If you're still taking requests for mushy may, I would love nine with Aether and Phantom!
Mushy May Day 9: Clingy
Dew makes a comment on how clingy the new quintessence ghoul is to his mate. No warnings, 500 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
“Aeth. Psst. Aether. Aeth. Had a thought. Do you think it’s like. What’s the word. Do you think it’s like ducklings?”
Aether cracks an eye open, a rumbling, questioning noise somewhere deep in his chest. The room is dark, and Dew’s eyes glow out from the darkness on the other side of their bed. “What are you on about, Dewey?” he whispers.
Dew raises an eyebrow. He gestures with a jerk of his chin to the lump in the blankets behind Aether, a softly snoring quintessence ghoul plastered to his back. “The voidling,” Dew says like it explains everything.
“What about them?”
“Do you think it’s like a duckling? You were probably the first one they saw after summoning and you’ve gotten yourself a shadow,” Dew explains, voice low.
“You mean imprinting?”
“That’s the fucking bitch,” Dew says, snapping his fingers. They both freeze as Aeon snuffles, nosing into the nape of Aether’s neck.
“You think Aeon imprinted on me?” Aether says softly, trying to blink sleep out of his eyes.
“Mhm,” Dew hums, curling closer into Aether’s chest. He rubs his cheek against the underside of his jaw, relaxing with a soft purr.
“We’re not ducks, Dew,” Aether laughs, holding Dew closer. “Besides, if that theory held any water, you saw Mountain first. And you’re not climbing that tree right now. You’re here.”
“Yeah, because I was the first person you saw,” Dew huffs proudly.
“And you enabled me something rotten,” Aether rumbles. “Just like you’re enabling them.”
“Am not,” Dew says, settling into Aether’s arms.
“Am not what?” A sleepy voice behind them mumbles, a mismatched pair of white and violet eyes peering over Aether’s broad shoulder. “Huh?”
“Oh, there you go, we’ve woken the pup,” Aether chuffs. “Morning, bug.”
“It’s not-? It’s still dark-?”
“Past midnight, counts as morning,” Dew shrugs.
“Fair,” they say, settling down with a huff like a dog plopping into their bed. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”
“We were just talking about Dew’s theory about you imprinting on me like a bird,” Aether laughs at the way it makes Dew sputter and steam.
“What? I’m not?” Aeon cocks their head, blinking rapidly. “Dew, I’m quint, not air.”
“It’s a figure of speech, voidling,” Dew hums, not looking up from where he’s buried his face in Aether’s chest. “Was making a comment on how Aether’s found himself a second shadow since you came to join us Up Top.”
“Is it a problem?” Aeon says, tail padding against the bed. “I can go to my room, if it is.”
Aether feels more than hears Dew sigh hard. “It’s not a problem, voidling. Think it’s cute how clingy you are.”
“Aw, Dew, you think I’m cute,” Aeon teases, grinning so widely that their eyes crinkle, looking an awful lot like a smugly pleased cat.
“Watch it,” Dew snaps, but there’s no real heat to it. “Duckling.”
“Quack,” Aeon says, entirely deadpan, and Aether bursts into cackling laughter between them.
Summary: Peko only vaguely remembers the days when Fuyuhiko was an innocent, happy boy who would sing whenever he got the chance. Those times ended when they were kidnapped, all those years ago.
Read on AO3
Peko's memories of their younger years are vague, but filled with the sound of a little boy singing and laughing. The boy used to drag her along wherever he went, teaching her the nursery rhymes he learned through his mother or teachers and telling her all sorts of stories, both fairy tales and true. He was young and carefree, living the life of a normal boy and assuming that she was nothing more than a normal girl.
Then they were kidnapped. He was suddenly forced to realize something she'd been taught for as long as she could remember; he was a target, simply because of who his parents were. His parents' enemies didn't care how young he was, he was still somebody they would hurt if given the chance.
She got them home, though she had been scared and he was crying and then he saw her face and cried harder, but that couldn't undo the damage. His naive, happy boyhood was over. The singing that once filled her ears whenever they were together was replaced with silence and the stories he used to tell slowed to a stop too. He never grabbed her hand to pull her along, never laughed as he excitedly showed off his newest toy. The only time she got to see a small fragment of the boy he used to be was when they were alone and he would start to hum quietly to himself, but even that eventually stopped altogether. She blamed herself for it, and as the memories of his carefree days grew more distant she wished she could bring them back.
Age only made it worse, a crack growing between them that seemed irreparable. In middle school, he stopped treating her as an equal and a friend and she was selfishly heartbroken that he'd realized her station in his life. She was just a tool, and from the way he ordered her to leave him alone it seemed that she wasn't a valuable one, either.
She threw herself into her training, honing her skills until she thought he couldn't deny her usefulness. Yet, he still ordered her to pretend like they didn't know each other when they entered Hope's Peak. She obeyed, as painful as it was to still be unwanted after all the work she'd put in.
The killing game began and her time in it ended swiftly. Only just before her execution did she realize the error in her ways, the faults in her reasoning. Still, she woke up afterwards filled with memories of the things she'd done while she was a remnant of despair, the things he'd done, and she wondered if she had the right to see herself as a person. She was filled with guilt and horror as she remembered more and more, but the thing that made her feel the worst was that Fuyuhiko had become a remnant as well. What sort of tool would allow that? Just like how she failed to save his innocence when they were young, she had failed to protect him from himself when they were teenagers. Now she had to live with the guilt that he would forever struggle with the things he had done.
She could hardly remember how he sounded when he sang.
The healing process was long and painful, both physically and mentally. Fuyuhiko was given permission to leave the island long before her, but he chose to stay. He worked with her, helped her recover, and when she finally admitted her feelings for him he accepted her with open arms. Even with his help, it was another year before she was deemed fit to rejoin society. They left the island together, moving into a small apartment with faulty plumbing and flickering lights and an occasional mouse, and there they continued to live despite the pain they'd been through.
Months passed, and they laid in their bed together with as the city lights outside shone through the smog, enjoying silent company. Her eyes slipped shut as her cheek rested on Fuyuhiko's shoulder though she wasn't tired enough to fall asleep. His hand drew shapes onto her back, easing the phantom pains that sometimes tormented her still when she remembered her execution. Out of nowhere, he began humming softly and Peko quickly recognized the tune as one of the lullabies his mother used to sing to him.
She tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes meeting his as he kept humming. Eventually he paused, a smile on his lips.
"What?" He asked softly, as though speaking too loudly would break the peace of the room.
"I haven't heard you hum in...a decade, at least," she admitted, voice no louder than his, "I like it."
"Huh…" he thought for a moment, "I didn't realize I stopped."
She nodded, "You did. I'm happy that you started again, though. You sound so happy when you hum."
"I am happy, I have you here with me," he stated, then began to hum once more.
She stayed silent, listening intently and trying to memorize the sound of his voice as she placed a chaste kiss on his jaw.
That's how she eventually fell asleep, rocked into it by the sound of her love's voice and the feeling of soft circles drawn on her back.
Aether and Dew enjoy an early morning to themselves with no obligations. Explicit. Contains handjobs, blowjobs, and Aether and Dew being entirely too sappy. 2.3k words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
“Mmm, you’re still here,” a soft voice cuts through the fuzz of not quite sleep, dawn light filtering through the curtains in a soft peach glow. The body nestled in Aether’s arms stretches with a crackle of joints, warm and steady. “Thought you had to go in today.”
Aether blinks fully awake with a soft groan, taking in the sight of his mate in his arms. Dew’s copper hair’s fallen out in pieces from his braid, eyes bleary and soft, drowning in one of Aether’s own shirts. “Morning, love,” he rumbles. “Fuck, it’s early.”
“You normally get up around now,” Dew offers, sighing happily and tucking himself impossibly closer to Aether’s chest. “Thought you had work.”
Aether struggles to get his mind online, even thought the suggestion of going to the infirmary doesn’t spark panic the way it does when he’s actually late. “Shit, right, I’m technically on call, today,” he hums, ducking down to nose into Dew’s hair. He takes a deep breath, lungs flooded with campfire. Though, this early, with Dew so soft and happy against him, the scent is far closer to roasting marshmallows than it is smoke. “Don’t have to be anywhere but here, barring an emergency. Bug an’ Meg have it covered, today.”
And Dew’s scent just gets sweeter, a happy trill torn from his throat. “Perfect,” he hums, pressing closer, wrapping his tail around Aether’s ankle. “All mine.”
“All yours,” Aether agrees into the crown of Dew’s head. He only pulls back to yawn loudly, his fangs bared and glinting as his jaw. “Always yours, darling.”
“Mhm, always will be,” Dew hums, eyes shut as his breathing steadies out. Aether can’t get enough of him like this, sweet and gentle and not awake enough yet to play at piss and vinegar. And when Dew slots a narrow thigh between his own in an attempt to get even closer yet, Aether realizes he’d woken up half hard, body making itself known to him at the brush of pressure.
Dew chuckles, hand petting at Aether’s chest. “Someone’s happy to see me,” he teases softly. He presses his thigh a little closer.
Aether furrows his eyebrows, even as his hips twitch, cock filling out in his boxers. “What- what do you mean?” he whispers, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Dew’s ear. “I’m always happy to see you, Dewdrop.”
Dew leans heavily into Aether’s hand with a soft whine. He can feel the warmth of Dew’s body against him, his own dick chubbing up in response against Aether’s hip. “Not- not what I meant and you know it,” he breathes, grinding shallowly forward with little idea that he’s doing it.
“Yeah, that’s true,” Aether whispers, settling a hand at the small of Dew’s back to keep him close, to keep them so tangled that it’s hard to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. Dew melts into it, teeth catching at his bottom lip.
“Mmph, love feeling you,” Dew admits, leaning up to nose and kiss at the hinge of Aether’s jaw. Slow, languid, no real rush. “What I do to you.”
“Yeah, sweet boy?” Aether hums, nosing at the base of one of Dew’s horns. “I’m all yours, my darling. Jus’ like how you’re mine.”
Dew shudders in Aether’s arms. “Mhm, all yours,” he sighs, stealing a few lazy kisses. “My Aether. My big guy.”
“My Dewdrop,” Aether chuffs, stealing every soft sound Dew makes into his mouth as they grind. “Fuck, my droplet.”
They kiss, all slow with nowhere to be, slide of lips and tongue and teeth and barely pulling back to breathe as their hips move together at the same languid pace. Aether loses track of how long they’ve been doing it when a hand finds his shoulder, pressing until he rolls fully onto his back. Aether is physically stronger by a long shot, but he goes where Dew puts him without question every time.
Dew kicks the covers down to tangle with their legs, trilling appreciatively as he takes in the sight of his mate’s body, the way his chest rises and falls, the bulge in the front of his boxers. “Mm, look at you,” he hums, the hand on Aether’s shoulder petting over his tits, carding through the hair there before moving down over his belly, closer and closer to where Aether obviously wants him.
“Yeah?” he asks, entirely too coy. “You like it?”
“Of course I do,” Dew huffs, only a little annoyed. The tips of his fingers toy with the elastic of Aether’s boxers, and it makes his breath hitch as Dew teases him.
Aether presses his hips up, trying to invite more. Thankfully, Dew takes mercy on him, pulling Aether’s boxers down far enough to pull him out, tucking the elastic just behind his balls. He groans sweetly at the sight of him, the weight of his cock in his hand.
Dew leans in, resting his cheek on Aether’s chest to watch. “Fuck, love you,” he whispers, grinning wide as that alone makes Aether pulse against his palm. “Love that this is mine. That you’re mine.”
Aether groans, wrapping his arm around Dew’s shoulders and holding him close. “Always,” he breathes, biting at his bottom lip as Dew begins to stroke him. His hand is so warm, dipping down to squeeze gently at the base of his cock before rising and twisting his wrist at the tip, exactly the way Dew knows he likes it.
Aether’s head lolls back against the pillows, groaning up towards the ceiling as pre wells up in his slit. Each pass of Dew’s hand spreads it, easing the glide, and he tucks his face into Aether’s throat to kiss at his jumping pulse.
“Love how you feel in my hand, can barely wrap my fingers all the way around you,” he whispers, kissing wetly under Aether’s ear. “Fuck, Aeth, love making you feel good.”
“So good,” Aether moans, hips pressing up into Dew’s hand. Dew doesn’t tease, keeping his grip just as tight as Aether likes it, the smooth slide of skin on skin.
“Yeah, baby?” he purrs, hitching a leg over Aether’s thigh. He can feel the hot line of Dew’s dick pressing against the side of his hip, can feel the starts of a wet patch in his boxers, but Dew doesn’t grind or seek friction. He’s too busy letting his hand slip lower to cup his balls, fondling them with gentle fingers.
Aether’s dick kicks against his belly, heavy and ruddy at the tip. More pre smears into his happy trail, and Aether turns to catch Dew’s lips with his own. The kiss is no less languid, just a little deeper, more heat behind it as Dew pleasures him.
Dew cups Aether’s cheek with the hand not currently occupied, smoothing the pad of his thumb along his mate’s cheekbone. All he can smell is ozone and chamomile, taking great delight in making Aether unravel with the simplest of touches.
Aether’s dick throbs in his hand, and he picks up his pace just a hair. Still easy in the morning light, still gentle and slow, but he knows Aether like the back of his own hand. Knows what it feels like as Aether approaches his edge.
“I’ve got you,” Dew promises, shifting the movement of his hand to focus right at the tip of his cock, running his thumb along the slit the same way his other thumb does his cheek.
“Know- Know you do,” Aether moans, and Dew swallows the sound eagerly. Tension’s starting to wind tighter in his gut, pleasure burning brightly through the haze of the early morning. “Baby, fuck, don’t stop.”
“Never,” Dew whispers. They both can feel the way Aether’s balls begin to draw up towards his body, the way his cock stiffens impossibly further in Dew’s grip. “Aether?”
“Uh- Uh-huh? Dew?” Aether moans, breath hitching as his hips twitch, feeling the coil draw tighter and tighter.
Dew pulls back from the kiss faster than Aether can chase after him. But before Aether can whine, Dew smiles, eyes glittering. “I love you.”
Aether’s eyes go wide, and then they’re rolling back in his head as he cums with a shout. His back arches a little, cock kicking in time with his pulse as he spills. Ropes of pearly cum splatter over his belly, over Dew’s knuckles, and Dew works him through it just as he deserves.
“That’s it, come on, baby, cum for me,” he whispers, staring at Aether’s face awash with pleasure. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t dare look away for an instant. “Feel good f’r me, I love you so much, that’s it.”
Aether’s helpless to obey, moaning as it all washes over him, head filled with haze and lust and so much love. He holds onto Dew’s shoulders like a lifeline, holding his mate flush to him.
He’s not sure how long he floats, but when he finally comes back to his body, the first thing he sees is the smug look on Dew’s face, pink tongue flashing as he licks Aether’s spend from his fingers. “Fuck, baby,” he laughs, smiling dopily at him. Dew’s never looked so beautiful like this, or maybe he’s just a sap. His brain’s not online enough for him to parse that one out. But why would he want to?
“Yeah?” Dew trills, his tail wagging. As Aether becomes more aware of the world around him, he feels just how hot Dew’s running, especially where his hips press against his thigh.
“Always makin’ me feel so good, baby boy,” he rumbles, a glint in his eyes to match Dew’s. “Want me to return the favor?”
Dew grins, head lolling back for a moment before licking his lips dramatically. “Have I ever once said no to you, Aeth? Yes- oh!”
Aether cuts him off by rolling them both over easily, looming over his mate. “Your turn, then,” he whispers, kissing Dew sweetly before trailing those same kisses down Dew’s sternum, pulling his underwear down enough for Dew to kick them aside. “My beautiful Dewdrop.”
“Yours,” Dew preens, putting an arch in his back just to show off. A sunset blush spills down his face, between his pierced tits and spreading even further down. His cock is flushed the same color, a shiny little puddle of pre rapidly forming in the sharp line of his hip. The sight alone makes Aether’s mouth water.
“You got to taste me,” He hums, looking up from pressing a kiss right under Dew’s belly button, at the very start of his sparse happy trail. “What do you say to me getting to taste you?”
“Fuck, yes,” Dew hums, threading his newly clean fingers through Aether’s hair. He doesn’t push, just starting to suggest where exactly he wants him.
Aether goes where Dew wants him, pressing a kiss to each hipbone before licking a stripe up the underside of Dew’s dick just to hear him sing. Tastes the salt of his skin, the sweetness of his scent pleasantly cloying in his nose, his lungs. He coaxes Dew to hitch his narrow thighs over each shoulder, letting him lock his ankles behind his neck, before swallowing Dew down in one go.
Dew keens, fingers tightening in his hair as his back arches. Aether grins around his mouthful of cock, squeezing Dew’s hips in just as tight a grip.
“Unholy Prince below,” Dew gasps, baring the column of his throat as Aether starts to bob his head, purposeful and slow. He presses his nose into copper curls with each bob, sucking hard on the tip as he pulls back. He stares up at Dew, watching his mate writhe at the relief, pleasure making his scent sweeter by the moment.
Pre spills onto Aether’s tongue, swallowing every offering dutifully and moaning around him at the taste. Everything Dew offers, Aether takes. He lets his throat work and squeeze around Dew’s dick, savoring every grunt and gasp and whine it causes.
Aether has no intention of going any faster, enjoying this display of lust and greed. And Dew, normally more needy with Aether’s head between his legs, is content to let Aether set the pace.
“Fuck, Aeth, your mouth,” he moans, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he works. “So fucking good, jus’ like that-”
Aether nods the best he can, pressing his tongue to Dew’s slit just the way he likes, letting pre flood his mouth. His cock twitches in his mouth, and Aether swallows him down again. One of the hands holding Dew’s hip sneaks closer so Aether can press a knuckle gently just behind his balls, eyes glittering as Dew bucks hard.
“Fuck!” he cries out, hands scrabbling in his hair as he tries to pull Aether closer. Aether chuckles around him, repeating the motion, pressing against Dew’s taint to bring him just ever so closer. “Don’t fucking stop, don’t you fucking dare-”
Aether wouldn’t dare deny Dew this. He polishes Dew’s tip with his tongue, rumbling a purr around him, and his mate’s so worked up that it’s all it takes.
He spills over with a keen, pulsing on Aether’s tongue as he writhes in the covers, ankles locked behind Aether’s head and keeping him there, like Aether would ever dare to even think of pulling away until Dew’s sated. He swallows every drop Dew gives him like sacrament wine, devoted to the ghoul laid out before him like nothing else. A big hand pets Dew’s flank, his chest heaving as each aftershock hits just as hard as the first until there’s nothing left for Dew to give him.
He collapses back against the pillows, panting and eyes blown. “Aether,” he croaks, voice shot like he’d been the one sucking dick. His hands shake in Aether’s hair, starting to pull instead of push. “Aether, c’mere-”
And that’s all Aether needs to pull off, kissing the tip of Dew’s spent dick, before crawling up his mate’s body to kiss him. Kiss the taste of each other’s spend into their mouths, holding each other close, content to spend all day here in their hearth, just like this.
Mountain helps Aether make dinner for the pack. No warnings. 900 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
“Alright, nova,” Mountain hums, tying his hair back in a low ponytail. “Promise you this won’t be difficult.”
Aether laughs and shakes his head, setting the garden basket he’d helped him carry up to the den onto the counter. “You’re overestimating the extent of my abilities here, Mount,” he chuffs. “You know Dew says I can set water on fire if I put my mind to it.”
Mountain just raises an eyebrow, turning on the oven to preheat. “And that, my dear, dear friend, is why we have a fire extinguisher on the counter. Just in case.”
He nods, violet starting to darken his cheeks. “Just in case.”
Mountain rummages through the cabinets, coming up with a baking dish. “Hey, I’m not gonna let it get to that point, Aeth,” he assures. “We’re starting easy. Everything’s going in one dish, that’s going in the oven, and then we just make some pasta, and that’s dinner. I’m here to help, Aeth.”
Aether sighs, rolling his neck. It makes a clicking sound as he tips his head back. “Thank you, Mount,” he hums, stepping close enough to brush their shoulders together, tail flicking behind him. “Really.”
“Anything,” Mountain promises. He moves to start washing vegetables, vine ripe cherry tomatoes, a zucchini almost the size of his forearm, some peppers and onions and a bunch of fresh, bright smelling basil. Aether joins him, the sound of running water from the tap a little relaxing.
There’s two cutting boards and knives waiting for them once everything’s been cleaned, and Mountain splits the pile of vegetables in two, pushing the tomatoes and zucchini Aether’s way. “Alright, Aeth,” he hums. “I want you to cut the tomatoes in half, and just toss them in the pan. Alright?”
“Okay, I can do that,” he says, mostly to himself, and starts cutting each tomato, one by one, exactly in half. Mountain starts his own work, roughly chopping the onions and peppers.
He dumps a handful of chopped vegetables into the baking dish, and then turns to look at Aether’s meticulous work. He’s barely halfway through the tomatoes, making sure each one is perfectly cut.
“They don’t have to be even, I’m not expecting something out of a restaurant, Aeth,” Mountain says. “They’re all going to cook down anyways.”
“Oh,” Aether says, looking down at his work for a moment.
“I’m not asking you to speed up, speeding up with a knife when you aren’t fully confident in it is a recipe that will end up with us needing to call Omega,” Mountain laughs, setting a hand between Aether’s shoulders. “We just need the veggies chopped. Bite sized, small enough that they’ll cook down quicker. Is that more helpful?”
“Yeah, think so,” Aether says, moving a little faster now that he isn’t as worried as making sure each piece isn’t exactly half. Mountain clicks his tongue in approval, turning back to his own work. Together, they fill the baking dish with all of the vegetables that Mountain had brought in from the greenhouse that afternoon, topping it with basil leaves ripped coarsely. The smell clings to their skin, not unpleasantly.
“Alright,” Mountain says, dusting off his hands. “One more thing before we put this into the oven.” He goes to the fridge, completely covered with photos and drawings and magnets, and pulls out a block of feta cheese. He adds it to the pan, before passing a bottle of olive oil into Aether’s hands. “This, some salt and pepper, and we’re golden.”
This, Aether can do, fully dressing the pan of veggies. Mountain smiles, knocking his shoulder into his gently before taking the pan and settling it into the oven.
“You did good, Aeth,” he hums, nosing just behind his horn. “Now we wait, I’ll put on a pot for pasta, and then we have dinner. We’ll just have to mix everything once it comes out, and we’re all good. Might even make garlic bread when the sauce is close to done.”
Aether groans, mouth watering at the thought. “Sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“Then it’s set,” Mountain laughs. “We’ll make garlic bread too.”
After some time, the kitchen fills with the rich scent of roasting vegetables and aromatics, wafting down the halls and letting the rest of their pack know that dinner’s well on its way to made. The first one to poke their head in is Dew, who blinks in surprise to find his mate working alongside Mountain.
“Smells good,” he says, a little hesitantly. Both of them turn around, Aether unable to keep from smiling at the sight of his mate.
“Making pasta and garlic bread,” Aether grins as Dew raises an eyebrow.
“We both are,” Mountain laughs at his expression. “Don’t worry, droplet, we’ll save the fire starting for you.”
Dew huffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, are you accusing me of pyromania?” he teases.
“Maybe,” Mountain hums, tail flicking into a wag. Aether laughs brightly.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Dew huffs, before softening the way he only does for the two of them. “Dinner’s going to be great. Excited to see how you did.”
Mountain slings an arm around Aether’s shoulders, hauling him into his side. “He did great, Dew. He really did.”
Copia's woken up in the night by an icy bedmate. No warnings. 650 words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
Copia’s finally found sleep on the road, after what feels like hours of tossing and turning in his bunk. He’d think that after so many tours, after months and months of his life spent in buses just like this, that sleep would come easier than this. That his body would finally give in, knowing just how much rest he needs, how much energy he’s exerting.
Nevertheless, his last thought before he finally slips under is how much he’s looking forward to filling his thermos from the coffee pot in the morning.
His sleep is dreamless for once, the bus rumbling and rocking gently as they drive to the next stop, across state lines. Copia sinks deeper into the pillow under his head, pulling his blankets even closer.
He’s not sure how long it’s been when he stirs, his mattress shifting underneath him. The already tight space gets even tighter, one of his ghouls crawling into his bunk. Copia doesn’t open his eyes, trying to scoot back against the wall to make room for his ghoul.
There’s a huff, and the ghoul on top of him scrambles to wedge themself behind him, between his body and the wall instead of settling for little spoon. Copia sighs, scooting forward instead as his ghoul worms their way under the covers and-
Something frigid presses itself to the nape of his neck.
Copia yelps, jolting up and nearly smacking his forehead on the ceiling of his bunk. Around him, the rest of his ghouls wake up, startling in their own bunks. He doesn’t have the senses of his ghouls, but he’s known them enough to recognize the distress and worry in their voices and movements.
Behind him, a smaller whine, his impromptu bunkmate’s tail padding against the covers. He’s expecting Rain or Aeon, the two ghouls of his who are most notorious for running cold and able to fit in a bunk with him, but it’s not their voice who speaks.
“Sorry, Papa,” Aurora whispers, her eyes gleaming out of the darkness like labradorite catching the light. Her ears pin back, the strap of her tank top slipping on her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to wake everyone.”
“I’m fine-” Copia calls out first, trying to put the rest of the pack at ease. He knows how some of them can worry. He rolls onto his other side, so he can face his littlest ghoulette. “Fucking freezing, farfalla. I thought Dew was the one with the vent in his bunk.”
“He is,” Aurora hums, not quite meeting his eye. Despite the low light, Copia knows that her face would be flushed lavender. “I can- I can go, ‘m sorry.”
She moves to climb back over him again, and Copia grabs her wrist gently. “You can stay. I will complain, though. So cold, cara.”
“Papa,” Rory whines softly, draping herself over his body and nuzzling into his chest. Her tail flicks and taps, coiling around his ankle. “Can’t help it. An’ you’re so warm.”
Copia can’t help himself from smiling into her hair, hooking his chin between her horns. “I am glad you are comfortable, cara,” he hums, still blearily blinking sleep from his eyes.
She purrs happily, hooking a leg over Copia’s to try and get closer to him and his warmth. Copia tucks them both in, pulling the blankets tight around them. “Thank you, Cee,” she whispers into the hollow of his throat. He can feel her breath come and go, can smell the lavender and strawberry of her favorite shampoo.
“Of course,” he whispers, letting a hand slide up her spine to cup the back of her head, smoothing his thumb back and forth. “Anything for my farfalla.”
“Anything?” Aurora echoes, and Copia doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyes gleam.
He takes a deep breath of her sweet, floral scent and sighs on the exhale. “Yes, cara, anything.”
She grins, and there’s a tiny, ice cold hand shoved under his shirt against his belly. He squawks, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
what about day 25 + hockey au + the first time swiss and dew get drunk together 👀
Mushy May Day 25: Drunken Affection
Dew finds a familiar face in a local bar. No warnings, a bit of a bittersweet ending though we all know how hockey au winds up anyways, 1.7k words.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
The bar’s loud, and Dew rolls his shoulders before stepping inside. There are probably fifteen different screens, each one showing a different game, different sport, different teams. The bar’s full, people talking with each other and drinking, glasses clinking against each other, the scrape of ice behind the bar.
He sighs, finding the one empty stool and ordering a beer. Dew does everything he can to avoid the tv directly across from him, airing playoff hockey. It’s a little bit of a sore spot, something bitter to swallow, no matter how long he’s been doing this professionally. The Ghouls’ season had ended before they could even earn a playoff spot, a slew of injuries and an unlucky streak affecting their overall performance.
Though, Dew supposes, sipping his beer, that just means more time to rest before the next season picked up. More time to work, to push, to get better as well. But for now, he enjoys the sound of people around him, an ice cold beer in his hand to nurse.
When he finishes his drink, the bartender sets another bottle down as she takes the empty one away. Dew’s brow furrows, staring at the label.
“I didn’t?” He says, confused. “Didn’t order another.”
She cracks a smile. “Gentleman down the bar put it on his tab.”
Dew nods curtly, and she moves down to serve another customer who’s flagging her down. He turns the bottle over in his hand, watching a bead of condensation or ice water roll down the neck before looking up.
All of the people seated around him are strangers. Dew scans over them as nonchalantly as he can, not to come off like he’s staring. Someone might have recognized him. It happens, living in the same city as the team he plays for. They might have, and bought him the same beer he’d been drinking.
He keeps looking, just in case, and then he meets someone’s gaze. Someone familiar. A pair of eyes he last saw through plexiglass during the last regular season. Dew’s stomach flips wildly.
Dew’d blame it on his drink, but he’s only had one beer, and it’s been years since he was such a lightweight that a single bottle of beer would make him see things. Still, he blinks, but the man across the bar is still there. He lifts his own bottle in acknowledgment before taking a long drink.
His mind races, trying to come up with a reason as to why Swiss Truppe is in his city, his neighborhood, without the pretense of hockey. The Popestars were out of the playoffs in the second round, his season’s over too.
But he can’t help himself but stare. He didn’t know Swiss wore jewelry, a pair of earrings and a few cuffs in his braids that catch the light. It makes sense, having only seen the man in an ice rink for the last few years, where such things could be a liability on the ice. Dew’s only ever seen him in a uniform, be it his Popestar jersey and gear or the suit he wears coming into rinks, or without clothes at all. It’s a little jarring to see him in regular, normal clothes, a baseball tee and jeans, but Dew doesn’t mind.
They stare at each other, the noise of the patrons around them different enough from the sound of the crowd.
Dew doesn’t know how long he goes without blinking. Then the man sitting next to Swiss pays his tab, laughing to his friends, and gets up and leaves. Swiss glances away, just long enough to register what’s happened, before turning back to Dew and raising an eyebrow.
He tries to tell himself he shouldn’t. That he should keep it, whatever this is, at the rink, in locker rooms. Strictly business, even if the business itself is more for pleasure.
Instead, Dew takes a swig of the beer Swiss had bought him, stands up, and marches around the bar to sit at the newly vacated stool.
“Thanks for the beer,” he murmurs just loud enough to be heard, nudging his shoulder against Swiss’s. “What the fuck are you doing here, Truppe? Thought you were halfway across the country.”
Swiss laughs, something that rumbles through him. He’s had a few already. Loosened up and a little giddy. “I, well. I went to college out this way. Was meeting up with some friends.”
Dew looks around, not exactly convinced. Swiss hadn’t been talking to anyone sitting around him. “And you’re at a bar alone?”
Swiss just shrugs, easy. “We had dinner here. They had work in the morning, and I just wanted another beer before I went back to my hotel.” He sighs, taking a long drink of his own. “I- uh. My plane home’s in the morning. I wanted to see- never mind.”
Dew doesn’t fully believe his excuse, but he’s not going to look a gift beer in the mouth. “Well, uh, I think it’s good to see you, Swiss.”
“You too, Dewdrop,” Swiss says. Out of the corner of his eye, Dew watches Swiss’s shoulders drop, like a weight’s been lifted from them. “I- uh. The last game.”
Dew bristles a little. “What about it?” He remembers Swiss making his shots and how he hadn’t made his own. Remembers fighting for real, not fighting to set something up, and how Swiss had made eyes at him through the plexiglass of the penalty box.
“You- ah. I thought we were going to have a meeting,” Swiss says, swallowing hard, watching his words with other people around. “Thought we’d set up a debrief. So to speak. And- uh- Well. You weren’t there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Dew hums, gripping the bottle in his hand so tight his knuckles ache a little. “Took care of my business and went home. You’d just knocked us out of the playoffs.”
“Ah,” Swiss says eloquently, staring at nothing like he’d just put the pieces together. “I thought- I don’t- Shit. I just. I didn’t want that to be the last time I saw you for the season.”
Dew turns, fully, to face him. Stares openly as his brain tries to comprehend what he just heard. “You didn’t- you didn’t what?”
Swiss sighs, finishes his beer. He sets the bottle down onto the bartop with a clink before running a hand through his hair. His face is warm, cheeks flushed, and Dew can’t tell if it’s how much he’s drank or embarrassment or something else. “You’re- all things considered. You’re a good guy, Dew. I just- I think I was worried.”
“Oh,” Dew whispers. He doesn’t know if Swiss can even hear it. “I- uh- yeah.”
“Yeah,” Swiss agrees. “I just. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, Swiss,” Dew hums. He finds that he means it. “What time’s your plane?”
“Eight,” Swiss groans, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m absolutely going to regret booking the early flight. And there’s a layover. Your airport here’s so small, dude.”
“Damn,” Dew laughs, knocking his shoulder against Swiss’s. “Have fun with that one.”
“Fuck you, man,” Swiss laughs with him. “I will, for sure. Should- ah. Should probably go back to the hotel soon. No need to make it any worse.”
For some reason, that makes something twist in Dew’s chest. “Probably a good idea, Truppe,” he hums. “Where you staying?”
“Uh, um, fuck,” Swiss hisses, trying to come up with the name of the hotel but coming up blank. “Here.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket, showing Dew the keycard.
He grins. “That’s actually on my way home from here. I can- uh. I can walk you back, if you’d like.”
Swiss grins and it’s brighter than any of the lights or screens in this place. “That would be fantastic, Dew. Such a gentleman, for once.”
“Hey!” Dew sputters as Swiss pays his tab.
“What?” he laughs as the two of them head out. The air’s cooling off, the summer heat dissipating as the breeze from off of the lake picks up. It’s refreshing after the heat of the bar, of people packed in together and the alcohol warming their veins.
“Nothing,” Dew shakes his head, taking his hair down and tying it back up. “Absolutely nothing, Swiss.”
They share a quiet walk back to Swiss’s hotel, and Dew tries hard to think about how it’s the first time they’ve ever really been civil with each other. Shoulder to shoulder, walking together like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Well, maybe not physically. Swiss’s had a bit more to drink than Dew has, but they’re punchdrunk and giddy and nothing else in the world matters.
It’s not long before they find themselves in front of the hotel, and the smile melts from Swiss’s face. “Well, this is me,” he sighs. “It was good seeing you, Dew.”
“You too, Swiss,” Dew says. “Have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.” Swiss grabs Dew’s shoulder, gently, nothing like the way he’d get grabbed on the ice. “Hope you have a good off season.”
Dew nods. “Better luck next year.”
And before either of them can part, Swiss ducks down and kisses him.
Dew balks for just a moment before letting it happen. Before kissing back. It’s the chastest thing they’ve ever done, and just the thought of comparing it to what happens in their locker room showers makes Dew’s head spin.
He wants more. He won’t say it out loud.
When they part, Swiss’s eyes go wide, face flushed, and Dew knows he’s faring no better. “Fuck, I-” he stutters, feeling far dizzier than the beers he’s had.
“I’m sorry- I didn’t-” Swiss says, just as flustered. “I should probably go. I’m sorry-”
Swiss relaxes, but only a little. “Thank you, Dew. Really. Fuck.”
“Of course,” Dew breathes. “Have a good night?”
He takes a deep breath too, and nods. “Have a good night, Dew.”
Swiss disappears into the hotel, and Dew stands outside and stares for just a bit too long before heading on his way home. It’s not far, and the world is a little too quiet, something heavy on his chest he can’t get off.
Alone in his apartment, Dew shouts into a pillow. He knows they’re not going to talk about this when hockey comes back, when they see each other next. Whenever that may be.
Dew and Rain spend an afternoon playing video games. 500 words, no warnings.
thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together <3
divider by @ghuleh-recs <3
The tv in the den common room loudly declares that Rain’s earned a star, and Dew’s steaming in the armchair next to him, curling up in wisps with each breath.
“That puts me at what, four?” Rain chirps, chin tilted up like he doesn’t have his score perfectly memorized down to the coin count. He snuggles closer to Dew, both of them tangled up from chest to tail.
“Yes, Rain,” Dew huffs, starting his turn. “You’re at four stars. And I have one.”
He presses the button on his controller to roll his dice, only for each one to come up with ones. Rain has nowhere to hide a grin.
“Fucker,” Dew spits, eyes narrowing. “And you keep rolling so well. I’d bet actual money you were cheating.”
“And how would I cheat at fucking Mario Party, Dewdrop?” Rain asks, only half admonishing. “It’s not like I can switch digital dice out for weighted ones. Though, that would be fun, setting you off like that.”
“See? My point exactly,” Dew huffs, watching as his Shy Guy character moves forward two spaces and has a handful of coins taken away for landing on red.
“You’re just mad for no reason,” Rain chirps. “There’s no stakes, no wager, just a simple little video game to pass the time. And here you are, steaming like a tea kettle.” He pokes a long, elegant finger at Dew’s nose.
“Exactly, and there’s no reason for you to gloat so much about being so far ahead,” Dew shrugs. “Or should there be?”
Rain takes his turn, adding dice to his roll. Each one comes up higher than average; his Yoshi character dashing towards the next star and gracefully avoiding any spaces that come with a penalty. “Why? You’d just lose,” he says, entirely too smugly for a ghoul who is three seconds away from having his remote stolen from him.
Dew yanks it out of his hand, shoving it between his back and the arm of the chair they’re both curled up in. “Can’t win if you can’t play,” he shrugs, watching Rain sputter with a growing glee. “I dunno, would be happy to take that wager now.”
“Dewdrop!” Rain gasps, absolutely scandalized. “How dare you!” He lurches closer, reaching behind Dew to attempt to regain his stolen controller.
Dew just laughs, squirming away as much as a ghoul sharing an armchair can. He puts up a valiant fight, tussling Rain’s hair and shoving away his seeking hands, but it’s not long before Rain snatches it back, holding it up and above Dew’s head.
“Bitch,” Dew huffs, snapping his teeth in an attempt to threaten that doesn’t land.
“Bastard,” Rain shrugs. He turns back to the tv to take his turn, only to find that in the scuffle, enough buttons were accidentally pressed to back out of the game without saving. “Come on, Dew. I was winning.”
For what it’s worth, Dew flashes his most innocent smile. “Hey, what if we played Mario Kart instead?”
From the other room, another voice calls out. “No to Mario Kart,” Mountain rumbles, sounding absolutely exhausted. “I’m not cleaning that mess up when you disagree about who should have gotten first.”
Dew and Rain share a look and burst into laughter.
here me out. 139 need a hand? with mountain and ifrit >:)
In Mountain’s defense, he didn’t think Ifrit would be back so soon. He’d said he needed to talk to Zeph and Aether about something he can’t quite remember the details of, had left Mountain to his own devices in the hotel room they’d been assigned to.
It’s a welcome reprieve on the road, a chance to stretch out and sleep in a bed, while still not his own, that has enough room for him to lay comfortably. To hog hot water and clean the dirt from the road off of his body.
The sheets are scratchy and a little too cold, but Mountain flops down onto the mattress with a happy groan regardless. He’s excited just to have this.
The air conditioner hums, droning just at the edges of his hearing, cool air a relief on his skin. But there’s something else buzzing, and Mountain knows it’s going to keep him from the sleep he so desperately wants.
Something burns in his chest, pent up energy he somehow hasn’t managed to use up after long days and weeks on the road, spreading the word of the Olde One. Mountain slings an arm over his eyes, groaning in frustration. He just wants to sleep, for fuck’s sake. But the cure for this particular affliction is a little easier to chase than he makes it seem.
Mountain sighs, rumbling low in his chest, and he runs his hand through still damp auburn waves before rolling onto his stomach. Doesn’t want through the actual effort of getting out of his boxers. Just wants to get this over with. He reaches up to grab one of the spare pillows from the head of the bed, and shoves it under himself with all the grace of a teenager experimenting.
He groans at the first press of friction, rolling his hips into the plush, cool fabric under him. His cock’s quick to respond, blood rushing down to start chubbing up. He shoves the pillow tighter to his hips, slowly but gradually picking up the pace.
Despite this being just a rush to get off, Mountain’s mind darts, squeezing his eyes shut as fireworks burst behind them.
Aether and Dew are sharing a room. He wonders if Aether’s managed to get the pretty water ghoul on his back, cooing over just how wet he gets as he fingers him open. Mountain shudders at the thought of Dew taking him instead, bending the much bigger quintessence ghoul over the bed.
Or Dew on his knees, his mind oh so conveniently flashing that series of memories into the forefront of his mind. Of pretty teal gills flaring as he sinks down, like the very concept of a gag reflex is an affront to his abilities. And fuck, could Dew stay there. Even though it hadn’t been very long at all before he’d made Mountain spill, and he’d swallowed every drop.
Or Zephyr’s pretty cock, of how easily Mountain would go to their knees for them. The cool taste of their skin, almost minty and sweet, their soft coo when Mountain inevitably gagged around them. Soft pianist’s hands on his skin, wrapped around his antlers, fingers threaded through his hair and pulling, their voice lilting and sending him down to float for them.
Or Ifrit, the heat of him pressed against Mountain’s back, big hands on his chest, fingers calloused and rough but so gentle it makes his head spin. The bulk of him making Mountain feel small in a way only rivaled by Aether. How easily he can match Mountain’s frantic energy, how eager he is to feel good and to make his packmates feel good. The richness of his scent clinging to the air, his duffle bag on the opposite bed, amber and saffron and so warm and sweet and-
“Need a hand?”
Mountain freezes, ears pinning back to his head. “Fuck,” he whispers, cheeks burning just as hot as his fire ghoul roommate for the evening.
In his desperation, he didn’t hear the deadbolt unlatching and the hotel door opening back up.
“Lookie here,” Ifrit trills, locking the door behind him. “What a show, Mounty, why thank you.”
“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Mountain huffs, biting back an embarrassed whine. It’s not like Ifrit’s seen Mountain like this before, but fuck, it’s the principle of the matter.
“Sweetheart, Mount,” Ifrit laughs, not unkindly. He sits down on the edge of his bed, heel of his hand pressed openly between his legs. “It’s been half an hour.”
Mountain’s face burns, and he shoves it into the mattress. “Iffy.”
“Mounty,” Ifrit says back, matching his tone. “I’m not gonna stop you from getting off, big guy. If anything, I’ll thank you for the show.”
Mountain’s hips twitch despite himself, Ifrit’s responding chuckle going straight to the pit of heat in his gut. “An’- and if I said yes? You asked if I needed a hand.”
He turns just in time to see a shark like grin grow across Ifrit’s face. Boyish and bright, he squeezes his cock through his shorts. “Then I’d give you a hand,” he shrugs, barely hiding how affected he is by the sight before him. “If you asked politely.”
Mountain feels his mind getting fuzzy, dick kicking hard against the pillow. His boxers are soaked with pre. “Fuck. Iffy, please?”
Ifrit just laughs, even as he stands up from the other bed. “Please what, Mounty?”
“Gimme a hand, please?” he whispers, voice cracking as he rolls onto his back. Offering Ifrit his soft underbelly. Mountain groans as Ifrit kneels up next to him, grinning like a fiend.
