#Copia x dewdrop

[v-ternus]

Being so normal about the hand on the waist if Im being honest with yall rn.

[forlorn-crows]

And You Know That It Takes Two

Rating: E for Explicit

Relationship(s): Copia/Dewdrop

Tags: transitional period between era iv and era v, banter, slice of life, first time, first kiss, handjobs. beta'd AND correctly translated italian!

Words: 3731

Summary: “Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar.

special thanks to @miasmaghoul for beta'ing and @foxybouquet for the italian translations ♡

EDIT: now with ART from the fabulous @noahl-art. merci beaucoup, nono!! find his full artwork here

Read on AO3 or under the cut:

Caro: dear

Stai bene?: (Are) you okay?

Ti piace?: Do you like this?/Does this feel good?

Merdaccia infernale: (roughly) infernal fucking shit. Closest to "unholy shit".

Proprio così: That’s it.

“D’you think Lucifer would want us to have black mass every Saturday?” Dew pokes the wooden arm of Copia’s chair with the toe of his boot. “Shouldn’t we be exercising our sinful wiles instead of listening to you drone on about the Dark One?” 

Copia tugs on a scrap of paper trapped beneath the ghoul’s thigh. “You do plenty of that on your off time, my ghoul,” he teases. He looks over his reading glasses, offering a smirk. Dew can hear the unspoken eh? at the end of his sentence, so much so he can’t help rolling his eyes and smirking back. 

“How would you know, old man?” Dew fires back, flicking the hem of Copia’s trousers with his tail. He leans in closer. Elbows resting on his slightly spread knees until his face is level with the anti-pope’s. “Listening in on your free time?” The fire ghoul smiles wickedly, giving him an obvious once over. He cocks his head and bites his tongue between his teeth, waiting for an answer. 

Copia’s face rosies a bit, but he returns to his chicken scratch. He jots down a few words before he mutters: “I am sure you do not fantasize your Papa spying on you, caro.” 

“Maybe I don’t.” A lie. “Anyway, I think Rain’s loud enough to hear across the fuckin’ abbey. Probably have a soundtrack of water ghoul moans to lull you to sleep every other night,” Dew snickers. 

Copia just shakes his head with an amused sigh and continues taking notes. Little chunks of writing in the margins of photocopies of Latin texts, scrawling in both Italian and English in a little notebook off to the side. Dew’s struck with just how patient this man is, endlessly so. He can get crabby on tour, just like any of them, restless and tired, but he really is kind to him and his pack. 

The fire ghoul hums thoughtfully and returns to his upright position. Leaning back into the circles of bare desk he cleared earlier for his hands. “Do you get tired of putting up with us, Papa?” he asks casually. 

“Dewdrop,” Copia says with a measured tone. He puts his pen down, and his glasses too, looking up at his lead guitarist and steepling his fingers. They’re devoid of gloves, Dew notices in passing, his nails neatly trimmed and his skin smooth and humanly wrinkly. “We have been working together for how many years now?”

Dew shrugs. “A few.”

“Si, quite a few, hm?” Copia agrees. He swivels his chair so his body faces Dew more directly and places a gentle hand on his knee. “Why then, my ghoul, would you think I am ‘putting up with you,’ as you put it?”

“Don’t tell me you actually like us,” Dew says sarcastically. But Copia’s hand is warm on his knee, and he’s trying not to focus too much on how he’s looking at him right now, all soft eyes and a worried crease in his brow. 

“Well, I do. Of course I do,” he assures the ghoul. “Quite fond of you all, actually. It was, admittedly, a little rocky when we first met. But.” There’s that heh Dew was expecting just moments before. “Here we are, no?”

When Copia starts rubbing his thumb up and down the inside of his knee, Dew’s brain stops working. His gaze zeros in to the fingers splayed across the side of his thigh, so foreign, so bare, so pink against the black of his casual uniform pants. His mind is full of static and all he can hear is his own blood pumping through his head. But there’s a weird something tugging in his ribcage; something new yet old, unnamed but familiar. 

He’s quiet for so long that Copia clears his throat and gives his knee a polite pat before taking his hand away. He makes to go back to his notes, but Dew mourns the loss of his hand immediately. His pen barely touches the pages before the fire ghoul sobers up and inhales sharply. 

“Uh,” he blurts out stupidly, shaking his head and squinting his eyes at Copia. Unsure what to say but determined to say something. “You mean that?” Immediately he wants to crawl back into himself—back into the Pit, even—for sounding so small. Vulnerable. 

“Yes, I do,” Copia says quietly, genuinely. He taps his pen against the paper, little dots of black littering the line beneath his skip this? note. Instead of resuming his annotations, he sets the pen down once more, looking up at the ghoul perched atop his desk. His white eye is suddenly piercing in the lamplight, and he’s looking at him like he can see more than just the ghoul sitting in front of him.

“Well, I guess we’re . . . fond of you too, or whatever you wanna call it,” he mocks, aiming for levity. Dew’s tail flicks, ruffling the hem of Copia’s pants again.

Copia chuckles. “Well, that is good then,” he smiles.

Dew hums. Offers a one-sided smile in return. Easy. He could leave it at that; resume the relaxed banter about sermons and his new duties as Papa while Copia gets increasingly tired and/or annoyed and shoos him away with a chocolate truffle in hand (the ones he keeps stashed in his desk drawer for evenings like this). 

He could. But in the same moment, he decides he’s tired of tip-toeing around the idea of what this man is to him. He wades out into the waters, throwing a line.

“Is that . . . the only thing you feel for us?” he says at length, quieter. He scoots his thigh closer to the anti-pope’s hand. Encouraging him to touch again, if he wants. The sudden heat in his belly hoping he does. He wades a little deeper. “For me?” 

Now it’s Copia’s turn to falter, fingers twitching at the fabric of Dew’s trousers. He looks down at Dew’s thigh, then back up to his face. Searching his copper eyes for something, anything, his thoughts as loud as if Dew were a quintessence ghoul. 

“I . . .” he trails off, a failed start. He clears his throat. “I am, as they say, only human. So there are, perhaps, other . . . things. Si.” 

Dew grabs his hand gently, placing it just above where it was moments ago, confidence building. “Fantasies, maybe?” 

“Dewdrop—”

“For how bold you are on stage, you sure are fuckin’ shy in private, Papa.”

Copia huffs a laugh, moving his hand tentatively along Dew’s thigh. “Eh . . . reserved, maybe. But I don’t know about shy, my ghoul.” He shuffles his chair so he’s situated back between the fire ghoul’s dangling legs. 

Dew smirks. “See? Can call me motherfucker in front of thousands of screaming girls, but it’s my ghoul in here.”

“Ah, but that is the difference. They do not get the privilege of seeing you offstage.” A beat.  “Though, I imagine they would do a lot of things for that privilege,” he mutters. 

Dew bites his tongue in asserting that he is, in fact, a motherfucker offstage too. Instead, he tilts his head so his ashy hair cascades over his shoulder and spreads his legs further, hooking a foot in the arm of Copia’s chair and tugging it closer. He’s baring all of himself now, literally and figuratively. Potentially risking his position, too, if this goes south. 

But by the look on the anti-pope’s face, they’re both too deep to swim back now. 

“And what’re you gonna do with that privilege, Papa?”

“You’re asking?” he deflects, putting the other hand on the opposite thigh.

“If you don’t touch me in the next five seconds, old man, I swear to Satan—”

“Like this?” Copia smooths his hand up the inside of Dew’s thigh, running along the seam of his pants until he reaches where the ghoul’s started to chub up. His breath hitches, head tilting back. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks back down at his hand, tucking chin to chest as he watches those fingers press just so, right where the tip of his dick sits already sticky in his boxers. He bites his lip with a stifled noise.

“Long time we’ve danced around each other, I think,” Copia says. Dew just nods, flexing his hips into his fingers to get more friction. Copia presses more firmly, taking the hint. Drawing a firm line down the ridge of his clothed shaft. 

“Humans and ghouls, well . . .” he trails off, looking up at Dew.

“You’ve thought about it,” he replies simply. 

“Of course. Of course I have, caro. I–” he laughs, shakes his head in disbelief. “I mean, look at you.” He stops himself, color rising to his cheeks. He drops his gaze, focusing back on the hand on Dew’s fly.

The fire ghoul watches him trace a finger around the button before reaching down himself, popping it open. “What about me?” he asks softly, inviting. Shifting his hips again to encourage him to continue. 

“Not just fishing for compliments, I hope,” Copia teases lightly, a little bit of that stage persona shining through as he drags the zipper down.

“That’s not what—hh-oh.” He cuts himself off with a stuttered breath of a moan, Copia’s hand having reached past his fly and into his pants to pet at the dot of wetness sticking his boxers to his tip. The look of pure curiosity—wonder, really—on the man’s face as he feels him up has his stomach flipping. “Fuck, keep doing that.”

“You tell me what you like, my ghoul, and I will do it,” he whispers. 

Dew groans as another bead of precum blurts out into his boxers, wet at just his words. “Keep teasing it,” he breathes. “Shit, see how wet you can get it.” He twitches under Copia’s fingers as he wraps his hand around his clothed cock, thumb swiping back and forth over the head. Firm, but just light enough that it makes Dew keen for more. 

Copia continues the little motions, over and over until Dew’s underwear clings to him, saturated with pre. The friction of it and the intensity of Copia’s gaze on him has him dizzy, wanting. The man’s thumb presses over his slit, and he can’t help his eyes rolling back, thighs twitching towards each other. 

“F-fuck,” he stutters. 

Copia rubs his other hand over Dew’s thigh, soothing. “Stai bene? Good?” 

The fire ghoul nods, hair falling off his shoulders to frame his face. “More than,” he groans. He bites his lip, bucking into Copia’s hand. “Again—do it agai—yes, Satanas, yes.”

The anti-pope presses into his slit again, this time dragging the pad of his thumb along the ridge with even pressure. Humming as he works it back and forth. It’s so sensitive, so instantly overwhelming that Dew has to consciously restrain himself from gouging his claws into the wood. He lets his head drop back, facing the ceiling and biting his lip to stave off the rush of arousal that threatens to make him spill in his pants. 

Below him, Copia sighs. “Beautiful, caro,” he comments. 

Dew half-snorts, half-groans, bringing his chin back down to his chest. “You flatter me,” he says with an eye roll. 

“They say it gets one everywhere, no?” 

“If by ‘everywhere’ you mean ‘in my pants’.”

“If that is where you want me.”

Dew sucks his teeth, scoffs a little in disbelief. Eyebrows twitching upwards when Copia fingers the elastic of his boxers, blunt nails scratching at the peach fuzz on his stomach. He can’t get a grasp on the anti-pope’s tone, switching so fast between charming and soft it makes his head spin. He’s seen both moods separately, of course, fired back his own quips with a silver tongue or begrudgingly accepted praise and a head pat for a productive rehearsal. But having a cocktail of both leaves him with mental whiplash.

The hand making his dick wet probably isn’t helping in that department.

So he nods instead, helping the man shimmy down the waistband of his boxers to snuggle it under his balls, freeing his aching length. Dew hisses at the cool air of the room breezing over the slick-coated head—though, it’s replaced with a puff of hot air when Copia breathes: 

“May I?” 

Dew nods again, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows as a silent duh. Copia chuckles at that, scooting a little closer. He smooths his other hand up the fire ghoul’s thigh, up, up, up until he stops at his hip and rests his palm there, forearm dropping to sit on top of his leg. Dew’s stuck watching its ascent and misses the moment the anti-pope reaches for him, wrapping his fingers gently around the base of his cock and stroking upwards. 

“Lucifer,” he chokes out. He snaps his gaze to where their skin meets and watches his dick kick hard in Copia’s fist, more precum welling up in the slit. 

“Ti piace?” Copia continues to stroke slowly, not immediately translating as earlier. His accent curls around Dew’s eardrums, the Italian twisting with foreignness and short-circuiting his language synapses. He shakes his head, begging the small box of Italian in his brain labeled ‘Papa’s Nonsense Words’ to make sense of the phrase.  

He blinks at Copia’s expectant gaze. “Huh?” he asks eloquently, forcing the word through an embarrassing moan.

“Does this feel good?” he supplies, nodding toward his hand. 

The fire ghoul stares at the man’s hand, now wet with his own slick as it glides up and down. When his brain finally catches up to him, he barks a bewildered laugh. “I’m gonna have to learn more fuckin’ Italian for this,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Copia laughs too, realizing his little slip-up. Dew’s shoulders shake with his own renewed laughter. Giggles passing between the two as if they were twelve-year-olds who just pulled off a prank on their teacher, not a fifty-something leader of a Satanic church jerking off a near immortal hellbeast turned quasi-human. 

But the shared laughter is familiar. Comforting, in a way. Something to dissolve that final layer of caution that sat like oil on water between them. 

“You are an endless delight, my ghoul,” Copia sighs, huffing out a last chuckle. 

“I’ll give you an endless—uuh-nholy ff–fuck.” Copia runs his thumb over the slit of Dew’s cock, and his sentence is reduced to an eye-rolling moan. He grabs hold of the anti-pope’s forearm that rests on his leg, fingers digging into the muscle as he drools out a fat roll of precum. 

Copia hums and smears it around the head, pulling down the foreskin to rub at the sensitive underside. It’s all the courtesy he’s granted before the man goes back to stroking him in earnest, skirting over the head with each downward pass and tightening around the base when he pulls up.  

Dew grips his forearm tighter, thighs jumping with each tease of his frenulum. “Faster,” he begs. “And tighter. Fuck, feels s’ good.” 

“Merdaccia infernale, are you always so . . .” Copia shakes his head, letting the room fill with the lewd, creamy sounds of Dew’s slick-soaked cock.

“Wet?” Dew supplies as a choked-off noise. “Not al–hah–always. Not since—” his eyes roll back again, too caught in pleasure to be completely coherent. “The–shit–the—” Dew flails his hand in some nonsensical gesture. 

“Si, si.” The man understands without further elaboration that he means his elemental transition. That, despite the effective evaporation of his water, the born-again fire ghoul still carries traits from his original alignment—including dribbling pre like a leaky tap.

But Copia knows, doesn’t need him to explain or elaborate. Just tightens his grip and speeds his hand, looking up at Dew with a gaze that cuts him right down to the core. Intense, yet soft and admiring. Desire flickering just behind that. 

“Shit,” Dew hisses, letting his eyes close fully. Sinking into it. His hips are moving of their own accord now, little twitches that meet each downstroke, just barely fucking into Copia’s fist. It’s so much better than it has right to be, but Dew doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way Copia’s hand feels on his dick, the way his other hand grips his hip, the way his breathing grows heavier and tickles the fine hairs at the base of his dick, how it chills the wetness at the tip only to be warmed by his fingers within the same second. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh fuck, Papa, fuck.” His pleasure heightens suddenly, the backs of his thighs going pleasantly tingly and his toes curling in his boots. He can feel it starting to build, balls drawing closer to his body with every stroke. 

“Close?” Copia whispers, gripping Dew’s hip tighter and shifting in his chair. He grunts a little, no doubt filled out in his slacks too. Dew can’t confirm from this angle, especially not with the way his vision blurs, doubles even. But he has to be, if his wavering voice is anything to go by. 

Dew throbs at just the idea of his cock straining against his zipper, balls heavy and squished between his thighs as he watches the fire ghoul come apart. Neglecting it as he showers Dew with undivided attention. He’s assaulted with the mental image of Copia in those tight, white pants from his Cardinal days, absolutely everything on display, and he groans. 

He’s shaking now, stomach jumping as his breath starts to quicken. He’s sure his eyes are wild as he looks at the man below him, whining through his teeth as his hand moves faster, faster. Dew watches Copia bite his lip and look down at the movements of his hand, and the sudden fantasy image of that mouth kissing the tip of his cock makes him grip the anti-pope’s forearm until it threatens to bruise, nearly doubling over with the swell of impending orgasm.

Dew needs him. He needs him so badly. 

“Gonna cum—fuck, please,” he moans, breath quickening to shortened gasps. “Kiss me—please, m’ gonna—Papa—” Dew grasps at the man’s shirt collar, pulling at it to get him to stand. Dragging him in by the shoulders and kissing him fiercely, whining when Copia groans into his mouth and pumps him even faster. The scent on him is instantly intoxicating; notes of neroli and patchouli, dull wax from the black patches of makeup, the barest hint of incense smoke underneath. All pressed directly into his nostrils where Dew’s nose smushes against his. 

“Proprio così,” Copia mumbles, encouraging. His other arm loops around to cradle him between the shoulder blades, hand threading through his hair to grasp and hold as he kisses him deeply. That little bit of tension on Dew’s scalp sends a zing of heat right to his dick, and he’s moaning like a whore as he scrabbles at Copia’s shirt, ready to fall over the edge.

“Fucking. Fu–uhh, uh, uhh—” Dew loses all sense of words as he clings to him, mouth dropping open and tongue drooling over Copia’s lips. He cums hard, spilling over his hand with a shuddering groan, bucking into that wet fist until he’s risking sliding off the edge of the desk. He doesn’t, of course, braced and embraced by Copia’s body as he is. 

Dew’s head drops to his shoulder as he rides out the seemingly endless spasms. Far too many for a handy, if he’s being honest. But the anti-pope works him over until he’s milked dry, whispering more words into his hair that he doesn’t understand and rubbing a soothing hand over his back. 

“Shit,” he rasps. After a few more moments he peeks down at his lap—lucid enough now to mind his horns—where his black pants are now streaked with white, Copia’s hand resting on his fly also coated in the stuff. He shakes his head softly and laughs. 

“Got me good, old man.”

“Dewdrop . . .” His tone is pleading, breathless. Dew lifts his head and the hand on his back migrates to the side of his face, caressing softly. He leans into it as he looks at Copia, his face flushed and a look of pure want and adoration in his eyes. “Please, caro.”

He doesn’t need to ask what he needs, eyes flicking down to the tent in his pants and back up again. Dew nods. Moves the hands around Copia’s neck to the back of his head, pulling him in. 

It’s less feverish this time. Softer and slower, but far from chaste. Idly he wonders if any of the others have had him like this: privately in his office, a mere exchange of something fleeting, or hot and heavy in a storage closet after a show, frantic and adrenaline-fueled. 

If any of them have, they’ve never told. He’ll go back to the ghoul wing smelling of him, unless he runs straight to the shower. Douse himself in scalding hot water until he can barely smell himself.

But he won’t. 

Dew slides into the space in front of Copia, ignoring the mess on his dick as he presses close to the man. Licking into his mouth and sliding their tongues together as Copia’s hands start to roam. The fire ghoul slots a thigh between his legs as his palms reach his waist, pressing against his crotch. 

Copia whines in his throat, twisting his fingers into the fabric of Dew’s shirt. He’s hard as steel against his leg, throbbing when Dew presses harder and tugging at him like he could still get closer than he already is. 

“Sit down,” Dew rumbles. He breaks the kiss and holds his gaze as he presses on his shoulders, easing him back into the desk chair. Down, down, down until Dew looms over him. He smirks slightly, confidence and ease returning to him as their positions switch. Running his thumb along the painted upper lip then dragging down to the bare one. 

Wordlessly, the fire ghoul sinks to his knees. Scoots Copia to the edge of his chair so he can spread his legs. He smooths his palms up his thighs, his infernal heat seeping through the trousers. He watches Copia’s face as he pets at him, cupping and rubbing at his cock through the layers of fabric. The man’s chest heaves. Hands gripping the wooden arms of his chair. Exhaling shakily as Dew traces a claw around the button on his fly.

“Allow me,” Dew purrs.

[purlty23]

Could we get some dew/copia? Maybe dew in a habit?

Thanks! He hates it! ✨

[st-danger]

sexy sexy filthy dirty nasty sexy words

Copia draws his gloved hand down Dew's cheek, slow and kind, delighting in the way Dew tilts his head into the touch. Looking up at him through dark lashes framing amber eyes, kneeling before him. Tight pants stretched tighter on his thighs from how he sits, helmet discarded to his side, set carefully down. For the aggression he can take out on his Stratocaster on stage, Dewdrop is remarkably gentle with everything around him, material goods and living things alike.

"Papa," Dew murmurs, and Copia feels a tremor move through him; there's a particular voice Dewdrop uses when he wants something. Silky and dark and slow. A drawl. It's what he's using now, and he hasn't the ability to deny him anything. And if Dewdrop is about to angle for a little action, backstage and hurried with Copia in his papal robes- well. It'd be sinful, of course. And it would be wrong to not take advantage of that, right?

It wouldn't do to take the virtuous path. As a follower of the Dark Lord, of course. Copia draws a breath, rubbing his thumb along a sharp cheekbone, and then down to his mouth, where he brushes it over Dew's bottom lip.

A forked tongue darts out to lick the leather.

"Are you, um." Copia tries to collect himself. He is sure he feels the heat from his mouth through the glove, as though nothing was in the way. The intensity with which all of his band ghouls approach him with, the weight of their attention, it makes him woozy. Tongue-tied. Perhaps a little stupid. None of them seem to mind; he's seen firsthand the way they lose themselves in pleasure when they're with him. And with each other, he imagines, but he's never sat back and played spectator before. They've never let him.

"Are you going to suck me?" Copia asks. Dew smiles, but barely.

"Is that what you'd like?"

"Open your mouth," Copia says, and without hesitation, Dew lets his jaw fall open, sticks out his tongue so Copia can look. Imagine. Get an idea of what he gets to look at if he chooses to cum on his face instead of asking him to swallow. "I could...feed you communion." Dew huffs out a laugh, pleased. Dips a hand under the robes and gives Copia's calf a tender squeeze.

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"Was that too stupid?" Self-conscious. The hand rubs his leg, reassuring.

"Nah, it's hot," Dew says. His hand slides higher, up his thigh, higher still, and then he's cupping Copia where he's growing fat from excitement. "Always wanted to eat the body of Christ."

It's Copia's turn to laugh a little, aroused and pleased at the statement.

"Is that how you see me?"

"You're not a god," Dew concedes, grabbing the hem of his robe and ducking under it, popping the buttons of his pants, pulling down the zipper agonizingly slowly. Better they do it this way, Copia thinks dimly. If he has to watch Dew's lips stretch around him he isn't sure he'd last long enough to really enjoy it. "You're also not a holy man," he continues. He's pulling out his half-hard cock warm fingers brushing his shaft, pulling a shiver from him. "But I'll worship you like one, if you want."

[lovesomehate]

*voice cracking* I feel so normal about them!! [x]

[p1nkcanoe]

more often than not, copia wakes, hard and sticky, with the image of dewdrop fresh on his mind.

he can feel him on his hands, can taste him on his tongue. woodsmoke and cinnamon and both burning red hot. yet when he turns over onto his back and reaches for him, the mattress is always cold and empty. and he’ll sigh, because once again, he’s dreamt of the one thing he’ll never have the gall to ask for. 

it always starts the same way. dew will saunter into his chambers just as he’s finished changing into his comfortable night clothes and is pouring himself a hearty pour of red wine. he used to surprise him–in the early days of having this dream he’d fumble with the bottle, even drop it a handful of times and ruin the carpet, and dew would glide up behind him on silent feet, press warm palms into his back and over his shoulder blade to tell him he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to, maybe even offer him a kiss to the center of his back–now, he’s memorized the exact moment that the knob turns and clicks closed behind him. has memorized how many steps it takes for him to reach him. 

six. 

six steps for the six times the old floorboards creak beneath him. 

“you seem stressed, papa,” dew says every single time while he presses up close against his back. it’s barely a whisper, spoken so softly into the skin just below his ear, yet dripping with sweet honey and a quiet promise of something more. it makes him shiver, once in disbelief but now in lustful anticipation, and his hands shake slightly as he places the bottle down on the top of the dresser—if he hadn’t managed to shatter it… and he’ll nod, just to keep him going. 

then dew will work his hands down and around to his belly, take his time touching and kneading softly at the bit of fat there before carefully pulling the bottom hem of his tee up and out from where it’s tucked neatly into his sleep pants.

“let me help you ease into bed?” he’ll ask. as innocent as can be. “I can practically smell the tension in your bones…”

but there’s nothing innocent about what copia needs him to do–what he knows he’ll do next. 

he always leans up on his toes and noses the unshaven stubble of his cheek, his chin hooked right over his shoulder, while one of his overly-warm hands explores the newly exposed skin of his belly and the dense hair that covers it. the other sits just above his waistband, waiting. dew takes a deep breath in of the lingering cologne still stuck to his skin. spicy and subtle. he’s always liked it. sometimes copia will reapply it before bed, just after he’s brushed his teeth, in hopes that dew will come searching it out before he can dream of him. he never does, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stop yearning… but in his dream, where he knows the ghoul will appreciate it, he exhales nice and slow and lets his breath tickle the hair on the back of his neck, letting out a pretty little moan in return that always makes copia’s knees weak and push him to give into his desires.

“please, dewdrop,” he says, breathlessly and thoroughly out of any remaining patience for this torturous build up they always seem to have to go through. dew hums, a question. he always makes him specify. 

the glass of wine resting in front of him goes forgotten. wasted yet again, and copia covers the hand on his waistband with his own, dipping their fingers behind the elastic. 

“please,” he whispers, “help your papa.”

he’s said those words so many times that they’re etched in between the grooves on the top of his mouth. they’re permanently tattooed onto his tongue and written behind his teeth. when he wakes he’ll lick at them, try and taste them, try and remember what they tasted like when dewdrop buries his hand down into his underwear and grabs at him, hot and firm, and begins to stroke him. but always, they’re tasteless. 

the next part always goes by much too fast. he wishes he could stay there forever, slow the minutes down and memorize them, but they rush past in a blur of hands and a hot mouth. but he feels it all at once. he feels the hands that grab and stroke at him, the palms that knead at his skin, and he hears the noises that fall past his own lips like a broken record set on repeat. he feels the sharp teeth that nip at his skin, draw little pinpricks of blood that get licked up by an even hotter tongue, and feels the gorgeous lips that suck pretty marks into his neck, and his chest, and his thighs. 

marks that hurt so good and look so real, but never last past sunrise. 

he lets him take him apart, never having to do much in return, and it’s him that ultimately makes him leak into his sleep pants. him that makes him suffer, drowning in pleasure and insanity. and him that makes him wake every single morning on the verge of an orgasm. 

everything is him. 

everything is dewdrop. 

time moves both too fast and in slow motion. it goes by so fast yet feels like he could stay there forever… that is until the sun rises again and casts golden light through his window to remind him that it isn’t real. that he must rise and continue his mundane duties and stay in his place. 

dew is his ghoul. 

and he is his papa. 

the mattress is too cold. too big for him to sleep alone, yet he yearns for no one else but his ghoul to ease the burning in his belly. 

maybe one day he’ll have him. maybe one day it won't be a dream… but for now, he’ll just wait until darkness sets again in the sky so he can fall right back into it again.

[mountainsabandonedshoes]

it's always dewther angst when it comes to aether being sent back but what about copia? he loved his ghoul, he showed that on stage. mans loved his big boy. imagine how distraught he was when he was told that aether was being sent back to the pits, he probably sobbed like a little baby. he and dew spent as much time as they could with aether before he went back and once he was gone they became really attached to each other, they were each other's comfort. pretty much from then on when not on tour copia and dew shared a bed, cuddling and comforting each other through the heartbreak of losing their mate.

[miasmaghoul]

A Touch Too Much

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Papa IV/Dewdrop

Contains: Heat cycles, multiple orgasms, a breeding kink, Dewdrop losing his mind and Papa being very overwhelmed by his needs.

-----

“Do you know what is wrong with him?” He doesn’t even try to keep the tilt of concern from his voice. Aether knows him better than most of the ghouls, it would be pointless to try and hide it from him.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Aether replies. They stare at each other for a few beats and he does not elaborate, which Copia finds supremely unhelpful. He frowns, crossing his arms and stepping back while Aether rubs at the back of his neck. The ghoul huffs out a long-suffering sigh. “Strictly speaking, at least.”

“If nothing is wrong, then what-”

“He’s in heat, Papa.” Aether cuts him off in a rushed exhale. Copia freezes mid toe-tap.

Oh.

-----

Hey @gayrickgrimes I'm tagging you as requested.

My first heat fic! It's 9000 words! Love that for me!

Read the rest on AO3!

[janthonyfell]

but if Copia is the Antichrist (like Satan's kiddo) and Dewdrop finds out it would be like:

“I heard you came out from my boss's balls, the Big Boss balls, you know. Haven't meet him personally but I'm a huge fan, you know. Also I'm a big fan of yours! But back to the matter uh do you have spooky magic like giving wings to demons and stuff, asking for a friend”

just in a few days their relationship quicky develop into:

"Can your daddy give me some wings? I've been bad, really bad, i swear!"

"Don't call Him like that, Dewdrop! Control yourself!”

“...if I behave maybe you could give me some wings?”

[righteousimperator]

[kabukiaku]

love and appreciate your local satanic popestar!!! 🖤✨

[purlty23]

Deus In Absentia - Cardinal Copia x Dewdrop Ghoul

Rating: M for mature and once more murder ghouls. Theres sex in there CW: mentions of major character death, dew’s elemental transition and medical stuff to do with it, fear play, demon sex, knotting, trans Cardinal Copia, intersex Dewdrop, graphic depictions of burning alive (but its fake demon magic stuff) Chapters: 3/3 Words: Just over 7,000

-----------‐------------- 🦇🦇🦇 -----------------------

“The world is on fire,” Dew whispered, voice rough like sandpaper, “and you are here to stay…”

Pinpricks of pain blossomed where Dew's claws dug into his skin. Fear clouded Copia's eyes and he could see the way Dewdrop was drinking it in, never looking away.

There was no need to finish the lyrics. They both knew that Copia knew every album, back to front and vice versa. It did feel like he was burning. Copia could feel it seeping into his waking hours, that warmth. He could feel it now as Dewdrop stepped closer.

Read here on AO3! ✨

[st-danger]

i wish you’d write a fic where dewdrop gets humiliated in front of the other ghouls (or the clergy during mass/the crowd during a show, maybe) and gets off on it

I have two particular ideas I would like to and am planning to write for this, that have been rattling around my brain for A Very Long Time.

The first,

Some dubcon as Dew finds himself fondled and...helped onto an altar in front of the Clergy and Papa. Sex magick, you understand. Sacrifices and offerings to be made. If only someone had given him a head's up that he was meant to be playing an important part in tonight's ceremony. It doesn't take long for a few of the siblings around him on the pews to scoot in closer to him. Closer. Reaching for him. Friendly hands that rub his shoulders a little too long, friendly hands he can't shake off. Friendly hands that are persistent and coax him hard before he can get away, and by then he isn't sure he wants to.

The second,

Dew, face hot under his helmet while Papa announces to the crowd his little devil is just so, so excited to be playing for them this evening. Pries the guitar up and away to show everyone the way his pants are stretched, much to Dew's mortification. But the show has to go on, and would they all perhaps like to see something extra special? Would they all like to have a little bit more fun than usual? Dew's hand tightens impossibly harder around the neck of the Hagstrom, and Papa's gloved hand trails up his thigh...

[lovesomehate]

[x]

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

𝔊𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰 II

How would the Ghouls & Copia manhandle you when you’re being naughty?

Prompt by the illustrious @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus

NSFW/Suggestive below the cut.

Copia:

At first, he doesn’t realize why you’re doing what you’re doing

But then he puts the pieces together, and it makes his hands twitch

He makes you lay across his knees, never needing to ask more than once

He’s going to spank you with his gloved hands

He makes you count each one

“How many was that?”

“Five.” 

“You’re not counting properly, either that or you’re lying intentionally. I have no idea why you’d do such a thing.”

“I’d never say less with the intention of you giving me more on purpose.”

“I’m beginning to think these punishments aren’t working on you anymore, amore. Let’s try something else...”

-

Swiss:

Won’t hesitate to put you on a leash when you step out of line

When a leash won’t work he’ll resort to other methods

Ties. You. Down.

He will step back to admire his handiwork on you, after a moment of staring he forgets your transgressions because of how good you look tied up

He’s lost in the sauce

“Sweet fucking hells, you’ve never looked better.”

The gag in your mouth keeps you from speaking.

“Remind me, what were you doing that was so bad earlier?”

“Hrmph - ” The sound was muffled.

“Shhh, don’t talk with your mouth full. Now just stay right there.”

-

Phantom:

When you act up, it flips a switch in his brain

Picks you up with ease from the side, lifting you bridal style into his arms

The tightness of his grip on you speaks volumes to his possessiveness 

He scans for an unoccupied room, hells, even a dark corner to take you

He needs you immediately and he knows you need him just as badly

“Oh you’ve done it now, you’ve got my attention, so let’s go.”

“Phantom, slow down!”

“No. You fired me up now you can bring me back down.” He sets you down once you’re behind closed doors. “On your fucking knees.”

You kneel in front of him, eager to please him after misbehaving.

“Oh fuck, yes, such a good girl, just like that.”

-

Dewdrop/Sodo:

Misbehaving is a broad term to this ghoul, in fact, he likes when you’re naughty

Except when you give any attention to his brothers

Now that is a sure-fire way to pour gasoline on his flames

He comes up behind you when you least expect it (see where this is going?)

His long fingers wrap around your throat, pressing intentionally on your arteries, your head swooning in seconds

“Don’t go all limp on me yet.”

“But, Dew -” you whimper.

“Come on, you know exactly what you do to me. It was intentional, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now I’m going to be very intentional with you. I’m not letting you out of my sight the rest of the night.”

-

Rain:

He has infinite patience, at least until you vex him

And boy howdy, once you’ve crossed that bridge you’d better be prepared

There’s a determined look in his eye as he stalks towards you

He grabs your wrist, and even if you try to pull away, it’s impossible, his grip strength is too much

He drags you with him through the nearest corridor to a quiet space

“You’re going to be nice and quiet now for me.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll make you.”

His hand clamps over your lips shockingly fast, leaving you a thin line to breathe from your nose.

“I love seeing you get a taste of your own medicine. Don’t like it when I match your energy? Don’t misbehave.”

-

Mountain:

Sits and watches stoically as you make a fool out of yourself 

Doesn’t need to say anything

Doesn’t need to do anything, but he does

He easily scoops you up, throwing you over his shoulder

He could spank you from here, but he prefers his partner underneath him (If you know what I mean)

“You do have to do all of that to get my attention, you know.” He plops you on his bed, climbing on top of you.

“I know, but maybe I’m looking for bad attention.”

“Yeah?”

You whine and writhe underneath him as he smacks (not hard) the thickness of your outer thigh.

“That’s what you want? Just ask next time, little villainess.”

-

Just da bois this time, but if you’d like me to include the ghoulettes pls just comment, I’m happy to oblige a fellow ghoulette lover! ( *︾▽︾)

Ghoulette Version Here!

[quaildoodle]

WHY ARE YOU BLUE