”

One of his gloved hands reaches out and presses the grucifx into your palm with his thumb, his other fingers curling around your hand. You are not thinking about his hands anywhere else, not at all. You are not going to think about it. He presses harder as he continues to speak. You surreptitiously try and squeeze your thighs together.

It feels too hot in the small vestry. And he is too close—yet somehow not close enough. It was torture.

“Let it be filled with such power of your unholy spirit,” Copia continues to speak, low voice wrapping around you, ”that whoever carries this on her person or devoutly recites it may be protected by you.”

You swear you feel his fingers move against your hand in a gentle caress but he removes it before you can focus on it. It’s an effort to keep your breathing normal but you try as Copia continues with the blessing.

“Let her share in all the glories, indulgences and pleasures granted by the darkness that you offer in comfort.” He sprinkles more of the water onto the beads before he utters a final, “Nema.”

“Nema,” you repeat softly, still staring at your hands and the beads upon them.

Before you can move, Copia snatches the beads and places them over your head. The leather of his gloves grazes against your throat as he carefully drapes them over the collar of your habit. It forces you to look up at him, those odd eyes watching you far too intently with that little smile still playing around his mouth.

“Make sure you don’t lose these,” he says, fingers trailing down the length of the beads before he suddenly wraps it around two fingers and tugs you forward.

You can’t speak, he’s brought you several steps closer to him. His scent envelops you and you can feel the hem of his cassock against your shins. Any words you would’ve tried to speak are stuck in your throat.

“You wouldn’t want to find yourself lost without a prayer.” He tugs on the rosary again which brings you even closer—you were nearly pressed up against him. His face was hovering right in front of yours. This close you could see his one white eye was more of an eerily bright blue. “Would you, Sorella?”

You shake your head dumbly as you unstick your tongue, heart pounding in your chest. “No, Your Eminence.”

He lets go and you suck in a shuddering breath, stumbling back as you try to regain your footing. You can still feel the way the beads had been digging into your neck.

Copia chuckles. “Bene, bene!” He prods your shoulder. “Off you go, Sorella.”

You give it three days before you head back to the little secret passage. Last time had been far too close, but the desire to see the cardinal—possibly even see him come undone again was far too tempting. Today during your lesson, you hadn’t been able to remove your gaze from his hands. Your eyes fixed on watching him gesture as he explained all about the proper way to summon a lesser demon. You hadn’t heard a single word he’d said. The entire lesson had been spent thinking of those hands, imagining them over your skin. How would the leather feel running softly against you? Would he be gentle? Or rough? The throb between your legs had you on edge the entire hour until the shifting of your fellow siblings signalled the end of class.

When you had grabbed your prayer book and shuffled out of the room, you had turned to look back at your desk to make sure you hadn’t left anything and simply been met with Copia’s mismatched stare. The shiver that had run down your spine had you hurriedly leaving and walking as fast as you could toward the greenhouse.

Lying in your bed, your mind had been full. Tossing and turning, all you could think of was Copia’s hand around your neck or the immense heat of him when he’d pulled you close the other day in the vestry. The man was haunting your thoughts just like the abbey halls. So, you’d thrown back the sheets and snuck off back to the archives.

Tonight, he’s again sitting in his wingback chair. In his red cassock, he looks like the Lord below. He rarely wore the red, instead opting for the black. But you preferred it—mostly because it was easier for you to spot him. Lurking in the shadows in all black had Copia sneaking up on unsuspecting siblings with ease far too often.

He scribbles notes down occasionally, pen scratching and tongue clicking whenever he crosses something out. You stand there for what feels like forever, your eyes getting heavy as you lean against the cold stone wall. It is cooler tonight, but the passageway is clammy, the air thick and making your habit stick to your skin. Maybe you can come back tomorrow night. Or maybe this was just fucking madness. You were spying on Cardinal Copia—of all people! You sigh.

Copia’s eyes snap toward you, meeting your gaze. There is no way he can see you; the gap is too small and you know you're hidden behind books. There is no way in heaven that the old man can see you! Luck must be on your side because he shakes his head and just stands up, wandering over in the direction of his rats.

“Sento il nostro topolina nei muri, Rigatoni,” you hear him say. “Hmm. Un topolina che evidentemente non capisce una parola di quello che dico.”

There are some happy squeaks as the cage is opened and then closed. You strain to listen however there is nothing but the clock ticking rhythmically by your ear and some more soft little squeaks. You press closer.

Maybe you press too hard or accidentally knock the little lever, but suddenly you’re falling; a scream of surprise leaving your throat as the wall moves beneath you. It sends you out of the cramped passage and has you toppling onto the soft carpet. You suck in a quick breath through your nose, those strangely familiar scents assaulting your senses. You glance up and see Copia standing by the bookshelf as it slides back into place with a click of finality. He has a gloved hand on the nondescript book that triggers the passage and the other taps his chin thoughtfully.

While you do realise you are in Big Trouble with The Cardinal, you can’t help but stare at his leather-clad fingers as they rest on his chin. You needed to get a grip.

“Ah, it was a lost little mouse,” he says with satisfaction, eyebrow raised as he regards you.

Fuck. As soon as he speaks you realise you’re absolutely fucked. There was no safety of the passageway between you, and no next lesson to scurry away to. You had fallen into the spider’s parlour, very much uninvited.

He lets go of the book and it slowly slots back into place. You stare at him, mind racing as you try to come up with some sort of explanation. You’ve been sleepwalking? You’ve been possessed? You’ve gone insane? Actually, you were pretty sure you had gone slightly insane and—

“Good evening, Sorella.”

You blink at him owlishly as your thoughts fizzle away into nothingness.

“Er…” You try to clear your throat. “Good evening, Cardinal.”

The reality of where you were and who you were with is starting to seep in. Your breath hitches. In theory, it really should be so much easier to breathe in this room than the little passageway but it’s not. You’ve been caught in a clergyman’s room—spying on him nonetheless—in the middle of the night. And out of all the priests and bishops and all the other members in this abbey…you were with The Cardinal.

It simply would be a better time all-round if you’d just snuck into a cage with a starving tiger. At least it would be over quickly.

Hurriedly you get to your feet and your mouth loosens—never good.

“Your Eminence!” you squeak. Lord below, you sound insane. But the panic is taking over. “I’m so sorry, I was just exploring. Cardinal Giorgio is always talking about the abbey and the history of it all and working in the archives is so interesting, you know? And, um, I found this passageway tonight—yes, tonight—and so I had to learn more. And I was reading books…yes books! There are so many books, do you like books? It’s just so fascinating how the walls—“

“Sister.”

“—and I think I was just so caught up in the history so I was walking in my—” You stop talking. “Yes?”

“Don’t lie to me, you’re about as interested in this building as I am in ornithology.”

That takes some of the panic away as you frown at him “What’s ornithology?” Oh, Lucifer was that some kind of ancient magick? Did he talk about it today? You should have paid attention!

The man gives an exasperated sigh. “It doesn’t matter.” That mismatched stare eyes you carefully, his moustache twitching as his lips quirk. “You’ve been spying on me, topolina.”

“No!” you say desperately, hands rising rapidly as if worried he was going to bite you.

He takes a few steps toward you, entering your personal space and making you freeze. Lucifer, he smells good. Focus! You stare up at him, looking like a lost idiot as your brain tries to think of a way to escape.

“Do you still have your rosary?” asks the cardinal.

That throws you off. You frown and then rummage in your pocket, fishing the beads out and holding them up to show him.

“Yes?”

He tuts. “‘Yes, Your Eminence.’”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” you repeat dutifully, still staring at him wide-eyed as your heart beats rapidly in your chest.

“Good girl.” He grins. “You’ll at least have a prayer, if nothing else, dolce.”

What in Satan’s name did he—

You cannot finish the thought as he snatches your wrist and drags you further into his room. Your feet trip over his fancy rug and you stumble, nearly colliding with him but he holds your arm in a steady grip. He swings you around to face him and you hold your breath as he looms above you.

The look on his face is hard to read but there is hunger in his hypnotic eyes. Oh fuck, what if he actually was a vampire like some of the other siblings said? Maybe you were going to be eaten.

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask. You want to sound brave. You don’t.

“Me?” he says, prodding you back, the back of your legs hitting his armchair, causing you to fumble and fall into it with a soft thump. “I am not going to do a thing to you, dolce.”

Your bewildered gaze follows him as he sits across from you on the low settee. The race of your heart in your chest has you trying to take a breath to calm yourself. No matter what he says, you knew he was going to punish you. It was Copia after all. And you’d been caught. In his room. Spying. The tension was driving you insane. Your stomach was in knots. Whatever he does you hope it’s quick.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he places his chin on his clasped hands. The leather creaks in the heavy silence and you do your best to not look at them, trying to just focus on a point by his ear. Now was not the time for horny thoughts.

“It is a little unfair that you have been spying on your cardinal, don’t you think?” he says pleasantly.

“Um, yes?” you say, shifting awkwardly in the seat.

An eyebrow raises in question. “You don’t seem so sure, Sorella.” He taps his chin thoughtfully on his hands. “I would think it isn’t very polite to spy on someone…especially when they are having a—” He leans back and waves a hand, your eyes following it somewhat hypnotised. “—private moment.”

Oh. Oh no.

Fuck.

Your cheeks burn. He knew. How? How did he know?

“I—”

He wiggles a finger at you. “Now, Sister, don’t try and lie again.”

It’s strange you think. Despite your embarrassment and utter dread, he doesn’t seem angry, or upset. He rummages in the depths of his crimson cassock and pulls something out.

It’s a rosary. Yours, to be precise. Oh no.

He smiles when he sees understanding bloom on your face.

“It isn’t very nice of you to spy on me and then snoop in my absence, dolce.” He swings the rosary idly, still speaking to you as if you were a naughty child. “It also isn’t very nice to go through my things.”

“I didn’t touch your things, Cardinal!” you blurt out.

His head cocks to the side and he pockets the rosary.

“Ah, but you did, dolce.” With quick movements, he tugs off a glove and throws it at you. You catch it and stare at him. “You seem rather enamoured with these.”

Was it possible to die of embarrassment? You hope so, you really do.

“Put it on,” he says.

You stare at him dumbfounded. The leather still feels warm in your hands and it is just as soft as you remember it being. Maybe you’d fallen asleep in the passageway and this was all some weird dream.

You swallow. “Why?”

“‘Why, Your Eminence’,” he says, a sly grin unfurling on his face. “I said, I am not going to do anything. You are going to do it for me. It seems only fair.”

The room is silent as you just sit there fiddling with the glove.

“Do it now, Sister.” Copia’s voice is sharp and it sends a jolt down your spine. You quickly put the glove on. “Brava ragazza. Lift up your habit.”

You manage to only let out a shocked squeak at that, your heart racing.

He grins at you like a tiger. “You heard me. It’s only fair, dolce. You’ve been watching me. It is my turn. Quid pro quo.” Your confused expression has him waving the hand still wearing the other glove. “Maybe should join my Latin class and learn something. I am sure that mouth of yours can handle it.” He gestures at the glove you now wear. “Besides, this way, you can just pretend it is me, si?”

You bristle at that. While you so desperately want him to touch you, he had no right whatsoever to know that! But then again, you had no right to spy on him.

“Why would I want to do that?” you say, though there is little conviction behind the words.

The man doesn’t say a word, he just watches you with that infuriating all-knowing look on his face. You sigh and lift up the hem of your habit until it’s on your knees.

“Higher.”

You lift it a little higher, exposing your legs as it bunches around the top of your thigh.

“Higher.”

Your eyes are fixed on the rug beneath your feet as you grip the fabric tightly and pull it all the way back, exposing your knickers. What were you even wearing today? You sneak a glance—black lace. Well, at least it wasn’t the frilly white pair with little cats on it. You really should throw those out.

You’re snapped out of your lingerie musings when Copia speaks again.

“Now, remove your underwear,” he commands.

It’s like he’s merely giving instructions in class. But a part of you is so used to obeying that voice that you simply do it without thinking. The hand wearing his glove touches your skin and you shiver; how you really wish it was him doing this but you ignore it and try to remove the garment as gracefully as possible. You hear a pleased hum from him when they hit the floor.

“Spread your legs for me.”

You didn’t think you’d be able to sit there with your thighs pressed together as they are now. With a tight grip on the fabric of your habit bunched around your waist, you lean back a little—body still tense—and part your legs slightly. The feel of his eyes on you makes your skin prickle as you stare at his shoes. You know you are already wet, you can feel it. Fuck, you can smell yourself.

“Now, now, dolce,” he chides. “You can do better than that. Wider.”

With a shuddering breath, you let your legs fall completely open. Now you’re completely exposed before him, pussy glistening in the lamplight. The arousal is seeping through you, you’re humiliated that you’re sitting there with your habit around your waist and your legs spread wide. But there’s an undeniable thrill at being like this before Cardinal Copia, having him tell you what to do and hearing his little hum of approval when you do as he pleases.

“Look at me,” he commands and your eyes flick up to his face. The way he regards you makes your body flush; your body tense and cunt aching.

“Touch yourself—lightly—with the leather,” he says in a low voice, those strange eyes boring into yours.

For some reason, you can’t look away, your cheeks are red—of that you’re certain—but you can’t put it all down to embarrassment. It’s the way he watches you as your gloved hand lets go of the grip on your habit and drifts between your legs. The intense stare only seems to fuel you, making your skin sing when your leather-clad fingers graze against your wet folds. You suck in a breath through your clenched teeth and drag your fingers through your slit to then lightly circle your clit.

You’re aware you’re breathing heavily, but the feel of soft leather and Copia’s deep gaze has you aching. It’s like he is touching you, though he sits a few feet away.

“Does that feel good, dolce?” he asks. His tone has shifted, the deep rumble vibrating through you and settings your nerves on fire. “I imagine it must, you’re soaking already—I can see from here”

It’s an effort to keep your touch light but your body is already begging for more and so you try and press a little harder. A moan tumble from your lips as you greedily take what your body gives, though it demands so much more. Muscles tensing as your fingers work the bud of your sex, you can feel the sweat starting to bead on your forehead. It feels too damn good as the friction feeds your ravenous excitement.

“Keep your eyes open, Sorella.”

You hadn’t even realised you’d closed them, and when you open them you let out another moan. The man has lifted the heavy fabric of his cassock so you can see the tight pants he wears—they’ve been undone so his cock juts out as he lazily pumps it with his still gloved hand.

“Brava,” he says, a smirk on his face at your half-lidded expression. “Now, be a good girl and slide those wet fingers into your pretty pussy for me.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly you obey him, letting the leather glide through your slit before you sink a finger in. The feeling is deliriously satisfying after the light teasing and you sink a second finger in, your palm grinding against your clit.

“Guarda la tua piccola fica bisognosa,” he purrs. “Do you need more, dolce?”

You nod. You can barely think right now. The leather feels exquisite, you truly feel like it is his hand though your hand is nowhere large enough. But it’s enough to make your heart race even further and cause the lust to rage. How you wish it was his fingers! But he is in front of you, the sight of him touching himself and that stare aimed at you making you whimper as your fingers dance within you.

“You have a tongue, dolce, use it.”

Fuck, how you wish he would let you use it; all you want is to lick his cock. You just know if told you to crawl to him, you would. Instead, you pant out a barely discernible, “yes,” as your thumb gently circles your clit.

“Ah?”

“Yes,” you hiss out, “Your Eminence.”

“Good girl.”

Fuck! Those low words of praise are far too addictive and they make the tension low in your stomach tighten in delightful anticipation. You spread your legs even further, desperate for more as you thrust your fingers within your soaking cunt. You want to close your eyes, to relish in the feel of the leather sliding against your flesh. But you can’t. His cock is leaking as he continues to slowly stroke—you can’t help but marvel at his control. You’re too needy, too desperate. Your movements aren’t controlled but greedy. There is no embarrassment or shame anymore, just the franticness that comes with being lost to chasing that pleasurable high. You know you are close, it feels as if you’ve been on edge ever since that day back in the classroom when he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“You can’t come until I say, Sorella,” he says.

A needy whimper trembles through you and your fingers continue to work, chest rising and falling rapidly with each panted breath you take. Copia never wavers as he watches you, though you can see his pupils are blown wide. He is so hard and you are so desperate for more than fingers—desperate for him.

“Cardinal.” If you weren’t so insanely overcome you’d be embarrassed at how pathetic his title sounded falling from your lips. But you are way past that. “Please!”

You’re impressed you can even utter a word, let alone two, as you try to keep the orgasm at bay.

“What is it, topolina?” he asks, the sound of his voice wrapping around you. It simultaneously relaxes and strengthens the tension within your body.

You can’t utter another word, instead, more whimpers and moans leave your mouth as you grind yourself down on your hand.

“Do you want my cock?” His words make you shiver. Fuck. Yes, you do. You watch the head disappear into his fist as he gives it a slow stroke. “Hmm? Tell me.”

Your head just nods as you arch your back, shoulder blades digging into the leather back of the chair making the fabric of your habit cling to your sweat covered skin.

He shakes his head in response, a small chuckle vibrating around the room as he does. “You have to use your words, remember?”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” you manage to say.

“Good, but no, tell me.”

Release is so close, your fingers are stroking that sensitive spot within you while your palm presses against your clit. You need to come. It’s so close. You want him so badly.

“I want your cock, Your Eminence!” You nearly yell it out, a whimpering plea that only makes him grin.

“Bene.” He stops his own ministrations and pats his knee. “Come here, then.”

You fly out of the chair and scramble into his lap, knees sliding either side of his thighs. The heat and scent of him assaulting all your senses as he pulls you into him, your hands grasping at his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The thick fabric of his cassock is soft under your hands and all you want is to bury into him. But Copia snatches the wrist of the hand wearing his glove, his mouth engulfing a finger as your pussy slides against the length of his cock. The look in those hooded eyes makes your skin prickle. You grind down against him as you watch his mouth and tongue lick your essence from the leather. His teeth then graze against your finger before he removes it from his mouth.

“How sweet you are, Sorella,” he murmurs, tugging the glove off, along with the one he still wears, and throwing them to the side.

Copia grabs your hips quickly, lifting you up so he can then bring you sinking down onto his cock. The sob that leaves you has you nearly screaming with pleasure. The stretch and fullness have you in a state of rapture as you take him completely. But then he doesn’t move—your eyes lock with his and he merely gives you that familiar smug smile.

“You need to move, dolce,” he whispers. “Sii una brava sgualdrina e cavalca il tuo cardinale.”

You don’t need to be told twice, your hands greedily grip his shoulders as you let your hips undulate above him. It’s too much and your eyes slip shut as you let the feel of him filling you take over, the tension building all over again. The wetness between your legs is obscene, making it far too easy to move as fast as you can while desperately chasing release. You feel him twitch within you, and then fingers are wrapped around your throat. That makes your eyes fly open, his face is so close to yours that you can see that the paint around his eyes and on his top lip has started to smudge with sweat. His hair, always so tidy is starting to fall into his eyes. Cardinal Copia was always so neat but now, he looked so unkempt—it makes you ache even more. Those fingers he has around your neck squeeze and a wave of ecstasy surges through your body, your cunt clenching around his cock.

Copia grips your hip with his other hand, fingers surely bruising, as he holds you down against him before he thrusts up. It makes your head spin.

“You said you wanted my cock in that needy cunt of yours, dolce,” he growls, pulling you closer. His breath skitters against your cheek. “You should hold on.”

You have half a second to readjust the grip on his shoulders before he is thrusting into you at a fast pace, somehow hitting even deeper than before. You cry out, overwhelmed by the scent and feel of him. Everything is just the cardinal and the agonising desire he is building within you. The hand on your neck lets go and you suck in a breath.

“Come for me,” he commands.

You can’t disobey. The tension within you finally snaps at those words and you break apart around him, waves of unrelenting pleasure hitting you. You ride out the orgasm with him—his growled words in Italian against your ear as his cock swells and kicks within you. He doesn’t stop as he comes, still pumping up into you as you twitch above him and wrench everything he has to give.

When he finally slows, you slump against him. Your body tingles and your chest heaves as you suck in breath after breath. Copia’s arms are around you, holding you close as your face presses into the fabric of his cassock. When your breathing finally evens out, you slip from his lap on shaky legs. You go to pick up your knickers but he moves fast, snatching them off the ground. He looms over you once more, moustache twitching in amusement as you glare at him.

“I will hold onto these,” he says as you watch the black lace disappear into the depths of his cassock. He smoothes his hair back. “You can collect them after class tomorrow, dolce. Perhaps you will also consider joining my Latin class, hmm? It seems you can follow instructions well enough, perhaps we can put that tongue of yours to proper use.”

“Perhaps.” You adjust your habit. “Your Eminence.”

the title is taken from the instrumental track "Freshly Squeezed" by Angelo Badalamenti from the Twin Peaks soundtrack! it sets the tone of the start of the fic when she first goes into the passageway.

thank you to Sucharide for beta-ing - any other errors are my own.

Torna qui! - Come back here!

Andrai a lamentarti con tuo daddy come un ragazzino? - Are you going to complain to your daddy like a little boy?

Che cosa? No! - What? No!

Piccolino mio - my little one

Topolina - little mouse

Vaffanculo! Sei uno stronzo, Copia! - Fuck you! You’re an arsehole, Copia!

Quando sarò Papa, gli farò ricucire la bocca… - When I’m Papa, I’ll have his mouth sewn shut…

Sei così bella in ginocchio per me come una brava sgualdrina - You're so beautiful on your knees for me like a good slut

Sento il nostro topolina nei muri, Rigatoni. Hmm. Un topolina che evidentemente non capisce una parola di quello che dico - I hear our little mouse in the walls, Rigatoni. Hmm. A little mouse who obviously doesn't understand a word I'm saying

Guarda la tua piccola fica bisognosa - Look at your needy little cunt

Sii una brava sgualdrina e cavalca il tuo cardinale - Be a good slut and ride your cardinal

#the band ghost fic #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #fanfic #fic: freshly squeezed #my-writing #this got stupid long #sorry!

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