#with the bugs and dew drops

[grimmweepers]

PLSSSS IF ONLY WE WERE HEADING TO AUTUMN i would love that 😭😭 its only the first day of spring but its SO hot already (i might be exaggerating)

NO OMG ITS NOT JUST YOU. IT WAS SUPER WARM FOR ME AS WELL

but speaking of the sun, your ask just reminded me that i left my clothes outside LMFAOOO so now i have to scurry out of bed to get it

[sayxit]

Spooky Lace

[hawkpartys]

Tribe Chrysidini

[sageofthestarz]

Dew walks in on Phantom trying to have some alone time and decides to help the quint out

Aka that first time Phantom fic I promised ages ago and forgot about

Dew can only smirk when he walks into their shared room at the hotel.

Dew had said he'd be out at some bar late with the others. Phantom having stayed behind claiming to be tired, Dew certainly didn't expect to see the younger ghoul borderline desperately humping his own pillow

Phantom was still rather new. To his knowledge he hasn't been wisked off to bed by anyone yet, so seeing him like this was a treat even if he was a little ashamed being there without permission

He cleared his throat and walked into the room further watching as Phantom froze, thighs shaking from where they were clenched around the much too soft and very wet looking pillow

"Well what do we have here?" Dew chirped out amused at the way he watched the quint try to pull a blanket over himself

"D-Dew I-" he goes to scramble to cover himself

"Calm done bug. I'll grab my wallet and leave you be, do warn a guy if you're wanting some alone time though" Dew hummed out trying not to laugh at the quints horrified face, the slow rocking of his hips didn't stop though much to Dews interest

"Ya'know. I'd think you wanted to be caught like this. Such a display and everything" he mused, really just being an asshole for the sake of it but the deep flush on the youngers face makes something in him stir

"Most of us just shoot in the showers kid, just so ya'know" Phantom whined covering his face in his hands

"I know! Okay I know.. I- I just. Can't. Can't get off unless it's like this.. even then I still just cant" he grumbled out. Embarrassment mixed with frustration. Unable to meet Dews eyes as his own had small tears coming to them

Dew was, more then a little surprised by the confession, taken aback but he felt for the younger

"I- Bug I'm not trying to make fun of you okay, just saying let me know so I can stay out of your hair.." he said glancing to the door, the instinct to flee pulling at him, but looking back at the newer ghoul, he really just wanted to help

He's seen how stressed out the quints been, sure this wasn't helping. New vessel to learn, the stress of tour, and the way the stress effected the vessel. He knew it all to well. With a small sigh and a loud drop of his keys he's made up his mind

"Hey, hey relax okay?" He said in a much softer tone before making his way over to the other

"Can I touch you?" He asked, pausing next to him.

Phantom started at him for a moment, glancing between Dews face and the outstretched hand like he was trying to decern if this was another of his cruel jokes. He was hesitant but desperate so he gave a quick nod, his core throbbing at the thought of another's hand on him

Dew smiled cupping his cheek and combing the hair from his face "You're okay" he cooed quietly feeling how tense he was

Phantom lent into the touch, a small gasp leaving his lips leaning into it like a cat nuzzling his face into the hand his whole body leaning into it.

He doesn't remember the last time he was touched for anything other then the shows.

He pet over his cheeks sitting down next to him, coaxing him with gentle overly warm hands. Rubbing down his shoulders soothing away any aches. Trailing them down giving a small brush over his nipples watching as the other sucked in a breath rolling his hips forward, until finally to his waist guiding him to his lap.

Phantom was still in boxers, settling down onto Dews thigh leaning against him.

"Do not be afraid to tell me if anythings too much okay?" Wanting to make sure the quint heard he tilted phantoms head up and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. He set a slow pace, warm hands spreading over his thighs, around to cup his ass as he deepened the kiss, drinking up the moans that fell from the others lips

Soon his hands were gliding up, hands slipping under his shirt to move over chest feeling him up before thumbing over a nipple exparsmentally, before giving it a light little pinch as Phantom whined into his mouth. His hips twitching trying to find friction against Dews thigh

"Yeah? That feel good baby?" He asked leaning in to press a soft kiss down his jaw, then to his neck. Phantoms eyes fluttering shut as he slowly rocked against his thigh with quick nods

"Gonna take your shirt off okay baby?" another nod as he pulled it over the smallers head giving his little tits a look removing his own

Dew brought warm hands massaging over the quints shoulders, and down to lightly pinch his nipples giving them each a light tug "Look at you, so pretty~" he cooed softly watching the way Phantom shuttrred and ground down harder

"Yeah? You like it when I tell you how pretty you are?" The moan that fell from his lips was tell enough, a little info to file away for later use

Dew hummed happily kissing down his neck leaving a few light marks along his way, relishing in the small shakes and cry's the quint let out.

Licking slowly over his chest, watching his face as he took one of Phantoms nipples into his mouth, letting his hot tongue play with the harddened bud pulling a gasp him his lips squeezing his eyes shut tight

"Dew.. Dew please touch me?" He whined, unsure of where to place his hands eventually deciding onto his sides as Dew pulled back with a pleased hum

"You want to try something I think you'll like bug?" He asked much to Phantom frantic nodding. He wanted so badly to cum, he hadn't been able to since they left the abbey weeks ago

"Get up for a second okay?" There was a slight panic on his face but did as he was told. Watching as Dew laid back against the bed head propped up on the same pillow he was using earlier

"Take those off and come kneel over my head" he instructed, biting his lip as he watched the younger ghouls shaking hands slip off his boxers nervously before coming over and getting settled above Dew

"Brace your hands on the headboard there. Let me do the rest okay?" Another nod as he held on, jumping when Dews hands massaged up and down his thighs to his hips rubbing the ache he knew was there before guiding him down leaving a few kisses to his thighs, before licking slowly though his folds. Tasinting him, with a groan before he took the ghouls clit into his mouth

Phantom immediately tensed, this was very new to him. He didn't know what to expect but it certainly wasn't the fire ghouls hot tongue dragging so slowly over his clit, small shots of pleasure zipping up his spine.

Forcing deep breaths as he felt the ghouls tongue dip inside his folds and deep into him, thighs shaking in no time when he pulled back just to shut his arms holding his wasit to his face before diving back in sucking on him while letting his tongue press in long slow strokes over him

Dew was more then pleased feeling him squirm trying to buck his hips against his tongue. Giving in a little he helped guide his hips to grind against his tongue as he wanted, working him into to steady rythem. Moans and whines coming from above him as Phantom got used to the movement, using his mouth the same he would his pillow

When Dew brought a hand up to pet though his folds, collecting the slick from them before pressing a fingers inside Phantom couldn't hold back the loud moan as he started to desperately use the fire ghoul. Fucking himself back onto his fingers as dew added a second just to grind his clit against his tongue. It was pure pleasure filled torture

A whined chant of "Dew- Dew- Dew- gonna- fuck fuck-" scrambling to hold the fire gogiks head, hands fisted in his hair. "Cum for my baby, let me taste you" he purred out before doubling down, guiding his hips against his tongue moaning into his cunt and with a loud gasp Phantom came, fluid gushing from him as Dew worked him through it, thighs clamping against his head with thighs trembling. Deep panting breaths as he slowly came down Dew only smiled rubbing his hips and back

"You did so well, so good Phantom. Love your little cock so much. Taste so good" he purred gently guiding the shaking quints body to lay against his chest. Combing through Phantoms hair, and rubbing up and down his back as he calmed down

Phantom pressed his face into Dews neck, craving being close to him and Dew was more then willing to give him anything he needed. It took a bit, but once he was ready Phantom pulling away looking up to Dew with a blissed out look

"Hey there starlight, back with me?" He asked, a shy nod coming from Phantom "Good, you want to go get a shower? Get you some water and then we can rest?" another nod comes from him.

Dew takes him to get cleaned up, gentle as could be then wisked right back to bed for some cuddles and maybe another few rounds later on, ready to teach the quint all the way he could use his new vessel

[divine-misfortune]

Mist gave Dew a small little seahorse plush the day he left for his first tour. It wasn't big, fit pretty well I'm his hand. It was seafoam green with two orange buttons for eyes. He fell in love with it the second she pulled it from her pocket.

Years later he still has it. Well loved and a little more patch worked than before, It sits in the corner of his bunk just above his pillow. When he's stressed or overwhelmed he tends to just hold one of it's little fins, petting it between his fingers till his mind calms enough to rest.

And now he sees the bags settle under Phantom's eyes within their first week away. The kid looks like he could drop dead any second from exhaustion. When he asks, the kid laughs and shrugs. It's hard to sleep on a moving bus, thsts something Dew understands. So that night just after everyone's turned in, when he hears Phantom rolling about restlessly, he frowns.

Dew gathers himself and his faithful little friend and slips into Phantom's bunk, shooing him back against the wall to accommodate both of them in the little space. Phantom doesn't question a thing, not when Dew tells him to roll over and face the wall or when his arm slips around his waist, not even when Dew presses the little seahorse against his chest.

"Always found it easier getting to sleep with someone there," Dew mumbled into his hair as Phantom gingerly accepted the stuffed animal. "I'll be a short term solution, but he can be your long term...Always helped me get to sleep even on the worst nights. Just gotta take good care of him and he'll take good care of you."

Phantom giggled softly and tucked it beneath his chin like it were cuddled up to him. Dew gave a laugh himself and kissed the back of his neck.

"Get some sleep bug, we're right here."

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 20

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’ve been slumped over my computer like a living Fibonacci spiral—also, pretty sure I’ve proofread the first half of this but my memory isn’t that great so I’ll check in the morning (I should have been asleep about two and a half hours ago—I’m so sorry if there are errors)

word count: 7,869

-Part 19- -Part 21-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

It’s quiet. 

There’s nothing in your mind, and it’s quiet. 

No skittish thoughts, or fleeting worry. No frantic heartbeat to wake up to, nor an anxious tug of energy hurrying you along to get out of bed for fear of seeming lazy. It’s quiet. 

The sheets still smell faintly of gardenia, clinging to the delicate fibres relentlessly. How? Maybe it’s just lodged itself in your nose. 

There’s no sunlight this morning—it’s hard to tell the time. A slight outline presents itself on the edge of the mattress, beginning to slide down onto the floorboards. It’s watery and pale, hardly there. Is it warm? You can’t feel anything on your hands… 

You can’t feel anything on your hands. 

The curtains are open, and grey sky fills the window panes. Dark and deep. Probably not deep enough to signal a storm…it would be nice if it stormed though. It feels as though time has paused when it does. With rain so thick and heavy. The rain’s nice, sometimes. It waters things, and gives smells a new shade of depth. When it rains, you remember the shack. How the smell of damp was everywhere. In clothes, in hair, in sheets and furniture. 

These sheets are dry, though. Dry and warm, and keeping you wrapped up and comfy. Heat having sunk into your body, feeling so rarely soft anymore. 

A bell chimes in the far distance, metallic and sturdy. Counting to nine.

You’ve slept in. Wasted hours, already. Wasted, wasted, wasted, wasted away. Wasted away in bed. Throwing time out the window. Letting it slip between your fingers. Draining it out of sight, watching it gush far from your clutch while you sleep. Sleep all your time away. 

Wouldn’t that be nice. 

————

A bell chimes in the far distance, metallic and sturdy, clanging pain through your mind. 

Counting to eleven. 

There’s no point in getting up now. The good part of the day has gone. The early morning when it’s quiet and fresh, and sunlight weakly trickles across the horizon. Glittering upon the frost that’s begun to dust the morning cityscape. Heavy fog rolling off the Sidra, steaming in the early hours to smudge the nearby streets and houses in a dreamlike blur. Even if it bites, it’s a precious part of your morning, only occasionally daring to venture out into it. To walk the misty streets. It’s peaceful, and quiet. Not many folk are about at that time, most either beginning to wake up, or beginning to go to sleep. You have the streets mostly to yourself. 

Though with winter setting in, it’s getting dark. Darker in the mornings. Dreary and dismal, with rain softly spraying in the air as it floats down like powder. Only wet, and cold. Like walking through a fine mist, one that shimmers with iridescence if the sun catches it at the right time. Spiriting you away to another world entirely. Your Quiet Moments. 

The clock chimes a short succession of notes for quarter past. 

You sink into bed. 

Warm and welcoming. 

————

A bell chimes in the distance, metallic and sturdy. Three O’clock. 

It’s afternoon. 

Your head pounds when you open your lids, eyes straining with pressure, and they fall back closed. The light is grey—heavy grey—and cloudy. Droplets were on the outer winder pane.

Evergreen branches holding full pinecones. Damp and gleaming. Spiderwebs with dew drops jeweling them. Bugs crawling along the cracks of bark. Twigs snapping beneath human feet, the smell. Filling your lungs with fresh air, alone in the woods. The twigs might not snap any longer. The leaves might not rustle when you walk over them. Losing the weight of presence. 

The forest with the leaves of yellow, and red, and orange, sometimes capillaries of light green or brown shot through them. Silver bark that had eyes in it, branches growing out like nerves. The forest floor thick with earth, creatures scuttling about, water gathering in the small pools created by tree roots. Mushrooms growing from the underside of the forest floor, some a grey brown, others a chalky red with white drops speckling them. A few had been a murky green, with smaller fungi growing from the parent’s trunk. 

You should have taken it in more, gathered the details from real life instead of giving them form through the illustrations. If you ever get to go back, you’ll remember more. Pluck leaves from the forest floor and dry them out in a candle lit room, pressing them between the empty pages of a leather-bound book. Fungi have simple structures, and fae eyesight would surely lend you a hand—maybe you could manage an illustration of your own. They’re just shapes, after all. Then you could splash some watery colour over them, adding liquid to powdered pigment. Start a journal of some sorts. Of all the things you get to see. 

But you’d have to get out of bed to start, and it’s already three O’clock. 

You won’t be able to get anything done, now. You should wait until tomorrow. Then you can get up in the misty morning. Find an empty book somewhere. Feyre must have one. Could you borrow one? Wouldn’t that be fun? 

Fun. 

Anticipation filters through your blood. Something to do. Something to work on. Something to make. Something real, to keep. To remember things with. To look at when you forget. 

That would be nice. 

————

A bell chimes, ringing through your head. Six O’clock. 

Your mind is aching. Behind your eyes, between your brows. You’ve slept too long. 

Gods, you feel sick. 

You roll off your front, settling on your side, hugging the duvet closer. 

No—no. You’re definitely going to be sick. 

The duvet flies off you as bare feet slap across the tiles of the bathroom, making it to the latrine. You wait, knees pressing to the cool floor, arms shaking as you push your hair away. You don’t have to wait long, fortunately. 

It’s over quick enough. Over and done with. Relief settles through you—it’s over. Your mouth tastes awful, though, and you go to the sink to clean yourself up. Rid yourself of the flavour that’s stuck to your throat and tongue. It takes a while for that strange notch to go away—the one that’s always present after regurgitating, like there’s a lump of something lodged there that you have to swallow around. And each time it refreshes the flavour of your stomach. You grimace. 

At least it’s over, now. 

You hastily clean up the red droplets on the white porcelain. That’s new. 

You sigh heavily, exhaustion weighing on you. You and your now empty stomach. Whatever. You’re up now. Might as well stay up. No point in going back to bed. 

Thankfully your body is still sustaining its warmth from sleep, but it’s beginning to cool with so little maintaining it. Time to wash and dress, then. 

You stand at the wardrobe for what feels like an hour, trying to figure out what you’d like to wear. None of the colours are particularly appealing tonight. Maybe since it’s already evening you could get away with wearing something slightly cosier? Or why care at all—you’re going to cover it all up with a robe anyway. No one’s going to see what you’re wearing, you should go for comfort. 

But you still want to look nice. 

Your head hangs between your shoulders, eyes shutting briefly with exhaustion. At least you’re feeling relatively well-rested. There’s that. 

The missed appointment crosses your mind. Madja. Azriel. You were supposed to see both of them today. Did you sleep through both? And Bas. You were supposed to see Bas soon. Is it too late to go now? It’s too dark. And cold. Miserable. He probably won’t want you inside, either, so you’ll be on the doorstep for most of it, or maybe the entrance hall. 

It’s not happening. 

Is it too late to see Azriel? 

You don’t want to. Not so far into the evening. He’ll ask about the conversation with Nesta, and you’ll have to tell him, and you don’t want to. Your head falls again with fatigue. So much. So much to do. Should have done. You’re getting cold. At least the faelight is warm. Or looks warm. Yellow and orange on pale wallpaper. Your thoughts feel sluggish. 

With a sigh, you pull out a gown—grey as the skies—and shuffle yourself into it, pulling the strings taut so the fabric remains together without being tight. And pull a robe over it. Warm but polite. Put together enough. It doesn’t look like you’ve been asleep all day, then woken to throw up—that’s…enough. 

You go to your window, peeking out through the curtains, wondering if you’ll see any people in the street. At this time a few faelights might be lighting the street, two or three dimly shining a glow onto the cobbles, but for the most part the city is dark for the sake of the stars. It’s peaceful in a way, and makes you feel a little better about having wasted the light away. What good is the day in a city of Night, anyway? There’ll probably be an equal number of shops open at this time as there would at six in the morning. Maybe more, if you think about it. There’s some comfort. Maybe you can shift your schedule to fit the night. That way you won’t have the constant awareness of the day going by.

The sun is a pleasant accessory, but it shows the passage of time too obviously. It’s easy to tell when it’s early morning, when it’s midday, afternoon, evening. Maybe the night has the moon, and maybe the stars will eventually come to indicate time passing should you become well-acquainted enough with how they look, but you might be afforded some time to yourself, unaware of life draining away. Though that’s a very human outlook. 

Your brows furrow. 

Does the passage of time even bother immortals? Do they feel the need to hurry, and get things done? Having grown up without an end? What differences does it make, to live knowing you won’t die? 

————

There’s no one downstairs, and it’s quiet. 

Even straining your ears, you struggle to hear anyone—they must all be out. 

Maybe they’re having a meal at some evening restaurant. 

Maybe they’re having fun.

You tread over to the kitchen to make yourself some tea but find the room completely dark. The faelights are out, allowing only that faint grey light to filter through the— The curtains are closed. Huh. They must have left… Strange to draw the curtains though… On second thought, you don’t really feel like putting liquid in your stomach just yet. Maybe some plain bread would be nice. More digestible, too.

Taking your plated bread and butter with you, you head over to the living room, passing through the entrance hall with the stairs that lead up to the first floor, cutting through to the living room that also overlooks the front garden. You pause when you recognise Feyre’s shape on one of the sofas, a small, winged bundle propped up in her lap, cheek laying across her chest. 

“Feyre?” You murmur quietly, incase he’s sleeping. Deep, blue-grey eye lift heavily away from her baby, her palm stroking the crown of his head. Brows furrow over half-lidded eyes, “couldn’t sleep?” 

“No. I slept all through today, actually,” you reply, making to settle at the other end of the sofa, so you can balance your plate on the plush arm. “Do you know what happened with Madja? I don’t know what happened today—I guess I just really needed the extra sleep. I didn’t mean to sleep through it all.” 

Feyre’s brows furrow, her eyes squinting as she looks over to you. “It’s six in the morning. What are you talking about?”  

“It’s six in the evening,” you counter with equally furrowed brows. “I heard the bells go. At nine, eleven, three, and six.” 

“No, it’s definitely six in the morning,” she replies wearily, “everyone’s asleep, and the lights are off.” 

You blink, looking around. “It’s six in the morning?” She mumbles something that sounds like agreement. Pulls the blanket tighter around the both of them. Nuzzles at the top of Nyx’s head. “Did he wake up early?” You ask, trying to sound normal through the confusion that’s happening in your mind. Dreams can be so alarmingly powerful at times. 

“Mhmm. He’s probably missing his papa,” Feyre mumbles against his head, smiling faintly, pulling back to peer down at their baby, stroking his back tenderly beneath the blanket, habitually avoiding his still-developing wings. “Isn’t that right? Missing papa? He’ll be back today. He hates being away from you.” She kisses the crown of his head once. Twice. Brushes her nose against him, inhaling softly, still smiling despite the obvious fatigue and strain lining her features. There are half-circles beneath her eyes. Her skin taking on a slightly bluish tint in the corners of her eye-bags, shadow making them more pronounced than usual. 

“Rhys’ away?” You ask quietly, beginning to chew on your food. 

“Up in Illyria for the night.” She sighs, readjusting her hold on Nyx. You hum, not wanting to press her on it. You chew on more of the bread quietly, waiting to see how your stomach manages it. You can’t stop thinking about the strain in her features. 

“Is everything okay?” You whisper, glancing at her. “Are we…is it safe now?” 

“Rhys says there’s always a revolt brewing up in Illyria,” she mumbles without opening her eyes. “Says they’d love to stick a knife in his back one day. It’s the same with the Hewn City. A lot of strained ties after the war. We’re still dealing with the aftermath of it all.” 

“But no immediate looming threat?” You ask. Maybe the shadows are just making her fatigue more prominent that it actually is. Maybe you’re bothering her for no reason. 

You shouldn’t be asking her all these heavy questions right now. 

Her body stutters, and her lips have twisted down. A wet droplet shines on Nyx’s head.

“Feyre?” You whisper, shuffling closer. “Feyre, what’s wrong?” Her shoulders shudder under your arm, hand trying to soothe down her back. She sniffles, then tightens her hold on Nyx, hoping she won’t wake him. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Feyre whispers against his hair. Another tear drips down her cheek, and you settle a little closer to her side. “I’ve got no idea. There’s so much to do, and so much to learn… Rhys says he can manage it… I don’t have to take on any more, but I can’t leave it all up to him.” Another tear falls, and her brows squeeze together over tightly shut eyes, the interior of her lower lip clasped between her teeth. 

You don’t know what to say to comfort her, so settle for remaining beside her, arm wrapped over her shoulders. She’s trying to keep her eyes squeezed shut, her brows knitted together tight, nose still grazing Nyx’s sleeping head. You’re thankful he hasn’t woken up. 

“Elain said…” you fumble, unsure. “Mentioned you might like to do something for your birthday.” Feyre sniffles, but you can pick out enough movement that looks like a nod. “Have you…is there anything in particular you’ve thought of?” 

She shakes her head. “There might not be time.” 

You glance at her, heart sinking slightly, hand rubbing over her shoulder. “There’ll be time,” you whisper, not sure where the conviction comes from. “What would you like to do though, if time wasn’t an issue?” Feyre doesn’t respond, her throat working silently. Your tongue flicks out over your lips, “what about visiting the coast? There are a few islands in Night Court territory, we could explore a few?” 

Her body goes rigid, brows squeezing shut tighter if possible, shaking her head. Her fingers tremble, and Nyx’s face scrunches in his sleep. You worry he’s about to wake. 

“Okay, a definite no to that one,” you murmur, forcing some lightness into your voice. “What about…just a quiet day at home? We could…stay in? And talk amongst ourselves?” Her shoulders begin to relax, but she shakes her head. “I don’t want…I like it…love it here, but…” 

“Just not on your birthday?” She nods. You nod back. “Got it. Somewhere outside? Or away a bit?” She nods again, and your heart begins to steady. You’re getting somewhere with this. 

“Okay…then how about…” Oh dear. This is what you get for keeping to yourself for so long. What would she like? 

The silence is stretching…you need to hurry up…think of something to do…something she’ll like that isn’t boring and generic…“Painting?” 

She seems to pause for a moment, and an instinct that isn’t something human urges you forward. “We could take turns? So you aren’t always the one in the chair working? I don’t know how good they’d be, but we could try? I’m sure we could manage some basic patterns. How hard could circles be?” A quiet, wet laugh escapes her lips, and you hold back an obvious sigh. 

“Harder than you’d think,” she whispers, sniffing again, raising one hand to wipe her nose on her arm. “Well then how about we each take turns trying to paint things, and you can laugh at how disfigured our basic shapes are, hm? What about that?” 

Feyre nods her head gently. “I’d like that,” she whispers, “as long as I can keep them afterwards.” 

“I’m not sure you’ll have anything worth keeping,” you mutter, half-joking, “but if that’s what you want…”

“I do,” she replies firmly, making you glance down at her in slight surprise. But then you nod. “Okay… Let’s do that.” 

In the back of your mind, you consider broaching the subject of borrowing—acquiring—a sketchbook, or journal of sorts, but she looks so tired. She looks about ready to fall asleep. That’s probably why she kept the lights off, so the both of them might be able to settle back down.

Her eyes have fallen shut, nose and mouth resting atop his head, keeping him close to her bare skin beneath. He looks like he’s sleeping peacefully. His wings kick in his sleep, and your lips twitch. 

As quietly as you can you stand from the sofa, untangling yourself, making sure to be silent as you make back for your bedroom, pausing a few paces from the sofa to look back at them. Feyre seems so tired, so small, bundled up in the corner of the sofa with her baby. 

She looks like your little sister again, in a way. 

Your lips open, the first of three words sitting quietly on your tongue, but… 

You don’t want to risk waking them. You don’t need to say it. It would probably come out too loud, anyway. 

It would be strange to announce it out of nowhere. 

You don’t need to say it. 

————

You made the mistake of falling back asleep, and now your head hurts. 

You don’t want to open your eyes, for fear of what the clock might tell you. 

If you were given another chance to restart the day, and wasted it again, you might just throw yourself out the window. 

Your brows furrow in disagreement, disliking the flippant thought. Your eyes open on their own, glancing to the clock, not giving yourself the opportunity to doubt anything. It’s about nine o’clock. 

You can work with that. You can get up now, and the day is still ahead of you. It’s not wasted, and you haven’t missed anything. 

Glancing to your side table, you spot a half eaten piece of bread on a plate. Your brows furrow tighter, fingers rubbing at your forehead—what was the dream part? Did you actually see Feyre? It’s all so foggy first thing in the morning. 

The plate’s there, it has crumbs, and it has bread on it. 

You repeat those facts in your head, slowly but surely driving away the haze that’s settled over your mind. Reorganising those events and sectioning dream off from reality. 

A heavy sigh falls from your lips as you glance about your bedroom. You’re still dressed as you were, and you feel fine—no churning stomach, no tingling skin…you’re fine. Breathing is coming easy to you, and while you fail to completely feel the scratch of the sheets beneath your fingertips, there’s enough sense still left in the skin for you to pick up on its softness. 

It’s nine o’clock. 

You groan into your pillow, feeling restless. What can you do today? The weather’s still grey, soft sprays of rain floating down from the sky, misting the air, and you think you spot the faintest trace of condensation in the corners of the glass window panes. Maybe it won’t immediately cheer your spirits, but you can try going outside. Even if it means wandering aimlessly for an hour or so, it’s nice to sometimes look at things and recognise them. Maybe you’ll even end up wandering your way to Bas’ house, or Nesta’s—though you’re not sure you’re ready to see either of them again, with the grey of your heart. 

Pulling a sigh into your lungs, you push up from the bed, dragging yourself to the door to head down the hallway to Azriel. He’ll’ve had his conversation with Mor by now. Will have more questions to ask you. Clarifications to make. It’s tiring. 

You’re tired. 

————

As usual, you knock on his door, entering when he calls, keeping the shawl wrapped closely around your shoulders, remembering how cold he likes it. 

You quietly walk inside, socked-feet pitter-patting across the floorboards, gloved fingers pulling the shawl a little closer.

Hazel eyes flick over to you, sharp and observing. You’d like to hide from them, sometimes, for fear of what he’ll see. “Did you get a chance speak with her?” He inquires. Like I asked?

“It’s barely been a day.” You take the seat at his bedside, organising your skirts carefully so they won’t crumple or wrinkle while you’re sat. “But yes, we spoke.” 

“I’m glad.” He’s watching you, a curve to his under eyes, a small upward tilt to his lips. “How was it?”

Your shoulders roll in an uncommitted shrug. “It happened.” 

A beat passes, and he glances out the window, gazing at the grey sky. “Did you find it helpful?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Hazel eyes move over you, wrapping you in their sight. “Change won’t immediately occur. You should give it time.” 

“You said I just needed to try speaking with her once.” 

“It might be better—for you—if you tried again.” His hands are resting by his sides atop the sheets. Wings pressed to the pillows. “What did you speak about?” 

“You said I just needed to try speaking with her once.” 

“And did you? Have an honest conversation with her, about her experiences and your own?”

The pencil has been moved from where it was resting yesterday, now caught between the pages of the notebook. There’s a mug of tea on the tabletop too, completely cold and untouched, an empty plate by its side. A different book besides the cup, this one with crisp, pale edges. 

“Did you?” He reminds, drawing you out of arbitrary thought. 

There’s a full glass of water, too. It has a hexagonal base, with the six sides made into the shape of small arches, before expanding into a circular top to drink from. The light filters through it, pale and bright, distinctly liquid-like. His eyes are on you, lips set in a line, brows resting as they normally might on his expressionless face. His hair has a slight curl over his forehead. 

You love this male. With his blank eyes and blandly set mouth. With his uncaring attitude toward you, and easy disregard for things out of his control. You have to love him, even if you can’t feel it right now. It’s just a numb patch. 

Even if your heart isn’t beating the way it usually does, and you don’t feel as skittish as you usually do, it’s easy to pick out you feel differently for him that for anyone else. 

Have you ever felt this way over someone else? No, you don’t think so. What is it, though? Is there a reason? He used to make you smile a lot more. He used to make you feel a bit like yourself again. Or perhaps, who you could have been if there hadn’t been so many downfalls in your childhood. 

Oh. 

You don’t want to be here right now. That’s what’s going on. 

Where would you like to be? In your room? No. With Feyre, then? Maybe, but not particularly. With Elain? Nesta? No, and no. The walk was nice though, over to Nesta’s house. Maybe just walking somewhere, in the cold. Treading through frost, and streets that look as shut down as your mind. Noticing things is nice. Seeing plants you recognise, and other architecture features you’ve read about in real life. That’s nice. Maybe a walk is what you want. It feels right. 

How long has it been since you’ve seen Bas? Two days? Can you see him today? Do you want to? It’s a nice question to ask yourself, at least. Do I want to? Do you want to see Bas today? Yes, that would be nice. But would he still be upset with you? He might still be upset with you. Do you still want to see Bas today? Yes, that would be nice. Why? You miss the smell of his home, a lot. The smell of rosemary, and freshly tilled earth, you think. Something like that, anyway. The smell of the outdoors, even if you don’t like it that much. 

Do you not like the outdoors? You like the colours of the streets under frost. It gives everything a slightly glacial, pale purple look. And it all sparkles. Even in the cold. You can appreciate the niceness of it, now you’re distant from it. 

You’re a bit like the frost, Azriel.

Hazel eyes blink. “I am?” 

“Yes I did speak with her. It was a bit helpful, in a way, but I didn’t like how inorganic it was. I don’t like scheduling appointments for my vulnerability. I’d prefer for it to be more spontaneous, and my own choice.” The fabric of your skirts have managed to wrinkle themselves. You release the material from the tight curve of your fingers. “But I liked it being mutual.”

His wings rustle faintly against the pillows, cold air breezing through the room. A latch clicks faintly as the window shuts. 

“It sounds like you enjoyed it a little. Why not try it again?” 

Because you said once. You said once, and then I could speak with you. 

Never mind.

You stand from the seat, pulling up your gloves. You turn from his bed. It would be nice to lie in bed. Beneath the covers, in the warmth. Wrapped in heat, with bare skin feeling the hitch of the fabric, the weight of the duvet. But it would be nice to see Bas. To walk down the quiet streets, where you’re free to observe at your own leisure, and take things in at a pace that suits you. 

You wish conversations with him were simpler, but you find yourself often leaving them feeling lost. 

He calls after you, but his voice sounds so far away you think you might have imagined it. Your mind playing games with your reality in order to cope. Whether or not he truly did call after you, you won’t verify for fear of it being false and turning around to nothing. So you keep going. 

You wish you didn’t have to speak with him. Wish you didn’t have to see him. Wish you didn’t have to look at him and be reminded of how effortlessly he can pluck at your heartstrings, so often stringing out minor chords instead of the light and skipping arpeggios that used to make you beam. You wish you never told him how you felt. It would have all been so much better if you kept your mouth shut. If you’d just seen how obviously he was interested in her. It was a stupid decision to make—how could you have hoped for it to end in any other result? 

It would be better to shut him out. You’re tired of always being the one with her heart in her hand while he keeps his far away from sight, somewhere you’ll never find. 

Why does it always have to be you opening up, when he gives nothing in return? 

————

“And how are you feeling this morning?” Madja asks with a smile on her round face. 

You manage a half smile in return, fingers curling in the duvet to pull it further up, hugging your shawl closer. “Good, for the most part,” you answer honestly. Your throat rolls, fingers playing with the fabric of the duvet sheet, “and you?” 

“Good,” she answers, taking her seat at your side. “Tell me, did you come up with anything you found suiting?”

The smile slips away, head dipping. “No, I…I don’t think I’ve been thinking much over the past day.” 

“You don’t think you’ve been thinking much?” Madja laughs, “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice in whether we think or not. The mind will always be active, whether you’re awake or asleep, it simply depends on whether you recall the thoughts.” Your lips remain in an undisturbed line but your nostrils flare with amusement. “I actually had quite a strange sequence of dreams this morning,” you begin, checking her face for approval before continuing. “I dreamed that I spent the day in bed, and the time kept on passing beyond my control. When I woke up I thought it was six in the evening due to the bells, but it was morning.” 

“The mind can convince you of strange things,” Madja agrees. 

A beat passes, and you shift on the mattress. “Madja, I…I’ve been experiencing some things that I…” Your lips tug down in the corners. “…that I don’t think…” 

The healer nods, understanding your hesitance to complete the sentence. “Can you tell me what they are?” The breath doesn’t come easily to your lungs, but it’s inhaled nonetheless. “This morning, when I woke, I experienced nausea—as I sometimes do…” Madja sits attentively, listening. “I went straight to the washroom, and I…” You make a slow tumbling-spinning gesture with your hands. Madja nods. “Then I…I cleaned myself up, but there was—…there was blood. On the seat, I mean, and I could taste it.” 

Madja’s expression remains calm, showing no signs of repulsion nor alarm, so you swallow, forcing yourself to continue. “Do you…” You cut yourself off—it doesn’t matter whether or not she knows you went to Autumn—that part can be forgotten. “I had some unpleasant sweats maybe a fortnight  or so ago, and…” You struggle to get the words up, heart pounding as shame and embarrassment try to strangle your throat shut. “…I saw blood then, too. When I visited the—…the washroom. It wasn’t my cycle,” you add on the end. You can’t look at her. 

“Did you feel any pain leading up to either of those occasions?” She asks, keeping the rhythm of her words steady. You shake your head. “And have you noticed any blood while visiting the washroom since then?” 

Heat scalds your skin. “I try not to look. But I don’t think so.” In your periphery she nods, but solemn quiet settles. 

Then she reaches out and touches your hand. “Don’t be afraid,” she tells you, squeezing. “People are with you.” 

You nod, unknowing how else to respond to the strange set of words. Madja smiles, but there’s something withheld from it. She sighs, shaking it off. “Now, let’s get started with that checkup, shall we?” 

You don’t speak as much as you usually do while her magic seeks out those bunches of tissue, purging them from your body. You’re thankful for the peace, in a way. Needing some time to come back to life after the mood that had found you this morning. Madja’s as gentle as she always is, careful and tender in her touch as that tingly magic warms your skin, sending targeted bursts deeper. She sits back, laying your hands to rest, then seems to change her mind, touching them again. 

“There’s no easy way to say what I’m about to tell you.” The gentle heat of her magic tingles at the surface of your skin, setting into your carpals, between your knuckles. “How much do you know about Magic Development Theory?” 

“A little,” you answer, searching her face. “I know it isn’t well researched among High Fae, and lesser so amongst faeries…”

“But you know it touches on the development of magic in correlation with physical and mental progression?” You nod. Madja’s lips purse, squeezing your hand gently. “You and your sisters came into magic…in essence, unnaturally. Your bodies didn’t go through the preparations most born-fae experience naturally—that is, the gradual deepening of power. That phase is a crucial part of development, and can cause irreversible damage if something is caused to suppress it. Of course there are exceptions to this—I believe Morrigan was rather unfortunate in that respect as her magic awoke all at once, and the High Lord had a similar experience—but they are by no means normal circumstances. Even if the awakening of power was abrupt, their bodies were prepared for the sharp exhaustion it would cause, while it’s likely that you and your sisters were not afforded that preparation due to your circumstances.” 

“So my body is…you think it’s damaged from two years ago?” You ask, strangely relieved there might be an explanation, even if it might be unpleasant. Just to know what’s going on with your body, to have a reason for night sweats and fevers and nausea and blood. Dizziness and delusion. “Perhaps not from your initial Making, but you’ve told me you’ve had trouble with your magic—that it took these years to manifest?” 

You nod. 

“And that it’s caused you pain in the past? Along with those two experiences you told me?” 

Blood drains from your skin, but you nod again.

Madja strokes her thumb across your knuckles, pushing that comforting warmth into your skin. “Being unable to release your Cauldron-given magic likely means to give it relief, it was infused into your own body. Whatever the Cauldron gave you—that is likely the reason you experience the pain you do.”

“Because it’s inside of me?” The healer nods solemnly. “And it’s— You think it may be irreversible by this point?” 

Madja’s throat rolls. “It is.” 

You swallow thickly, turning your gaze from her, staring instead down at the speckled and flaky skin of your hands. The dry scaliness of your arms. 

You turn back to her, looking feverishly. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore… Might that not be a sign it can heal?” 

Madja pauses, remaining steady. However she forms her reply…it will matter to you, how she answers. 

Her eyes slide shut, mouth falling to a calm line before she looks at you again. 

She hands you the full glass from your bedside.

“Will you let me try and show you a precious silver lining?” 

————

You can hear the rain from outside, pelting against the ink-black window panes. 

Night has fallen. 

You’ve decided you won’t yet attempt to digest your earlier appointment with Madja—that you’re magic will cause you pain until you die…to never be able to use it properly without that lacerating burn…to be well and truly useless after all… 

Face it tomorrow. 

And yet tears are rising again. 

If you just hadn’t been so scared of it. If you hadn’t subconsciously locked it up so thoroughly. It’s stupid to think that—you didn’t even have any choice in it. 

But if things had been different and you’d be bolder… If you could have been more like Feyre in the woods, or Nesta with her silver flames… If you weren’t so inherently afraid, on such a subconscious level. 

You could have lived and thrived. Explored whatever the Cauldron gave you. And now it’s forever cut off from you. 

You’ll never be able to save anyone with magic like this. 

It’ll never have meant anything. 

————

Three whisper-quiet knocks are landed to your bedroom door, and you pull your head up from the desk. 

You don’t rise from your seat. You don’t want to move. 

Nobody knows you’re awake. You’ll happily pretend you’re asleep. 

Seconds tick by, and you wait with a spiking heartbeat to hear whether they’ll knock again. You don’t know why, but you feel like it’s Feyre. Your little sister stood outside that door, hoping to be let in. After you’ve tried to shut them out for so long. Well, apart from Elain. 

Your lower lip wobbles, vision turning blurry. You’re in a rather regretful mood, apparently, un-helped by the rain outside. It would be nice if these moods didn’t plague your mind so frequently and intensely. If your mind would let you be happy. 

Something hot and wet drips down your face, and you wipe your cheek, blinking away the remaining wetness. 

You think back to this morning, when you nearly told her you loved her. 

You could have died without her in the woods. You probably all would have. You could have easily died in the Cauldron too—they didn’t know what they were doing. Could have died during the war, if they’d aimed the Cauldron to the camps instead of the skies. Life isn’t guaranteed…

The seat is pushed back from your haste, striding across the room and opening the door outwards, those three words trembling in your mouth. 

Marginally widened, dark hazel eyes peer down at you, having narrowly missed having a door flung into his face. You jolt with recognition, hurriedly drying your eyes. “You aren’t Feyre.”

He pauses, assessing your state before shaking his head. “I’m not.” 

You sniff, quickly pulling yourself together. Your brows pinch as you take in the tall Illyrian. “You aren’t… Are you allowed to be up an about?” 

“Technically, no.” 

“Then…?” You think back to this morning, and want to shrivel into the floor. Then Madja passes through your head. You swallow, standing straighter. “I…wasn’t okay to speak this morning,” you admit, remembering how you’d left before even answering any questions. Azriel dips his head, “I thought not.” 

Your stomach sinks. “Do you…are you wanting to speak now?” 

He blinks once. Shifts on his feet. “You weren’t at dinner this evening.” 

“Were you?” You ask in surprise. 

He nods. “You should try to eat. To help you recover.” He pauses, then adds. “It helps a lot. To eat a full meal, sometimes.” 

“I know. I just— I think I fell asleep again.” 

“You’ve been sleeping well?” 

You tilt your head from side to side. “I’ve been sleeping a lot? I couldn’t tell you whether it’s good though…” Azriel nods his head, and quiet begins to settle in the darkened hall. How late is it now? 

“You seemed in a low mood this morning.” He says after a few beats of silence. You swallow. “Yes…I think the recent weather might be just…you know…” 

He nods. “I know.” A few more beats pass. “You seem awake?” 

“…I don’t want this conversation, right now,” you say, averting your gaze. You’re far too tired, far too drained…but if he insists you’re not sure you’ll be able to turn him away, wanting more than ever his quiet company. 

In your periphery however, he shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.” He assures, then pauses. 

“I said you could speak with me, if you tried reaching out to Nesta.” You incline your head by a fraction to look at him, not skilled enough to mask your doubt. “You told me you didn’t like how inorganic it was.” 

You don’t know where he’s going with this, but you nod your head. You did say that. And it was true. 

Azriel nods his head. “Will you come with me?” 

————

The chill of midnight sets your teeth on edge, but the fleece keeps you warm as does the thick, woollen scarf you have wrapped around your neck and shoulders, and arguably the lower portion of your face. 

He’d flown you out quite a way from the River House—to a part of Velaris you don’t recognise—and yet seemed to have chosen to not go directly to his destination, leaving time for walking. Not that you mind of course, but you turn it absently over in your mind. 

The smell of rain is fresh on the cobbles, droplets of water dripping down the wrought iron of lanterns, weighing the lush green of long leaves until the droplets slip, relieving its end of the weight and catapulting back to its original height. Puddles accumulate in the narrow dips between the cracks in pavement, every colour made brighter, fresher by the gleam of rain. Vivifying colour and scent, life brimming at the surface, adding layers to smells. Walking past an alley, you see a small, speckled bird fluttering its feathers in one of those puddles, bathing itself in quick shivers, tiny eyes squeezing shut in pleasure before shuddering out a spray of dirtied water, now happy and clean. 

While lamps aren’t uncommon, most parts of Velaris are without light during the course of the night. Letting starlight spill over the paving, basking in the moon’s lonely glow, fae eyesight having no need for the aid of candles as humans would. Here, the night sky is bright and beautiful, scattered full of tiny, glittering specs, like millions of miniature sequins cast to the heavens. Some stars glow like gemstones, like diamonds—big and bold, and demanding attention away from the surrounding scatter; others are peaceful and codependent, relying on the smaller sparkle of others to build into a complexity created by a myriad of stars. 

Rainwater still trickles heavily, the splash of droplets echoing between buildings, small streams gathering as the water courses through the streets. You allow the droplets to fill your mind, their trickling splash, their content and syncopated rhythm keeping you listening, unable to predict the next pattern—how it’s an ever-changing, ever-evolving piece. 

Up ahead you can spot warm light spilling out onto the cobbles. It’s noticeably quieter in this part, and you wonder if it’s more residential. If he’s flown you far enough away from the shopping areas. 

“Up here,” he tells you, nodding to the warmly lit area. 

There are no doors, just some stout, rectangular, navy pieces of fabric hung from the threshold of the ceiling’s entrance, hanging in a single row like bunting. Upon each dark blue piece seems to be the side-shop’s logo, embroidered in pale white thread, kept within a neat circle. It’s startlingly small, compared to others you’ve seen, looking more akin to a bar in its layout—high-stools pushed close to a raised table, the kitchen immediately behind…and smelling delicious. 

Your stomach makes some interested noises. 

He had mentioned the destination was food-related, but you’d imagined something bigger, more closed off…not a walk-in, first-come-first-served sort of place. You suppose the thick layers make sense now, with how there are no temperature wards on the place; no indoor seating, seeing as the establishment doesn’t seem to have any doors. 

Teeth nip at the interior of your lip, glancing at what you can see of the interior—it looks pleasantly lit, two fae behind the raised table, with three others on the far end. There would be space for you to sit, without disturbing them… “I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish a meal…” 

He nods. “They have containers you can take food away in.” 

You glance back inside, chewing on your lip. Then you nod.

You hadn’t recognised anything on the menu, but Azriel seems to have visited before. A few times, by the friendly tone spoken between him and one of the cooks. A few minutes later a black, red, and gold, lacquerware bowl had been set in front of you, filled with more than a few things you haven’t so far had the chance to try. It seems to be comprised of a mouth-watering smelling broth, a selection of steamed veg, and half a well-boiled egg, it’s yolk still slightly runny, along with something string-looking. You’re presented with a pale white spoon, decorated with blue ink strokes that make up the petals of flowers and vines—to drink the broth with, you’d guess. 

“Smells good, doesn’t it?” Azriel nods to the bowl. “The taste is even better.” 

Hesitantly, you dip the different-looking spoon—almost more like a miniature ladle—into the broth, blowing on it gently, before raising the steaming liquid to your mouth, taking an experimental sip. It’s pleasantly spiced, the juices from the seasoned veg likely playing a part in the depth of flavour, and most importantly, it’s hot. “It’s good,” you murmur, smiling faintly as you finish the small ladle’s-worth, refilling it swiftly. It’s only once you’ve practically polished off the bowl, encountering a little difficulty with the utensils in your gloved fingers, that Azriel disturbs the peace that you hadn’t realised had settled. 

“You looked like you enjoyed that.” You nod, lightly drying your lips with the paper napkins, the logo of the walk-in this time printed in a warm red, matching the accent of the bowls. “I loved the broth.” The light catches in Azriel’s eyes, and he nods. “The broth is good.” 

You glance down at the lacquerware bowl, wondering if you might be able to get the last few drops of liquid from the circumference of the bottom if you tilt it and let it gather. You might have done so if you weren’t feeling pleasantly full for the first time in a while, no worries of nausea to be found in your body. Just warm satisfaction. 

A good meal for a shitty day. 

“It would be easy to have one of those picked up for a dinner,” Azriel mentions on the way back, after having paid. You’re walking at a dawdling pace, unrushed so you don’t get indigestion and spoil the heavenly state of your stomach. You hum, but your eyes feel heavy, despite having slept so much already. 

He doesn’t push it, allowing the comfortable quiet to settle, with raindrops still dripping in between buildings, splashing into puddles. You’re happy to let it remain quiet, your mind feeling pleasantly empty. No skittish thoughts, or fleeting worry. No anxious tug of energy telling you to hurry along in case you’re wasting time. 

There’s little in your mind, save for the warm spice of the broth, and it’s quiet. 

It’s peaceful. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[ozarkthedog]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

summary: you and joel sneak away for a quick fuck during a family outing.

warnings: no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader. literally, it's all porn. sex in the woods. dirty talk. sorry again tommy. no beta.

word count: 660

authors note: just a little thot i had after seeing this pic :)

☽ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ♁ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ♁ 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☾

“Gotta make this quick, Sweetheart.” Joel looks cautiously around the tree he’s got you shoved up against. He sees Sarah and her two friends screeching and splashing each other in the water while Tommy sleeps with his hat over his face on the back of the boat.

He slides a hand between your legs and hooks your swimsuit bottoms to the side. “Gonna wanna keep that pretty mouth shut.” A wad of warm spit lands on your crack and drips down to where Joel is teasingly prodding your puffy center. 

His bulbous, weeping head catches your slick opening before pushing ever so slowly into your heat. Your jaw drops open with a pained gasp. Sex with Joel always felt like the first time even after all these years. Bending over the hard tree stump and pushing your ass in the air doesn’t help as it makes you even tighter. 

“Shit-” Joel hisses like he’d been punched in the gut. “M’not gonna last long with you squeezin’ me like that. So fuckin’ tight.”

Your head hangs heavy between your shoulders as you try to relax. The bark under your fingers is rough and earthy, a needed distraction from the pain as he spreads you open with his cock. 

Wandering fingers find the crux of your mound and glide over your clit. He swirls the tender nub with precision as his hips keep a steady rhythm. His cock starts to easily glide in and out of your core as he feels you succumb to the pleasure. “Come on, sweet girl. You can take mor’a me.”

A wanton moan tumbles from your lips and into the lush expanse as he bottoms out. His crown grazes your cervix making your walls convulse. “Thatta’ girl. Swallowin’ me whole.” Joel praises, splaying kisses between your sun kissed shoulder blades. “Gettin’ every inch wet. S’my fuckin’ good girl.” 

Pleasure creeps up your spine. Your cunt throbs and pulses around his length. Shiny arousal drips from your pussy and stains his cock with your slick before he fucks it back into you. A thin white layer gathers around the base of his length gelling down his wiry dark brown strands as he grunts above you.

“Already makin’ a mess.” Joel chuckles against your neck. You mewl under him and arch your back desperate to meet every drive of his hips.

His pelvis roughly smacks into your fleshy ass with each thrust. Feverishly hands grasp your hips imprinting the pads of his fingers onto your skin while he snarls above you. His tongue darts across your neck and tastes your salty dew before his teeth graze and scratch the tender skin marking you like an animal.

Your cunt spasms as white light explodes behind your eyes. A heavy hand covers your mouth and nose making your eyes bug. “That’s it. Good girl.” He grunts as he continuously fucks you through your high and restricts your breath until your cunt drives him over the edge. 

Your fingers dig into the bark as he removes his hand from your mouth and grasps your hips. He tugs you back onto his length, wildly pumping and thrusting his cock deeper than before as he growls into your shoulder. His hips go still as he fills you to the brim with his gluey spend, painting your velvet walls white as you milk every last drop from his balls. 

“Hey, where were you guys?” Tommy asks, sitting up and adjusting his baseball cap. He tosses Joel a beer as the two of you climb back on the boat. 

“Uhh, you know,” Joel looks at you behind his shades with a sly grin. “Sight seein’.” He says while cracking open the beer.

You try to hide your snicker by adjusting the straps of your suit and looking off in the other direction but Tommy wasn’t fooled.

“Why am I not surprised!” The younger man hollers and shakes his head. “I gotta find a woman like that.”

💌 send me mail 

[simonisferal]

BED CHEM! (1)

chapter one: the over-dick-around thing

“i swear another bug just went under my sock.” hu tao grumbles as she bends over and reaches to her legs, pulling up her thin white socks. they were already dirty due to the mud and leaves that had stuck themselves to her while walking on the plain’s trail.

xiangling, although having the same problem, laughs. ”sucks to suck.” she retorts right before tripping on a twig, stumbling and almost knocking the random flowers xiao was picking out with his hands. both you and hu tao clasp your hands over your mouths to stop your guaranteed laughter.

he stops abruptly and frowned, looking back. ”hey, quit it before i start beating you three with a stick.”

your jaw drops. with outreached arms, you yell, ”what did i do?!”

xiao, with a small smile on his face, looks back at his flowers. “you’re an idiot.” he tied them with a small blade of grass and places them in his coat pocket. “you’re also not following the dress code. it’s casual, not the Met Gala.”

both hu tao and xiangling looked at you. you were dressed for an interview—which you had later—rather than a hangout. “i’m not gonna have time to go home and change, dude.”

”not my problem. you’re still an idiot.” he shrugs. he and the other two girls continue trenching through the vines and forest’s path, ignoring your face of disbelief.

you growl and mutter underneath your breath, slowly following them. “end yourself.”

- ☆

the plains were a beautiful color of blue and white; the glaze lilies still had dew from the early morning and shone through the tall blades of orange. the mountains were rigid and the invisible snow above the summit made the noonish atmosphere angelic. the wooden bridge that led you to the plains was a bit… terrifying to say the least.

“‘tao..!” your hands were latched to the bridge’s roped rail and your knees buckled underneath you. “i swear on everything i love, if you don’t stop rocking this bitch back and forth, i will throw you off the bridge like in Squid Game!” xiangling and xiao, alongside zhongli who was waiting for a while, were already on the other side of the bridge.

hu tao had her hands on the railing, rocking the bridge’s deck with her feet in an unsteady momentum. the brown haired girl had a mischievous grin on her face as she taunted. “come and get me then!” she chimed and you groaned.

finally, someone sighed. “stop it, hu tao.”

xiao—your lord and savior!

like a switch being flipped, hu tao stopped her psychological assault on you with her frown present like a sad dog’s ears pressed down. her hands undid themselves on the rope and she pouted, “aw man.” she turned to walk away and you let out a sigh of relief.

‘thank god…’

you took slow steps on the bridge. you made sure to maintain eye contact with the girl, observing her and making sure she wouldn’t suddenly go back on the bridge and start toying with you again. she would’ve if zhongli didn’t have a killer grip on her shoulder; sometimes you forget he’s almost twice your age and somehow retired. weird.

xiangling patted your back when you took a step on the grass rather than the wooden deck. “yo, you didn’t die! glassmaker who?” she joked. you would’ve laughed if your heart wasn’t beating so fast.

zhongli let go of hu tao, a simple smile on his face, before turning around and beginning to walk away—probably to the location of the picnic. hu tao eyed him, still, before following him with a skip every now and then. xiangling soon left after and xiao and you treaded on their heels, silent.

“so,” xiao starts. he was fiddling with his hands in his left pant pocket, a habit he has when he’s thinking of something personal. “are you serious about that job?” he sounded authoritative but in reality, he was probably just concerned.

you hum. “yeah!” continuing to walk by him, away from the others (even though they’re like… three meters away from you) and just surrounded by nature, it felt nice. “i need something in my schedule; it’s sad waking up and just seeing nothing on the paper but birthdays.”

“you could just freeload off of me, you know.” he emphasized the ‘could’, like if you could reject him for decades and he’d still let you with a simple ‘please’. both of his hands sink further into his pockets. xiao had a frown plastered on his lips, a thin line that tilted down. “i can…” he shrugs, looking away and a faint color on his ears, “support the both of us.”

you look at him.

huh?

“i’m trying to pay you back too, you know.” you frown.

you definitely didn’t say what he’d think you would—xiao didn’t even think you’d respond. maybe you said the wrong thing because he deflated a bit.

”…great. thanks.”

- ☆

it was already 4:05p.m. when zhongli called it a day, wanting to relax at home with his bearded dragon; xiangling needed xiao to drive her back to work and hu tao… had ‘hu-tao’ things to do.

you five skipped the bridge going back and away from the plains, concerned that a silly prankster would spark up a new (or reoccurring) trick and make someone late. the path was clear but rocky and someone tripped on a pebble every now and then.

you and xaingling played soccer with a blob-looking rock before something dawned on you.

”hey,” you called out to xiao who was on his phone. “what time is it?”

he looks back at you, then his phone, then back at you. “4:07.”

ah shit. you pause in your tracks, your feet ignoring the pass xaingling gave you with the makeshift soccer-rock. you did the math in your head; ‘the bus comes at 4:10, which means you’d have to be at the stop in less than three minutes—you can make it in 136 seconds if you run…’

”it’s 4:08 now.”

yeah, you’re cooked.

- 𓆟

childe, for a moment, almost wanted to go to work. he had a weird sense of exhilaration thinking about it. maybe keqing finally refilled the cereal bar!

he paused, in the middle of the shreet, his finger on his chin as he continued to think. maybe shenhe had put a curse on him. seems more likely.

actually—now that tartaglia thinks about it, ganyu told him that a new model was coming soon.

huh. weird.

he feels… funny.

You're broke. Like really broke. So what better way to earn money at the only place that accepted you in all of Liyue? The interview can't be that bad, even if you bump into some guy on your way there. A modelling agency shouldn't be too hard with your looks. The pay's good and the other staff are lovely (and attractive)--only one teensy, tiny, little problem. So is your manager, Tartaglia.

taglist: @trulyylee, @wateredfay, @sl-vega, @035814, @certaindreampost, @pwushizz, @wraithisd3adinside, @lulumallow, @keikole, @boxdisappeared, @thegalaxyisunfolding, @bunnychiffon

i was trying to make y/n lowkey…. extra! i think i did it idk

the bridge scene is like the one in shrek 😣 hu tao and y/n play around like children but they’re always cool with each other at the end

the hangout wasn’t that important…. so i skipped over it. uhm.

childe lore coming soon 😍

masterlist / prev / next

[sphylor]

cw dubcon, oviposition, tentacles, breeding, daddy kink, kinda forcemasc (could just be read as Phantom finding out they have a daddy kink)

Dew's tentacle rarely comes out to play but when it does that only means one thing. He has eggs that need laying. He’d been feeling the weight in his egg sac grow for the past few days, pushing against his bladder (something Rain had already taken advantage of) and making the skin between his hips bulge out a little. He was on the sofa with Phantom, the quint ghoul diligently rubbing up next to him like a cat, when he felt something start to wriggle inside of him. He grabbed Phantom's wrist and pulled them both to their feet.

"Wanna see something cool?"

Phantom's face went from surprise and disappointment to anticipation as they nodded eagerly. Dew led them down the hall to his room, every step making him more and more aware of the tentacle trying to wriggle its way out of him. They finally got to his room and he locked the door behind him while Phantom got settled on his bed. Dew fully stripped and kneeled on the bed in front of them with his legs spread. He tried to coax the tentacle out, fingers gently pulling apart the small slit just below his clit while Phantom watched in awe. The tip slowly poked out and the rest quickly followed with a gush of liquid. Dew sighed in relief as he held it in his hand, letting it wrap around his wrist.

"Hello again." Dew whispered to himself.

Phantom's eyes were wide as he watched the tentacle explore Dew's hand. "Wait, I thought only Rain..."

"Old water ghoul trick," Dew explained. "Mine's a lot nicer than his anyway."

The quint shivered as they recalled the time Rain's tentacle got to play with them. She was just as much a dramatic sadist as her owner. They reached out to touch it and just as they did Dew felt something inside him shift. The tentacle latched onto Phantom's hand, suckers not letting go as it started to pulse.

"It wants inside you, bug," Dew breathed as he tried to deal with the increasing discomfort. "Can't wait much longer."

Phantom managed to peel the tentacle from their skin and strip from their clothes in record time. Dew sat on their lap, pressing himself right up against Phantom's body, letting his tentacle find its way inside. Phantom moaned and squirmed beneath him as it worked its way in, suckers pulling further and further in as it pulsated and wriggled.

"Dew- oh fuck it feels so-"

"Shhhh" Dew pressed a finger to the quint's lips and wrapped his arms around their waist. He could feel the first egg at the base of his tentacle already. He leaned into their ear and whispered. "Gonna fuck my clutch into you,"

Phantom stiffened and felt the tip of the tentacle press into his womb. "Wait-"

"Gonna make you so round, bulging with my eggs"

"-Dew wait no"

"Gonna make you a daddy."

Dew smirked as Phantom's protests turned into moans as they started to rut up against him. He dropped his head onto their shoulder as the first egg made its way down the tentacle. He felt it stretch Phantom open, the quint ghoul hissing at the pain.

"I know, daddy. just let it happen"

"Dew im- im not a-"

The first egg exited with another gush of liquid and Phantom squirmed at the feeling.

"You are now, daddy." Dew smiled as he felt the rest of the eggs follow.

The quint ghoul weakly tried to shove Dew off of them but Dew held on tight, his tentacle latched on to the walls of his cunt. it wouldn't let go until every last egg had been laid.

"Dew it's too much. I can't-."

"Yes you can. you're doing so good for me. being such a good daddy for my eggs." Dew pressed little kisses into the side of Phantom's neck as eggs two and three slipped out into them. one by one they all nestled themselves into place. Dew could feel them. He could feel the skin of Phantom's belly start to bulge against him more and more with each egg. It was at egg six or seven that Phantom started to cry.

"Only a few more left now. you can take them."

"i cant- im too full." tears slid down Phantom's face as they felt another egg make its home inside them. The liquid Dew's tentacle was producing was leaking out of them already. “Dew the others are gonna notice. They’ll see how big I am.”

“Good. they’ll know who you belong to then. They’ll see you knocked up and know you’re already mine.” The fire ghoul squeezed them tighter. “Those eggs are gonna hatch inside you and all those baby kits will start to grow, all nice and snug in their daddy's womb." Dew rambled as he got closer and closer to a feeling of relief. "You're gonna take such good care of them, I just know it."

Phantom nodded their head, their mind so far gone they'd agree to anything Dew said. They were gonna be a daddy.

Their orgasm hit just as the last egg squeezed inside. They clenched down around Dew's tentacle, not letting it go even though it was trying to retreat. They were spent. The stretch of their abdomen was almost unbearable. Phantom looked down and gasped at how far it stuck out now.

Dew's tentacle retracted back inside of him and the fire ghoul laid Phantom down.

"I'll be back in a second." he said softly as he began to stand, a look of fondness on his face. He returned with a wet flannel, a glass of water and a snack. Phantom sipped and nibbled as Dew cleaned them. gently wiping away the stickiness from the inside of their thighs, promising to be careful as he wiped through their folds. When Dew was done he settled himself by Phantom's side. They both watched the slow rise and fall of their belly. Dew took the quint's hand and stroked it over all of the bumps of the eggs.

"Yours." Dew whispered. "All yours, daddy."

[inkdragon1900]

I’m like 90% sure everyone is slightly dehydrated in TLT so I’ve decided to sort the characters into their begrudging drink of choice actual hydration optional.

Gideon: 100% it’s Gatorade.

Harrow: least hydrated of everyone here. I’m gonna say lukewarm tap water.

Ianthe: homemade strawberry açaí refresher dupe. (She got cut out off of the third house funds so she can’t afford a venti anymore. You just know the Lyctorhood allowance is shit)

Coronabeth: Iced Matcha.

Camilla: The only person who actually carries around a water bottle. If she wants something fun she puts those little flavor drops in her water.

Palamedes: Chocolate milk or a capri sun.

Pyrrha: Panera charged lemonade.

Mercy: Wine

Augustine: Listerine. also mountain dew

John/Jod: canonically it’s tea but I just know he likes an iced caramel macchiato.

Alecto: Sea water.

Nona: Sunny D aka liquid evil.

Judith: Sparkling water and Pepsi.

Ortus: plain black coffee with a splash of milk.

Abigail: Earl grey tea.

Magnus: Guinness beer.

Jeannemary: Bug Juice.

Isaac: Blk water.

Naberius: espresso. But only from his fancy espresso machine.

Marta Dyas: lemon water with a cute umbrella.

The real™️ Dulcinea: Piña coloda.

Protesilaus: Chamomile tea or scotch.

Cytherea: Martini (neat)

[blooming-violets]

Lucky number 13 for Nature please :)

Apple Of My Eye || TASM Smut

Nature - 13: beneath the shade of trees in the middle of an orchard

[TASM Peter Parker x Fem!Reader]

WC: 1k (look at me being short and sweet for once in my damn life)

A/N: Two weeks later and I'm finally start to write for these prompts! I'm a slow bitch, I can not help it.

“It’s colder than I thought it would be out here.” She wrapped her arms around her sweater to try and hug out the chill in her bones. “I don’t think a skirt and tights was the right choice.” 

Peter’s eyes roved over her body, taking in her legs in the sheer tights, “I think they were the perfect choice.” 

That was easy for him to say. He had pants on. 

She rolled her eyes and dropped the wooden basket full of apples she was carrying at the base of the closest tree trunk. 

“Your opinions don’t count when you just like how my legs look in tights.” 

They had been wandering through this apple orchard for almost two hours. At this point in their trek, they had yet to come across any other pickers for over forty minutes. They were deep into the orchard. 

Probably lost. 

Though Peter would never admit that. 

With two full baskets of apples, they had more than enough for her mother, May, and themselves. 

She sighed and leaned against the knotted tree, kicking at a rotten apple with the toe of her leather boot. 

She was tired and hungry and cold and sick of picking apples. 

“Are you going to give me your jacket or are you just going to stare at my legs some more?”

Peter tore his eyes away from watching the way the light breeze made her skirt dance around her thighs. 

“What?”

She threw up her hands in exasperation, “Oh my god!”

He laughed, tackling her off the tree and wrapping his arms around her, dragging her straight to the dew covered grass. 

“I was kidding, baby, kidding!” He pinned her to the ground, keeping her shoulders locked down with his palms and sliding his knees around her hips.

She couldn’t remember the last time she laid on the grass without a blanket between her and the ground. 

“Peter!” She cried. “It’s wet down here. Cold and wet. Probably bugs. Worms. Little beetles. Oh god, spiders!”

“Shut up,” he laughed. He shoved his lips against hers to keep her quiet with a kiss. “It’s not cold. You’re just tired and cranky because we’ve been walking for approximately ten full business days while carrying all these apples.”

She nodded, huffing, “This is true. You got us lost. And now you’ve forced me to lay in Spider’s Ville. I bet they're crawling in my hair right now and laying their eggs.”

“The only spider down here is me and I’m already on top of you so you have nothing more to worry about.” 

That got her to drop a bit of her attitude, turning her head to the side, the wet grass tickling her cheek, as she tried to hide her smile.

“Don’t you turn away from me when I’m being cute,” he chastised. 

His hand slipped around her chin to gently turn her face back to him. He leaned down to kiss her again. 

Taking his time. 

Adoring her lips. 

He slid down her body and forced himself to a kneel between her legs.

“You don’t need my jacket. I have other ways of warming you up,” he whispered, throwing a wink at her. 

Her eyes widened in surprise, “Not here! We’re in public!”

Peter lifted his head and looked around, “Baby, please, all I see is you, me, and a shit ton of apples.” 

“Well they could come!” 

A suggestive smirk grew across his lips, “You’ll be the only cumming, don’t worry.” 

Before she could even protest, his hand was slipping up her shirt and covering her breast over her bra, while he attacked her mouth with fiery kisses. 

“Omph, Peter,” she tried to breathe through his kiss. “This is…is…oh.” 

He had tugged down the strap of her bra, loosening the cup, so he could access her nipple. As she spoke, he flicked a finger against it, causing her to forget her words. 

Her quiet moans in response were all he needed to keep going. 

His tongue slipped past her lips, tangling with hers, enticing her to play along. 

Her body relaxed, hands slowly moving up to run through his hair, as she submitted to his will. 

The moment he felt her give in, he was ready to go. 

Peter broke from the kiss to slide down her stomach. He trailed kisses over her sweater until he reached her skirt. 

“You said you didn’t like these tights, right?” He panted, eyes wide with mischief. “They weren’t keeping you warm enough?”

She silently nodded, still trying to catch her breath from his dizzying kiss. 

His hand disappeared under her skirt and a loud RIP followed. 

She gasped in shock, “Peter!” She felt the massive hole he had torn open in her crotch. “That’s your solution to me being cold? Ripping my clothes off me? Counter productive.”

He chuckled under his breath, already settling himself in the grass between her legs, laying on his stomach and smirking up at her. 

“Are you really that averse to my methods?”

She went quiet, hiding her need to smile. She wasn’t averse to it. She actually found it to be incredibly sexy. They were just a pair of cheap tights. 

But she refused to tell him that. 

He winked, reading her facial expressions anyway, “That’s what I thought. Now shut up and let me eat you like one of these apples.” 

Chilly hands gently hooked behind her knees, raising her legs and spreading them wider, so he could scoot his shoulders closer. Peter pushed aside her underwear and let out a happy sigh at the sight awaiting him. 

“I love this pussy,” he whispered to it. 

His head ducked under her skirt and descended to her inner thighs. He brought his lips to her soft, rolling flesh. He traveled with kisses over her stretch marks and blemishes that he would never allow her to even think about calling imperfections. 

There wasn’t a single inch of her skin that Peter didn’t adore. 

Whatever reservations she might have had moments ago fly away the moment his breath hit her where she needed it most. The anticipation of what was to come had stoked a spark of her desire into a roaring lame. She didn’t care where he took her just as long as his tongue was buried in her pussy. 

A whimper escaped her as they made contact. 

She felt him give a breathy, hot laugh against her, knowing just as well as she did that she was enjoying this more than she wanted to let on. 

He mumbled against her dewy lips, “You’re the cutest.”

He always loved hearing her whimper and moan despite all the fight she would put up. 

She would give in. 

Every time. 

Peter delved back in, licking a steady stripe over her soft folds, dipping into her for a taste before dragging his tongue back up to her clit. 

Tight, slow circles toyed with her sweet bud. 

His mintrations were reserved. Lazy. Like he was purposely taking his time to savor every stretching second. 

Languid and precise. 

But it wasn’t long until he had her mewling and writhing over him. 

The sounds urged him to hasten his work. 

He wrapped his arms around her legs, pushing them up, locking his arms over her stomach so he could hold her closer. His face buried into her. Head hidden under her skirt. Lapping his tongue over her soaked, sensitive folds. Tending to her clit, worshiping it between his lips, before sinking his tongue back into her for another taste. 

Heat rose over her body, warming her skin, pushing away the chill. 

At least he was correct in delivering on that front. She was no longer cold. 

Steaming hot. 

Panting. 

Her thighs trembled in Peter’s hold as pleasure seemed to pulse out from between them. 

She let out a long, gasping moan. Trying to be silent should anyone be nearby but unable to keep it in. 

Peter was too good with his tongue. 

He responded with a guttural moan of his own from under her skirt, eating her out like a starving man unabashedly enjoying his first meal in days. 

The vibrations of such a low, growling moan spread across her clit and sent shivers up her arching spine. 

Her fists clenched at clumps of wet grass. 

Feeling it give way in her hands. Ripping up. Dirt sinking under her nails. 

She should be embarrassed how quickly Peter could take her from complaining about the cold to forcing her to orgasm but she couldn’t focus on anything besides that building pleasure. 

His tongue pulled breathy whimpers from her lips. 

Easing her closer and closer to that beautiful release. 

“P-Peter!’ She gasped, letting out a desperate, needy whine. “Feels…so good!”

He was mumbling something against her lips but his words were muffled out by her cunt. 

His grip around her belly tightened. 

He knew she was almost there. 

Hanging on by a quivering thread. 

Peter turned all his attention to making love to her clit.

Her hips canted, arching off the ground. 

Peter anticipated the move, shifting to follow her, knowing her well enough to predict where her body will go. Never letting the latch his mouth had on her pussy slip for even a second. 

Her calves shook under her weight, holding her up, following her trembling thighs as her body gave in. 

Her hand slammed across her mouth to stifle the shriek she desperately wanted to let rip. Letting it fall against her heavy, clamped hand instead.

Smelling the earthy dirt mixed with juicy apples against her fingers. 

The faint smell of sex lingering in the wind. 

Wet grass clinging to her skin. 

Her clothes, damp. 

Her body, on fire. 

Peter stayed dutifully to her spasming pussy, letting her ride it out, sucking out every last drop she had to give, until she came crashing back to earth. 

He lapped through her folds with moaning growls of delight as he cleaned her with his tongue. 

It was only when she couldn’t take it anymore, far too sensitive post orgasm, that she shoved him out from under her skirt with her hand. 

He emerged with a lopsided, glistening grin that screamed a silent “I told you so”. 

It was only them and the apples. 

Not a single person wandered on to the erotic feast he had devoured. 

She threw a sweatered arm over her eyes to block out the sight of red apples against the deep blue sky. 

Breathing heavily.

Feeling uncomfortable wet down below. 

She felt him crawling over her. The weight of his stomach pressed against her. 

His salty lips urged her out of hiding with his tongue gliding into her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, kissing him deeply. 

Peter’s eyes were shining, proud of the work he had done this lazy afternoon.

He didn’t care for her ripped tights or soaked underwear or the fact that they were both covered in wet grass stains. 

All he cared about was her and making sure her mood had shifted. 

She shook her head up at him, still not fully believing he had suckered her into this.

“I love you to my core,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re the apple of my eye. You’re so a-peel-ing to me, baby. Let’s go home and live apple-y ever after.” 

“I literally hate you so much right now.” 

His laughter was enough to prove her statement false. 

She loved him. 

Even if he was a dork.

[gravehags]

i just know phantom is in the kitchen on international women’s day making the ghoulettes the most deflated but adorable red velvet cake. dew comes in to steal a lick of the bowl and to make fun of him and the “kiss the ghoul” apron he borrowed from aether. the cake is supposed to be a surprise but when sunshine strides into the kitchen looking for a la croix she’s met with bug slathering frosting on his lopsided creation. he’s so involved he doesn’t notice her at first so she quickly waves cumulus, cirrus, and aurora in to watch. when he finally realizes they’re there he lets out a shout and drops the knife before lamely announcing “happy uh…happy women’s day.”

the girls happily devour the cake and keep him locked in their quarters for three days afterwards. when he finally emerges - dazed, walking funny, and ridiculously happy - swiss has to be impressed.

[thehypnone]

dew being uncharacteristically sappy and soft? for rain or for his pack and papa in general? soft gremlin hugs thoughts in my brain rn

While he wasn’t touch averse at all, most of the time Dewdrop wasn’t especially clingy. Showing affection? Yes, but not being all… sappy and soft.

He had his moments, though. Sometimes—for whatever reason—he felt the need to show his packmates all the love he had for them even more than he usually did. He became a true cuddle bug then, as Swiss liked to call him. No bite, not even a playful snap of his teeth.

Just a soft creature full of love.

Dewdrop’s current victim was Mountain. The earth ghoul had been the first one awake and Dewdrop had followed shortly after, slinking up to him as he was brewing himself morning tea. He’d purred, gluing himself to Mountain’s back, and he’d sighed at the warmth.

“Good morning, Fire Lily,” he’d smiled, placing his hands on Dewdrop’s own where they were wrapped around his stomach. He had only hummed in response and carried on.

Until now. Now they were cuddled up on the couch. Mountain with his tea in hand and Dewdrop curled up in his lap, nose tucked under the earth ghoul’s jaw, purring up a storm. Mountain was absentmindedly running the fingers of his free hand through the other’s sleep-tangled hair. It was warm and peaceful.

Swiss and Rain joined soon after. The latter wasn’t very much awake, all but thrown over Swiss’ shoulder as he carried him into the common room. He set him down on the couch by Dewdrop and Mountain and even though he was half asleep, Rain shuffled over to snuggle into the fire ghoul’s back. Like a moth to the flame.

“Mmm… Hi, Rainy,” Dewdrop muttered. He wiggled in Mountain’s lap to turn around and opened his arms for Rain to fall into. He did, face in Dewdrop’s chest and the fire ghoul’s head on Mountain’ shoulder. Their small cuddle puddle.

Soon, Swiss came back with coffee for himself and tea for Rain. He stood over the three, grinning, “Awww, you cuties. Cuddle bug time?”

“Mhm,” Dewdrop hummed in affirmation and that—the fact he just… confirmed—was an answer enough.

“Cuddle bug time it is,” Swiss chuckled and set the steaming cups on the coffee table. Then, he flopped himself down next to Rain, curling his body around him. The water ghoul kicked up a purr, matching Dewdrop’s own, at both his and Swiss’ warmth engulfing him.

Swiss rested his head next to Dewdrop’s on Mountain’s shoulder and the earth ghoul dropped his own head, too, cheek on Swiss’ forehead. The four of them all cozied up. Mountain finished his tea and used his tail to put the empty mug away, then curled more around the fire ghoul in his lap. He was the next one to start purring, Swiss joining soon after.

It would probably be a while before any other ghoul woke up—or rather emerged from their room—so the common room fell silent for now. Apart from the purring, of course.

Nobody saw anyone else’s face, but if they did, they’d notice Dewdrop was sporting the biggest, proudest and happiest smile ever.

[bloodfin]

CW implied forcefem

Dew let it slip to Phantom that Rain likes to be bullied sometimes. Flip the script, so to speak. Conveniently leaves out how, though.

And one day the little bug is sitting on Rain's bed, kicking their feet, waiting for him to finish getting ready, when Dew's words start playing in their head.

"Damn cheap liner," Rain hisses to himself, snatching the sharpener from the counter again.

Rain is talking to himself, of course, but Phantom snaps their head up, a little smirk curling on their face.

"Dunno Rainy, seems like a skill issue to me."

Phantom feels their stomach drop when Rain turns towards them.

"Skill issue, huh?"

The way Rain's head is tilted is definitely predatory, something in their brainstem telling them to run.

They don't though, which is how they end up in front of the mirror, Rain behind them, growling about skill issues.

And when Phantom and Rain walk into the den forty minutes late, Phantom's face streaked with mascara and messy lipstick, the rest of the pack are smart enough to pretend not to notice.

[divine-misfortune]

Phantom accidentally getting his knot stuck in a fleshlight and he just has to kinda sit there humiliated till it goes down but Dew finds him sitting there leaking cum all over his lap and just has to absolutely take the toy in his hands and make sure Phantom milked every last drop from himself.

Tugging at his knot, grinding the toy down against his hips. Dew pushes his thighs apart in order to lap up whatevers managed to drip out of the toy before he pays special attention to his sack - mumbles something about them still feeling so full, tells Phantom he didn't do a good enough job. Poor Phantom has his face buried in his hands, tears pricking in his eyes as he complains that its too much, that it hurts, but Dew flashes him such a sickly sweet smile and promises to help him really empty his balls because he can't have his little bug pent up.

After all, Phantom wouldn't be trying to rut up into it if he didn't want it, would he?