The floor is yours good sir 👀
After his transition, Dewdrop felt nothing but loss. Everything was taken from him. His element, his pack, his bass. And what pack he had left felt like strangers to him, though some of them were strangers. Mountain and Aether looked at him different. He was just Dew now. No more Dewdrop, the clergy had even stolen his own fucking name from him. No more droplet, no more water lily, no more catfish. Sure, the nicknames changed. Sure, they were still endearing. But they weren’t his. It felt like he’d stolen something from Ifrit - like every passing ‘spitfire’ was desecrating something sacred.
In the weeks and months following, he hides the urge to grimace every single time these new pet names find their way to his ears. Dew wants to like them, wants to feel that familiar fuzzy warmth in his chest. Yearns for the feeling of love to settle into his core like an old familiar friend. He also does his best not to looked like a kicked puppy when Mountain calls this new ghoul ‘tadpole’ for the first time, and the second time, and every occurrence after that. It was like being replaced. More confusing of a feeling though, keeping him around to watch this new water ghoul blossom was painful. Could have been classified as Dewdrop related cruelty.
And there is no way for him to swallow down the resentment and anger that boils in him when Aether purrs the faintest ‘raindrop’ against Rain’s kiss plumped lips. Puts off sparks, the fire in the hearth crackles and flares violently before snuffing out abruptly as he gets off the couch and storms out of the room.
Time blurs eventually. They say it heals all wounds but all it does is numb him to the hurt. Dew can force it down far enough he can force himself to be in the same room as Rain. And then after a bit longer, tolerate a conversation with him, which turns into multiple over time. Spirals into thousands of shared thoughts and words between them until Dew can’t get enough of listening to Rain talk. Disdain and arms length distance becomes infatuation and a desire for proximity he didn’t think possible before.
Dew kisses him. Suddenly and without even considering what he was doing, the fire ghoul was leaning over the sleek white bass in Rain’s lap to sate an itch he’d been ignoring since the day they met. Their mouths fit together like they were made for this. He tastes like everything Dew had dreamed about and more. It tastes like home and conflict mixed in one but it doesn’t drive him away like it should. Curiosity has him licking over the seam of Rain’s lips and dipping past when Rain allows him in. His gasp lights a fire in Dew he’d never felt. Not simply arousal, but something deeper than even he knew. Completion.
They’re lucky Rain has the shoulder strap on because if not that bass would’ve hit the floor because Rain’s hands had abandoned it to fit on a more favorable body. One against his cheek, the other on the back of his neck. Every point of contact Dew can find helps make the world make sense again. He’s practically trying to crawl into Rain’s already occupied lap, wanting to press their bodies together in a way not entirely sexual.
And they part, and Dew’s world feels broken in half. Ripped away by the distance between their lips. The taste lingers and Dew hopes it stays forever. Hopes that this might be the one thing they can’t take from him.
“Took you long enough,” he interrupts and pets his thumb over his warm cheek. “Kept me waiting, droplet.”
There it is. That single fucking word and Dew’s shattered world is flipped on its head and forced back together despite the missing chipped pieces.
The clergy may have stolen it from him, but Rain gave it back just like that.
Dew could laugh, should probably cry, but he just stares at those pretty blue eyes. Frozen until relief thaws him and reminds his heart to start beating again, even if it is a bit faster than it had been. It didn’t matter, his heart could beat right out of his chest and Dew wouldn’t care. Too fixated on the way the word leaves Rain’s tongue, fascinated by the fondness it carries, enraptured by the way he looks at him. It didn’t cure the pain his transition caused him, but it did stitch the open wound shut so it could finally begin to heal.
“Call me that again, please.”
“As many times as you want, droplet. Anything you want.”
And each one is a reminder of who he was - who he is. His name no longer felt strange and foreign like ill fitted clothes.
areudirty
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
ellievsbear
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
yousharknotpass
origamiaround
