idk how its possible but i forgot to post this here?? or did i?? anyways this is dewfrit when dew was a waterghoul oops also putting my hoggle dew and sarah rain cuz that au still slaps
Dew is abysmal when it comes to baking, he tries to leave baking to Mountain for the safety of everyone. Almost always has been - the exception? Oatmeal cookies. The new summons find it weird that those are his apparent specialty but Aether and Mountain gently tell them to leave well enough alone when they find someone peering curiously around the doorway to the kitchen while Dew works.
Hes never been fond of oatmeal, let alone the cookie variant. Honestly, he'd dare to say he dislikes them. Dew only ever learned how to make them for Ifrit. After the at-the-time fire ghoul complained for the millionth time about having to pick raisins from them every time he wants to enjoy a damn cookie, he begrudgingly rolled up his sleeves and sought out perfecting them. Feigning annoyance every step of the way, especially when Ifrit sat on the only section of counter not covered in some substance and cooed over his 'sweet little angelfish' being a darling housewife.
Theyre not good at first. Not by a long shot. Too salty, too dry, too many oats, not enough oats, Dew went through every varient of wrong he could until the day Ifrit's eyes sparkled at the first bite. The memory of it still makes his heart melt before the ache of grief takes hold.
Back then, he'd make a batch every damn week for Ifrit. Anything to see how Ifrit lit up. Nowadays it's rare to find him in the kitchen; usually only on a few specific days in the year nobody seems to know the significance of or nights where his newfound smoky scent and empty bed ignite a longing so fierce it threatens to swallow him whole. Like the shark he once was, remaining still would lead him straight to ruin. He does his best to keep busy those nights.
Everyone's learns not to question the random half dozen cookies left wrapped in plastic on the kitchen counter anymore. More importantly, they learn to stop asking where Dew vanishes off to some days. Mountain and Aether learn which gravestones to retrieve the plates from in the afternoon when Dew finally drags himself back into the den.
One tone shift, a voice raise, and he always fell into the same habit, the same rhythm. One the bassist knew all too well.
The water ghoul stalked down the hallways his body swaying. The argument ringed in his mind. The small argument that snowballed.
It was one plant. One little significant bitterroot to be exact. To be clear—he’d never try to hurt his pack-mates. Ever.
“DEWDROP.”
He was just trying to look. He was simply startled. He wouldn’t purposely deface Mountain’s own element ever-
A force almost yanked him up out of his own clothes by his scruff. Mountain was looming over him at this point.
“What are you doing here?? You..” and then it went quiet.
The earth ghoul dropped him, staring quietly and sunkenly at the weakened stem. His eyes traced the crumpled blooms.
Dewdrop’s attention zeroed on the crooked sign, barring maybe a few feet tall. “Zephyr.”
Dew had been promptly been kicked out, few words leaving the tall, mysterious ghoul’s mouth.
So here he had found himself, at the foot of his very fellow band mate’s door; he stood outside of Ifrit’s door.
The fire ghoul had opened it slightly, giving the brackish ghoul a quick survey up and down. Dew nudged past him silently, not giving him a word.
“That bad, huh?” Ifrit prodded, but still, no reply. He understood, of course. The smaller didn’t need a reminder of whatever was bothering him, obviously.
Dew looked around the familiar room, the feel of it. He looked at the guitar that remained across Ifrit’s chest at shows. The acoustic next to it.
The orange-stained-glass lightbulb casting a comforting hue over the room.
His eyes went to the bed. Then his feet. Before his brain could register, he was laying face first in Ifrit’s scent.
The fire ghoul far from minded, making a note in the writing he was working on before setting his glasses on its holder and shutting off the desk lamp.
Dew adored the room with nothing but the side lamp, and he appreciated the way the fire element somehow always knew what he needed.
When he needed to be a weighted blanket, too.
They sat like that for a while, Ifrit crushing his elemental opposite while dew played with the baby hairs on his neck. It worked. For a while.
“He hates me.” Ifrit sat up. “Who?”
“Mountain.”
“Mountain doesn’t hate you, he adores you mudsprite.”
“I crushed his plant.” Ifrit’s breath stuttered, a small and sharp inhale signaling his thoughts. After a beat, Dew uttered out a smaller, harsher few words.
“It was Zephyr’s. I didn’t mean to.”
Ifrit paused, his eyes searching the smaller’s. He chirped silently in understanding before shifting his gaze to the ceiling; Dewdrop’s eyes searching finally drifted up, studying Ifrit’s features.
“He lost his companion, darling. He doesn’t hate you, we all loved Zephyr but it was different. He and Zephyr have been two of the few ghouls present in the ministry for a long time behind the scenes..”
Dewdrop’s gaze wavered as he became unsteady. He knew this, he didnt need to be reminded of his failures, he knows he fucked up! His head started to cloud as his counterpart contemplated for a moment more.
Nothing seemed to be sticking through the stormy estuary in his mind brewing. The guilt. The shame.
The feeling of Aether pushing him away when he misunderstood. The feeling of watching Mist be replaced. Of watching Zephyr be banished.
“But.”
That voice cut through it, through those feelings. Dewdrop looked up. At him.
“Mountain doesn’t hate. Wouldn’t hate you, ever. He can be hurt, he can be confused or need time; so give him time.”
Dew gave a small, tired smile. Ifrit reached out, laying a warmed hand on the smaller’s cheek.
“Promise you wont leave?”
“I promise.” Ifrit responded immediately.
When the sun rose that morning, Dewdrop wasn’t in Ifrit’s bed.
fire ghouls, the element of wrath, have characteristics taken from predator animals that most align with the ghoul. some common examples are wolves, snakes, big cats, and birds of prey.
ifrit is dog based due to his mostly laid back demeanor. he's chill most of the time, but when he needs to be he is very strong. he fights often using his brute strength rather than skill. he also will stalk and hunt down a target for miles.
dewdrop is cat based and is almost the opposite of ifrit. dewdrop is still laidback most of the time, but when he fights hes agile and quick, using things around him to his advantage. he will ambush his targets from hiding spots and take them down before they even know whats happening.
1.7k (ish) words of Dewfrit piss kink. Water!Dew. Some sex magic. Ifrit being so overwhelmed he's basically useless. Dew being a fucking freak (affectionate).
Merry Pissmas!
It hurts.
That’s all Ifrit can think about. The pain. An insistent throb low in his gut. Good in a way he’s not wholly prepared for. Not unlike when he’s been hard for too long. A rolling ache. It’s all consuming though, obsessive. He feels so full, bursting.
Dew bracing his hands on Ifrit’s stomach don’t help. Neither does the way Dew bounces on his cock. Slick spilling down over him, drying in the short curls at the base of his dick. Dew moans a little louder than necessary–a show. And Ifrit feels like he’s going to combust.
He can’t take anymore. He can’t wait any longer. He digs his fangs into his cheek.
“Dew–Droplet–you gotta stop. I’m sorry. Just for a second I have to–”
“You won’t.” Dew doesn’t stop, doesn’t pause. He clenches hard on a down stroke and Ifrit swears the corners of his vision go black. Dew says it with such confidence. Nonchalance.
Ifrit shudders. He grips Dew’s hips a little harder like he’s trying to get his attention. “Dew you don’t get it. I’m gonna piss myself. You have to–”
“No you aren’t.” Dew insists. “I won’t let you. Not until I’m ready.”
Ifrit chokes. Shudders. Goosebumps breaking out over his skin. He flexes his fingers on Dew’s hips. Dew sounds so confident but Ifrit doesn’t think his body got the memo. He thinks every roll of Dew’s hips is going to be the last. Every time his ass drops down onto Ifrit’s pelvis. Every flex of Dew’s fingers on the taut skin of his belly.
Dew doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow and Ifrit doesn’t push him off–he could. But fuck he doesn’t want to. It feels too good. The cool clutch of his body on Ifrit’s always warm skin. The way his back arches as he fucks down onto Ifrit, takes what he needs. Grinds Ifrit’s cock over his prostate.
Dew pulls one hand away from Ifrit’s belly to tug at himself. Short quick strokes that send pre-cum splattering onto Ifrit’s stomach. Ifrit can’t untangle the sensations now. The urgent aching need in his gut to piss and cum are entanged. Warring with each other.
He can feel the trickle of Dew’s magic holding both at bay. A damn against an onslaught of pressure that makes Ifrit feel like he’s going insane.
“Fucking water ghouls,” he muses to himself, gritting his teeth as Dew picks up the pace. Fucking himself with Ifrit’s cock urgently. Ifrit plants his feet and tries to help things along, but that makes everything worse.
“What about water ghouls?” Dew pants. Icey eyes blown wide. Ifrit can’t resist touching more of him. Sliding his hand up Dew’s cool skin to stroke at the feathery gills over his ribs. To tug at the rings threaded through his dusky nipples.
“Freaks,” Ifrit says, affectionate. Rolling his hips up as best he can to meet Dew. It’s agony. Blissful, perfect agony.
His body is screaming, lit up white hot with pleasure pain. He’s torn, always, between begging Dew to just give him relief. Or pushing onward. Dew could keep him here forever. Right on the edge. Seconds away from cumming. Seconds away from pissing himself. Never getting relief.
Dew blushes. Deep indigo color spreading over his pale cheeks. “If you’re complaining about it I could just–”
Dew lets go of his magic for half a second. Just long enough for Ifrit to realize how wildly out of control he is. In that span of time, the clench of Dew’s body drags him inexorably toward an orgasm that promises to ruin him. Dew grinds his hand down and Ifrit is sure–positive–that he’s going to lose control.
“Dew. Fuck. Wait I–oh shit–oh no.”
He starts to shove Dew away, off. And then the magic is firmly in place again. A wall Ifrit can feel himself bump up against but not break through. His body screams at him.
“Let me cum at least, Dew. Fuck, please.”
“Not done,” Dew admonishes. Ifrit drops back into the pillows with a groan. He closes his eyes. Can’t look anymore. Can’t do anything except feel. It burns. Aches. Every flutter of Dew’s body is a reward and punishment. He wants to help–to contribute, he’s useless. Every move he makes feels like it will be the last one.
Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as overwhelm sets in. His cheeks burn. He pulls one hand away from Dew’s body to sling his arm over his face. He’s dimly aware that he’s making noises, like hearing them from across the room. Small gut punched sounds. Whimpers. High and broken as Dew grinds down on him. Uses him.
Ifrit wants to touch. To tease. Wants Dew to be fucking into his fist instead of his own.
“Tell me what it feels like,” Dew asks, voice hoarse. Breathless.
“Hurts.”
“More.”
“So fucking full. Like I can’t take anymore but I do anyway.”
Ifrit moves his arm just in time to see Dew grin.
“You like it.”
Not a question.
“Yes,” Ifrit hisses, hips jerking up toward Dew’s body, fucking into him as best as he can manage.
“Like it so much you’re crying about it.” Dew swipes a finger through the tears leaking from Ifrit’s eyes. Ifrit chokes on a sob, tries to hide it–can’t. There’s no use in it. He’s nodding again without even telling himself to.
“Please, Dewy. pleasepleaseplease.”
Dew’s pace picks up and Ifrit starts to babble. Tells Dew everything he thinks the little water ghoul wants to hear. How gorgeous he is. How good he feels. How fucked up Ifrit is for it. He begs–for what he isn’t even sure. For Dew to cum. For Dew to just let him go–let it go.
He talks until his throat hurts. Babbling incoherently as Dew fucks himself stupid on Ifrit’s cock. Clenching and fluttering as he strokes at himself with increasing speed. Splattering copious amounts of pre all over Ifrit’s stomach to dry in his happy trail.
“Gonna–fuck–gonna cum.” Dew pants. He makes a wounded noise when he cums. Doubling over and shooting thick spurts over Ifrit’s stomach. Clenching so hard around Ifrit’s cock Ifrit thinks he might black out. Dew sags. Doesn’t move for a mintue as he catches his breath. It feels like an eternity. Ifrit can feel hismelf coming apart at the seams.
“Dew–”
“Yeah, shit, sorry.” Dew pulls off with a hiss. Revealing Ifrit’s cock, wet, sticky, and flushed nearly violet in color. Dew settles between Ifrit’s thighs. He curls his fingers around the base of Ifrit’s cock and squeezes. Ifrit jolts. He wants to swallow the noise he makes–but he can’t. Low and pained.
Dew gives him a few strokes. Soft, gentle. Thumbing delicately over the head as he looks up at Ifrit, blue eyes wide and still so devious despite having just cum. Dew’s magic is subtle in that Ifrit can’t really feel it when it’s there–but as soon as he lets go Ifrit knows it. The absence of Dew’s control is obvious. Ifrit scrambles for it when Dew lets go. All of his muscles tightening. Clenching down on nothing to try to keep it all in.
Each of Dew’s strokes is maddening. He doesn’t really know what’s going to happen first–but he has his guess. If he doesn’t ge tup and go to the bathroom right now he’s not going to make it. He moves to sit up but one look from Dew stops him. He pauses, holding Dew’s gaze like they can read each others minds.
Dew takes the hand not wrapped around Ifrit’s cock and presses down on his stomach again, on the swollen bulge between his hip bones. Ifrit bows in on hismelf. He gasps. A small dribble of piss wells at the tip of his dick before he manages to stop it. Dew gasps, rolls his fingers through it.
“More,” Dew demands.
“Dew–”
“Please. Give me more. Let me see.”
Ifrit feels more tears well in his eyes, heat floods his cheeks. God he wants to–wants nothing more than to give Dew anything he wants. But he knows if he lets go now it’ll be more than a dribble. It’ll be a flood. He shudders.
“Dew I–”
“C’mon. Do it and I’ll let you cum.”
“Dew–I–the sheets. I’ll make a mess.”
“I don’t give a shit about the sheets. I want you to make a mess. I want it. Give me all of it, ‘Frit. Please.”
Ifrit sobs when he finally lets go. That little dribble turning into a full stream. Spilling from his cock to run down onto his belly, his thighs, the sheets beneath him. Dew strokes him through it. One hand on his cock and one on his thigh. Fingers dragging through the mess as it keeps coming. Mouth open, jaw slack. Watching with rapt attention as Ifrit empties himself for all he’s worth.
“Fuck yeah, just like that,” Dew groans. Ifrit can see his cock twitching back to life between his legs. Kicking as Ifrit’s piss soaks into the sheets under Dew’s knees.
Ifrit moans with it. The relief of it. The rush of warmth and wet. The tension bleeding from his muscles as he finally empties himself. He gets two blissful seconds of peace before Dew is stroking harder, faster. Fingers frictionless against his wet cock. The wet sound of it makes Ifrit’s stomach hurt.
“Oh fuck, Dew. I’m gonna–you’re gonna make me–” Ifrit sobs, back bowing off the bed as he cums, finally. The edges of his vision darkening, eyes rolling back in his head, as he paints Dew’s hand and his own stomach.
Ifrit doesn’t move for a minute. Lying in his own mess. Covered in piss and cum. He closes his eyes tight while his heart hammers out of his chest. When he finally cracks them open it’s to the sight of Dew licking his fingers clean. Sucking cum and piss-coated fingers into his mouth. Tongue flicking out to catch the cum on his knuckles.
Ifrit groans, spent dick twitching hopelessly against his thigh. He grins up at Dew all the same, ready, always for whatever comes next. “Told you water ghouls were freaks.”
