#this is a rather self-indulgent story but i hope it will still be enjoyed

[ladystormcrow]

POTO Fic: Trio Sonata

Chapter 1

Summary:

To save Erik from the mob’s wrath, Christine asks him to leave the lair with her and Raoul. But what was meant to be simply one final act of compassion leads to escalating consequences, and soon all three of them find themselves on the run from France – together.

Can former enemies learn to trust? Forgive? Even care for each other?

Can fear truly turn to love?

And who is the mysterious masked man hunting them, who seems to know all of the Phantom’s deadliest tricks?

~~~ The first chapter in the canon divergence E/C/R longfic I've been plotting and researching for the past several months. It's going to be a bit of a slow burn (with more than a little danger and angst on the way), but hopefully readers will find it worth it!

NOTE 1: Nothing NSFW happens in the first chapter, but the M-rating will apply in later chapters.

NOTE 2: This takes place in the same continuity as Imprints In Time, and references some things from that (mostly involving Madame Giry's history with Erik). Reading the first story isn't strictly required, but it helps.

[sheepispink]

hi bb, this is incredibly self-indulgent, but I have a very big idea for ur Ghost and his Sergeant. I'm terrified of the ocean so ofc I need her to be nervous over this mission that's by the coast. she's never said anything bc it's never been necessary, but she can't hide her nervousness from Ghost tho he doesn't pressure her to say anything for now. so when they're done w the mission, they all decide they'll take the next day off, and it's a given they'll go to the beach, right. I need her to be nervous but she's like, chill, staying away from the ocean, until the guys lift her up and she's like rolling her eyes until she realizes they're taking her to the ocean w quick steps, and suddenly she's SCREAMING bloody murder, and Ghost gets his head out of his ass (bc he was buying idk ice cream or a drink idk), and runs over when the guys set her down on the sand, trembling and tearing up, unable to stop herself from being weak and AHHHHHH ur writing would make this cuddle session so fucking GOOD

UR MIND IS LITERALLY AMAZING BECAUSE THIS?? THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA

anyway, as promised, plenty of fluff, plenty of comfort, very yummy story (i hope)

enjoy!!!!!

WC: 4.1k… (😧)

————-

Missions tended to blend into each other when a soldier got too comfortable—an autopilot you were happy to live with for a long time. Though, that was before you were promoted to a Sergeant which still felt like yesterday no matter how long ago it had been. You had soon learned that no day would ever be the same, especially after you were properly taken into Lieutenant Ghost’s unit, rather than the occasional team-ups. It was a big change that’s for sure; it’s not the difficulty, but rather having to prove your worth to a whole new unit. At least your old unit you were pretty much leading; this was like starting from the bottom again, in a way. It shouldn’t prove to be too hard, considering your reputation was holding up nicely.

However, you did have a small weakness; everyone did though this was one that you definitely didn’t want anyone else to be aware of any time soon. So, when the news of another mission came around, you were positive it was something you could handle. Until the news came that you’d travel by ship, having to stay on it for at least two weeks. It’s not even like you had time to process the news, bundled into a truck as you travelled down to the coast. You’d be travelling far, tracking down some bombs that are being transported on a number of different cargo ships travelling across the Atlantic ocean. More importantly was figuring out if they were actually active bombs or rather just sitting ducks–either way, it was something that needed to be dealt with immediately. Considering you had completed a course in demolitions, of course you were immediately necessary for this, so there wasnt even any backing out now. Thankfully, there was a chance you wouldn’t even have to cross over the murky waters, safe on the ship instead. Still, there was no guarantee that nothing couldn’t go wrong.

Ghost wasn’t stupid, he could clearly see just how hunched your shoulders were in every conversation, no matter where you were around the ship. He sees your small flinches everytime a small wave slightly shifts the floor beneath your feet, or the larger ones that spray onto the deck whilst you’re surveying the surroundings. Not even you can hide the quick darts of your eyes each time a small rumble of thunder sounds out overhead nor the teeth marks in your lips when you look out the window for a little too long. One thing that he couldn't possibly ignore, was the widening of your eyes and the anxious tap of your foot as you slowly filed out of the briefing the day before you departed. The only question was to confront you or not. After all, everyone has a weakness and yours may not even be that serious to compromise the mission. It seemed on the same level as getting mad at someone for being woken from a bad dream, or at least he didn't want to embarrass you by possibly blowing it out of proportion.

He was right for the most part, and you had completed the mission as expected– even if your heart was practically pumping out of your chest when you had to cross to the cargo ship and assess the crates for any trace of explosives. Since it was growing closer to summer, he figures the unit may as well stop over by the beach that’s only a one hour drive from the port. Your fellow teammates are excited of course, and so are you, happy to be on ground again even if the ocean will be metres away; anything was better than hovering above it though. As soon as you arrive, a few of the guys drag you along to a local shop, all of you filtering through the aisles to find the best floaties and water guns available.

Ghost leans against the car with his arms crossed over his chest, tapping his foot like a father with his rowdy kids. So since you all act like children, he counts down from ten, watching you and the others scurry and scramble into the seats of the cars. It’s almost laughable at how you all look, pool noodles around two soldier’s waists, water guns gripped in one of the other’s hands and wait– who put a bucket and spade in the boot?

Free for all, except this isn’t the battlefield, no it’s a damn beach and once your feet touch the warm sand, all of you are dispersing into different directions. Ghost looks around, trying to figure out where everyone went in the five seconds he turned to grab the cooler bag, only to see you lounging on a sunbed. He has to admit, he was curious as to how you’d navigate a situation like this with your clear fear. But now he can only scold himself as he slowly approaches you, your head turning before you beckon him over with a wide grin. You’re a trained soldier, you’ll be perfectly fine.. right?

He drops his duffel bag down beside you, getting comfortable on the sunbed as the others run along the beach like bumbling fools. Accidentally he must’ve let out a scoff because you laugh, turning to look at him as his brows unintentionally furrow. “What? They’re runnin’ around like they’re six.” He says gruffly, trying to get comfortable on the small and flimsy sunbed but failing when he realises both his legs barely fit.

“You’re just boring, skullface.” You know he hates that stupid nickname, but it just motivates you to use it all the more. Still, his eyes are more focused on the nervous tap of your fingers against your leg, your jaw slightly clenched as you look out at the soldiers running around near the water.

“Oh? I don't see you making sandcastles.. or splashin’ around either.” He watches you freeze at his last words, his eyebrows slighlty beginning to furrow in deep concern. You were so far from the water, practically at the top of the beach but you still looked agitated, like you were just managing to glue it all together.

”Hmph, I'm relaxing before I beat all of you in snooker tonight.” He highly doubts that’s even slightly possible, but you’re quite adamant on the former as you stretch out and get ready for your midday nap. Of course, how could he forget your daily necessity? Regardless of that, he sticks firmly by your side, satisfied that you werent so nervous that you wouldn't be able to nap peacefully— or maybe that was because he’d scare off anyone in a 5 mile radius just with that mask alone. He settles on watching the waves lap until he gets bored enough to aimlessly scroll on his phone, unable to find anything to captivate his attention long enough. Damnit, you were rubbing off on him. After stealing your book for a bit, the heat of the sun finally gets on his nerves and he heads towards the small bar, looking for a cool drink. Just before he leaves though, he adjusts the umbrella above where you lay, a little worried that you’d overheat in your sleep but your head feels fairly cool against his hands, for now at least.

Footsteps, they’re soft in your ears muffled by rocks that are kicked. There’s small snickers too, coming from different directions and no matter where you try and run to chase one, they always appear right behind you again.

Splashing, it’s colder now, a breeze washing over your body and making you shiver.

Strain, your arms feel tight, as do your legs, like you’re being stretched like those stupid toys that were always advertised but you never actually got.

“Is she up yet?” A voice says, so close yet so far.

“Nah, still out.” Accompanied by laughter.

A splash of water on your face has you attempting to sit up only to fail immediately, your wrists locked in a tight hold, ankles kicking restlessly. “What? Who—?” Your head turns frantically, confused and instinctively wanting nothing more but to be free.

“Chill out, we’re just giving you a little diving lesson.” The soldier who you’d giggle with on patrol holds your legs, laughing at your shocked face. As you look around, you realise the fellow soldiers you’ve shared meals with for two weeks have kidnapped you from your napping spot, carrying you somewhere.

It’s fine, they’re your friends, they wont hurt you.

“Hey! I was sleeping very peacefully y’know.” You huff, playfully though still half awake, rolling your eyes as you slacken your protests.

”Yeah, drooling too.” The one holding your wrists laughs as the one walking alongside them pinches your cheeks. Damnit, they’re so damn annoying all the time arent they? Ghost’s right, they’re like little kids with the way they ran straight into the ocean—

Ocean?

Your head snaps to the side, managing to strain your neck only to see that the one holding your legs has already stepped towards the shore, water now splashing gently onto the sand beneath you. “Hey— wait, where are you taking me?” You’re thrashing around now, panic bubbling in your throat as your nails press into the soldier’s hand, scrambling for them to let go. “Oh come on, just a small splash.”

You hate their laughter, you hate this, you hate having to watch the waves rise over his foot as they carry you in, your heart thumping louder with each second. “Let me go!”

They don't listen— why wont they listen?

The water is up to his ankles, too high for your liking and you’re not scared anymore— you’re fearing the worst. Images flash through your mind, the horrible splashing of their steps louder than the pounding in your head.

You kick, wriggle, squirm, anything and it’s useless— why is it so useless?

Their steps are making droplets splash on you, the water is growing higher, ready to consume and you’re cold, too cold even with the sun burning through you. Cold with soaked cheeks.

Ghost hears the screams first, so high it almost sends him into a frenzy only nightmares have brought him crumbling to. He doesn't think, spilling the can of coke without a second thought as he runs over, sand kicking up with each heavy step of his stupid army boots he wears all the time. The crowd of soldiers are shoved to the side by his hands, carving a path directly to you who now sits in the sand right by the shore, trembling so harshly as you pull your knees to your chest, albeit with great struggle. “Woah, woah, you’re okay— you’re not wet. See? Sand, look you’re on the sand.” But you’re too far gone, your hair falling over your face as you hunch over, hands grasping at nothing but the air. Your face is starting to grow wet from the silent tears,trickling down your cheeks and kissing your legs, the wet feeling making you fear the worst has happened.

“What the hell are you all staring at?” His Lieutenant's voice comes back like it never left, the soldiers standing to attention just as fast and scrambling away before they feel the wrath of the man before them.

You’re trying your best to shovel it all in, all the fears but it’s near impossible, not when you can still hear the splashing, not when you can hear the laughter of the kids down the beach. Not here.

“Up we get, come on.” He places his hand beneath your arms and hoists you up to stand, one hand slipping behind your back to rub up and down, trying to get you to your senses. “You’re all dry, okay? Nothing happened, you’re alright.” He’s trying to keep his voice as calm as he can for you but it’s near impossible when you’re looking like that before him, like a person whose nearly missed death. Dammit, you didnt even look this bad when you were shot in the leg, and that was a pool of blood to say the least.

He leads you away from the shore, bringing you to a small cobbled footpath away from all the cafe’s, loud icecream vans and children screaming about needing to pee. His hand continues to rub slow circles, continuously soothing your trembles as he reminds you to breathe in and out. Only when everyone was out of sight did he pick you up properly, hoisting your legs to wrap around his middle as one hand pushed your face into his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you into the car, okay?” Sure he should’ve done that way earlier, clearly by the way your hands were shaking like crazy. But if he knows anything about you, he definitely knows you don't want to make a scene. Being seen as weak is practically the worst thing for you, not that he thought what happened made you weak, but he already knew what you’d be saying if he had swooped you up right then and there in front of everyone.

“Ghost— i..” You begin to sniffle out but he shakes his head, firmly patting your back in confirmation. “Nope. Quiet— don't wanna hear it.” He carries you further down the road, turning into the empty parking lot near a small block of houses. Finally he reaches the car, windows tinted to hide you as he opens the door with one hand, a low groan escaping him before he finally settles you in the backseat. Going around to the boot, he opens it quickly, grabbing a spare towel he brought and rummaging through a bag that was supposed to be for the team’s silly movie night later. Not that he’d participate, but he felt giving them some snacks would be a good mission well done.

Your eyes are locked onto your knees, refusing to look anywhere and your face has dried up, slightly red from how harshly you had rubbed at your eyes. He settles in beside you, about to offer you a drink when you’re clenching the seats, eyes already tearing up once more.

“It’s fine— really, i just- I was just a little shaken, they didn't mean it, I wasn’t properly awake yet and it startled me. ” You ramble between breaths, unable to find an excuse to rebuild your dignity in time but he just lets out a long breath, anger clearly holding back. A soft towel is draped around you, covering your upper half entirely as he folds it over your front.

“You dont need to explain. It’s fine— i dont like the damn beach either.” He mumbles out, not sure how else to express the fury he feels that you had to feel that terrified, more towards himself for leaving you alone when he knew you were uneasy. All he can do for now is place an arm around your shoulders as you continue to quietly sniffle and tremble at the shock and horror you felt in the past ten minutes. You were clearly uncomfortable too, and how badly he wanted to tell you that he didn't care if a colour terrified you, nor a tiny butterfly; he just wanted you, as with the few he really cares about, to be comfortable and happy. Never should someone have to face their fears like that, he knows what that can do to a person. But he can't word it properly, can't express how you’re the strongest he knows and the smartest and every other good adjective in the damn dictionary because you are that. And he refuses for you to believe otherwise just because the majority aren't scared of the same things you are.

Your nose presses into the sleeves of your shirt, eyes scrunched tight as you try to will the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” It’s stern, too harsh, but he doesn't know what else to do, just wanting to wipe that miserable look on your face. “There’s nothing to apologise for.. Do you need me to leave?” He asks, suddenly wondering if you’d calm down quicker if he just left you alone. Of course you would, who would want this stiff man rubbing their back while crappily convincing them that they’re not drowning and just got a scare from a stupid idiotic prank? He could at least speak a bit more, reassure you that whatever you choose is fine but nothing comes to his mouth. You shake your head thankfully, refusing to let him leave you alone.

“Are you annoyed with me?” Your voice is quiet, so quiet, and he hates that you feel this small. You should be smiling and having fun like everyone else, not tearing up infront of your lieutenant who you just barely felt comfortable around— or well, he thought that was the case.

“Never.” He says gruffly and he’s caught off guard when you hug him tightly, one that has him stuttering to breathe for a moment. Though his shock is quickly broken when your sniffles pick up, quiet sobs hitting his chest head on. He wants to complain, beg you to stop crying because not even he can bear to see you like this. But he knows whilst it pains him, you need to let it out for all the weeks you’ve been terrified for and stayed strong. His arms wrap around you just as tight, his chin resting above your head as he feels his shirt wetten by the second.

“You’re stronger than me.” He murmurs quietly, one hand gently rubbing your shoulder as he just sits there, letting you take whatever ounce of comfort you somehow receive from him. “You could’ve given up long ago but you didn't. How could I be mad at someone who's worked so hard to keep the rest of us safe even when they didnt feel safe themself?”

Oops. He might’ve made you cry a lot harder with that one, and his eyes widening show his momentary panic as he tries to soothe you again, tucking you as close as possible.

You settle a while later, pulling away just enough to wipe your reddened eyes. His eyes are softened as he looks down at you, partially glad he doesn't have to burn alive in the sun anymore and can just spend time with you in this car.. though it’s warming up pretty quickly. You seem to have the same thoughts as him because you look up, unable to stop a little smile crawling onto your lips. The sight is bright, even the tears in your eyes making them sparkle more than usual. “Why’re you looking at me like that?” He asks, hoping you’d keep doing that a little longer.

“You’re sweating like crazy..” You’re half tempted to snicker, but it comes out more like a sniffle and he just lets out a breathless sigh, rolling his eyes as he squashes your cheeks. “I do all this and that’s what you say? You’re a minx, yknow that?”

Well, he supposes it is your day off, and he’s restless as it is anyway. So, he pretends to huff at you, even if you see past him instantly, and slides out the seat beside you to get into the driver's seat. You follow, climbing into the passenger seat and he straps you in before you can even try. He rolls down the windows after he starts driving through the town, letting the summer air refresh you all while he’d occasionally look over every time he got caught in a little traffic. . But you looked like you needed a moment to gather your thoughts and yourself, so he’d give you that, for now at least.

He takes you to the nearest mall, hunting down one of those ice cream shops, but not something basic, no, that’s just boring. “Amorino?” Your voice is muffled by the skull mask he reluctantly let you borrow— but you looked uncomfortable walking around with the tear stains still on your cheeks, so he relented quickly.

“Pick your flavours.” You get your two favourites, picking them both until he urges you to pick another, not that you can decide. “Can't you just pick your favourite for me?” That’s how you end up with a cone in your hand, a pretty flower shaped ice cream right on top with each of your flavours curved into petals. He sips his milkshake, watching as you stare in complete awe as you both walk through the mall. “How— what? This is sick, Ghost!”

“If you keep staring at it, it’ll melt before you even try it.” He watches your eyes go wide, quickly licking up the sides to catch any melting parts before instantly grinning at the overwhelming sweetness. “This is like— top tier!” Though he does end up facepalming when you grip his sleeve tightly, groaning about a brain freeze.

He lets you try out the crappy claw machine games, and then even tries on one Hawaiian shirt all while you’re giggling so hard you almost trip over. He has to hold your wrist after that, but you don't complain, using it as an opportunity to drag him wherever you want, and he follows.

It’s almost seven pm, and he takes you back to the hotel since you and the team planned to get dinner. He still had to have a virtual briefing with Price, so you would be on your own for this one. They’re waiting for you in the lobby, the three culprits from before standing anxiously. “I’ll be in the car, on the phone to Price and the others.” It’s a silent offer, giving you a chance at any time to return to where he is and sit in the back if you need to get away for whatever reason. He’d prefer to be beside you, but at least this gives you a safe way out. “Alright, thanks. I’ll head in now— just make sure you grab something to eat too? Okay?” You give him a smile, before you awkwardly step inside the hotel, approaching the others. Ghost’s hands tense, fists clenching as he watches for any sign of the idiots acting up again. Thankfully, they learnt their lesson and they immediately apologise to you, frowns on all their faces before lighting up when you extend your forgiveness to them. You were scared they’d laugh at you, but Ghost knew that they saw you like a little sister— even if they were absolute idiots sometimes. He decides to leave you after watching you leave the hotel with them, heading for a restaurant down the street as you link arms with a female soldier you know, grinning.

It’s late when he hears a soft rap at the hotel room door, confused at who could possibly knock at this hour. “It’s me, Lt.” Werent you supposed to be watching movies with the others?

“Come in.”

You open the door with the keycard he gave you earlier, dressed in your pajamas and with a bowl of popcorn in your hand. Quietly you walk over to where he lays on the bed, settling on the other side as you place the bowl between the two of you. This is how it goes for the next twenty minutes or so, you scrolling through your phone and watching stupid videos as you nibble on the popcorn all while he continues to read his book, occasionally grabbing a piece of popcorn just to keep you happy. It only ends when he catches you yawning from the corner of his eye, one, twice and thrice. “You should get some rest. You’ve had a long day.” He hums, flicking to the next page as he continues to read but the words aren't really going to his head in the slightest, his mind fixated on you.

“Hm.. okay.” You sigh, before placing your phone onto the bedside table and tucking yourself beneath his blankets, now watching him from your position smushed against his pillow.

“You have your own bed, Sergeant.” He states, raising a brow but he’s particularly careful not to lower nor raise his voice, keeping it central as he looks at you and closes his book.

“Hey, you said I was welcome if it was an emergency.”

He did say that, perhaps a long, long time ago when you first came bundling into his life before he even knew you that well. Besides, it’s not like he planned to actually kick you out. So for now he just lets out an empty scoff, goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth before turning the lights off by the switch. The room is shrouded by darkness and you look around, wondering where he went, when two arms wrap around your front, bringing you forward against his chest. “Don’t make me regret this.” He says gruffly, but you know he doesn't care all that much, and he knows that your playful facade is trying to hide the trembles that still linger in your hands when you hear the ocean lap outside your room’s window. Tonight, he’s holding you tight and never letting you go; he’d be found dead before he ever lets anything snatch you, whether that be the ocean, someone, or even fear itself.

———

COD masterlist

[moon-ayyye]

I saw a few asks that revolved around all caste Jason or just the all blades and I just wanted to share a very self indulgent hcs and would like to hear your thoughts on them:

1.) Jason having the white hair streak but there is no definite origin for them but rather a clusterfuck of reasons. A form of Marie-Antoinette syndrome perhaps, perhaps perhaps the all caste and such. Nobody really knows. I mention this because I thing is would be very cool if like. When Jason takes out the all blades in fire situations, his mostly black hair suddenly becomes a shock of all white hair (I’m debating if he should have a streak of black hair, like a reversal of his color palette perhaps). It’s kind of like an Acheron from Honkai Star Rail situation. Jason assumes it has something to do with the all caste but it doesn’t explain him having it before he joined them. It’s a mystery to them

2.) I actually saw this from somewhere and I really enjoyed it so I incorporated elements of it into my own world building but the all blades affect how he perceives the wold and he has tricky feelings in regards to it. Something something about the all blades being able to detect too things: the weight of someone’s evil + their ability to repent. Jason only sees the full picture when he’s got the blades out, which is rarely. However he can sense things about someone and figures it worth investigating depending on how intense the pull is for justice. The flipside is that the all blades doesn’t care about human sentiments and will see the evil in anything. Even in children and animals and it does not fully coincide with Jason’s own morals. It simply connects to his righteous justice and his capability to bring about that change—not his empathy. It makes his feelings about it all fucky whucky

3.) Jason’s body is already fucky whucky after coming back to life because of resurrection, non all caste related. Some of these examples in my mind is: *much* slower heart rate, inhuman levels of strength (not enough to be a super meta, but something about being undead removing him from a few restraints that exist when you’re alive. But also the cosmic nature of him coming back means he’s not getting all the undead enchancements. For example he can use strength that surpasses any human capability by a certain range depending on how desperate he is, but it’s tied to adrenaline. He also can destroy all his limbs if he uses too much force cause he’s still Ina. Human body. So he uses it very sparingly). Anyways long story short. When he has the all blades out, because the blades are his soul and his soul is no longer in his body, he is capable of being much more stronger, faster, and sharper because his body and soul are not limited to anything. His consciousness is his soul and his body is the vehicle of justice. That being said this can only happen for very short amounts of time because the longer his soul is out of his body the harder it is to stay tethered and he will probably die. Or be stuck in limbo and that is not fun

Sorry for word vomiting all over your inbox I hope that this finds you well

No need to apologise. These are really good!. I'll address my takes on each one:

1) I headcanon that the white streak is actually the mark of the All Caste, and it disappears when he draws them out. The opposite of what you said. If I'm reading a crossover fic with danny Phantom, then yeah, having full white hair with a black streak is an amazing design in my eyes. If you want, it could also be like a kiss of death; lady death feels strongly connected to Jason and so marked him as one of hers. That way, it also works as being independent from the All Caste while explaining away how he keeps coming back. To me, Superboy Prime's punch didn't directly bring him back, but it created enough leway for Death to be able to revive him.

2) I actually really like this headcanon. Being completely free of evil is impossible due to human nature, so it's always more of a spectrum than a binary system. It would be triggered heavily around people like the flashes due to the deaths they caused by fucking with the timestream (ie flashpoint), or members of the JLD, specifically Jason Blood, Constantine, and Raven. You could have him battle that instead of pit madness. Also a bonus, if you like JJ!Tim and the fanonised version of the attack on TT, you can have it so Jason attacks Tim because he's the next potential candidate for the joker, so that's what triggers Jason into beating him. Him being JJ in other universes sort of stains his aura so to speak.

3) Jason has canonically punched a hole in the hull of a submarine that's under water. This definitely has merit. In my mind, since Jason pulls out his soul, Cass and Shiva can't read him because his body isn't thinking. It's acting. It's kind of like Richard Dragon's ability. It being a short burst makes sense, but I also like it when Jason just becomes less and less human over time. He starts looking like Essence; pure white pale skin, black eyes, and whispy white hair. It starts as a short burst, but over time, he can maintain that form for longer until, eventually, decades later, he's just always like that. Also the slower heart rate is such an interesting idea. Sometimes he forgets to breathe, or goes weeks without eating, and he doesn't realise it because his body is, as you aptly described it, fucky whucky.

If you have any more headcanons please send them my way, these were really fucking good.

[celestiallystella]

(bit of a late) Sky x GN!Reader Valentine's Special

honestly u guys? this is self indulgent (i love my bby sky)

anywho, youre with the chain in this, you and sky are in the beginnings of an established relationship. There's an abundance of soft kisses from sky, pinky promise, he loves you sm in this

youre all in legends hyrule, theres a royal ball youve gotta attend (a classic, really) theres a lead up, implications, and a fade to black at the end but no direct nsfw! also the classic but seldom portrayed awkward first time conversation of consent

i will also say, its kinda hard to write a perfectly gn dance sequence with how abssooolutely gendered the stances or wtvr are, but i tried by being as vague as possible and having sky and you be silly </3

story below the cut and, as always, enjoy!

Sky watched as you tapped your fingers against the table you were sitting at. Your relationship was still fairly new, all things considered, and neither of you had really done anything romantic since getting together besides a few stolen kisses and giggles here and there.

It was hard, the two of you had come to realize, when there's eight other boys-slash-men running around at all times.

Still, he felt a bit nervous as he watched you. It was unreasonable, he knew that, and he knew he had every right to ask you to go dance as your boyfriend, but he.. well, he was scared to.

You looked so nice tonight - of course, you always did in his eyes, but you were all dressed up tonight. You had to be, and Sky knows that, he really does, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make him all flustered. You were just... ah, well, the rest of the chain had heard him wax poetic enough to know how amazingly Sky thinks of you.

He walked over and doesn't let himself hesitate beyond a small stutter of his hand as he places it on your further shoulder, ducking his head to kiss the top of your head. He sits beside you for now, hand falling away and finding your hand to link your fingers.

Even that got him a bit red in the cheeks.

"Enjoying yourself?" You ask him, and he hums quietly.

"I'd prefer to stay here by you." He admits, half truthfully. He really wants to dance with you, his horrid abilities forgotten. Sue him, Sky really wanted to have his hands on your waist. It'd be nice to have even that small intimacy.

You squeeze his hand slightly and lean against him idly. It makes him smile more. The two of you had fallen asleep countless times leaned against one another just like this, even before you were official. It was simple and nice. Sky's always liked it.

"Mmhm," You hum in agreement, and Sky can't resist the urge to turn his head and shift to press a kiss to the tip of your ear, which promptly twitches and turns a cute pink color, much to his quiet enjoyment.

"Would you like to dance next song?" Sky asks, as neutral as he can manage, though he's never been the best at hiding his emotions, so he's sure some of his hope peaks through.

You nod, "Yeah, 'course," You say easily, as if that was a given. Sky lets out a sigh of relief, and then feels you sit up properly to look at him with amusement.

"Why do you seem so relieved by that? Did you think I'd say no?"

Sky feels his face warm a bit, and he gives you a sheepish smile, which tells you everything you need to know.

You laugh softly, and pat his cheek gently. He catches your wrist and turns his head so he can press a kiss right to the center of your palm. He loves that he's able to just kiss you now. It's one of the best things ever in his opinion.

Your cheeks flush lightly, and he speaks before you do, "I've seen you turn down everyone else who's asked." He defends, rather weakly since he knows damn well that unless it was one of the chain or him you'd have declined no matter what, but the point, as weak as it is, stands.

"Well they weren't you, were they?" You tease him a bit, and his smile brightens as you lean in and kiss his nose. Easily the best thing was the fact that you gave him kisses, his own kissing habits came second to that.

He stands up, squeezing your hand, "Well, shall we?" He asks, and you nod, letting him guide you into a dance.

The one thing Sky hadn't factored in, was the prolonged eye contact. His cheeks are flushed a bit, he's sure, but he doesn't even bother blinking if he can help it.

To you he's looking at you so softly, eyelids dropped a tiny bit and a small smile on his lips. He looks like a very kissable man, and so you do just that.

He smiles into it, kissing you back as his smile widens and you promptly laugh against his lips.

Sky pulls out of the kiss and twirls you, and then it kind of devolves from there. The two of you take turns spinning one another until it becomes a game of seeing who will get too dizzy to continue first.

The answer is him, as it turns out, which he's fine with since it means you help him back over to sit down. It wasn't exactly what Sky had in mind when he said he wanted to dance with you, but he'd have it no other way.

The two of you sat together for the rest of the ball, and Sky's hand finds it's way to being interlocked with yours again, held in your lap as he leans against you lazily.

Fable sees the two of you eventually, and she gives you two a slightly amused look. Sky gives her a small smile back. Ever since learning that Legend and her were brother and sister, it's been easier, more comfortable, to interact with the Zelda.

She gives Sky a vague shooing gesture, eyeing the door.

Sky sat up properly, raising an eyebrow in quiet inquiry.

Fable nods, and Sky gives her a bright smile as thanks before kissing your cheek and hauling the two of you up.

"C'mon," He says, "Fable just gave us the go ahead." Sky says, near excitedly.

You huff out a laugh and let him guide you out of the ballroom. He hesitates for a moment. The Chain, plus you, had all gotten here and were promptly wrapped into this ball with no time to stop anywhere, so...

Mind made up, Sky leads you outside. He'd been to Legend's Hyrule enough times to know where an inn was, and so he takes you there. He doesn't even really pay much attention to the innkeeper he gets the two of you a room from, much too occupied with the fact that since they hadn't stopped ahead of time, Time couldn't give Sky and you that knowing, slightly disappointed but amused face when you asked to room together that would inevitably make the two of you not room together, and...

Well. Sky was getting you all to himself tonight and no knowing looks were going to be stopping him (only a direct no from you would, at this point.)

He still has your hand in his as he opens the door and then haphazardly takes stock of the room before tossing the key onto the nightstand.

Sky turns back to you, and you look a bit flustered as well. His hands stutter, clenching and unclenching nervously, before he cups your face and peppers his favorite thing in feather light kisses.

It makes you laugh and lean into his touch, which relaxes him a bit more. Sky kisses you gently, a bit more hesitantly than earlier - you both know damn well what Sky wants, and what you hopefully want to, though he'll be sure to check, so there's a bit of shyness involved.

You smile into the kiss and Sky absolutely melts. He's so gone for you, he can't even believe you're real sometimes. You're so nice to him, and you're so strong in so many different ways, and just..

Sky sighs happily into the kiss before the two of you start making out properly. He's just very in love with you, even if the two of you haven't said anything of the sort yet.

He moves backwards until he's able to sit on the edge of the bed and drag you down onto him. This is nice too, he decides as he pulls away.

Sky's kind of clueless on what to do here, but he knows better than to do anything you don't want. You're seem just as shy about this as him, which is oddly reassuring.

He kisses along your jaw, "I'm.. um.." He starts, hesitant and not really sure where to take his words or how to express his wants. He needs to in order to be comfortable taking this anywhere, but he just..

He swallows thickly, and Sky kisses the skin of your cheek, right where your ear connects. You're wearing the pair he got you, and it makes him smile a bit.

"I want to... um.. you know." He continues awkwardly, and you look just as awkward as him, face all red.

"...Yeah, no, me too." You agree.

Sky narrows his eyes a bit. He just.. really wants to make sure you guys are on the same page here, because he'd really hate to make this fall apart.

"Sex...?" He asks hesitantly, cheeks flushed.

You look amused and then laugh, shoulders shaking as you duck down to hide your face against his neck. Sky can't help it, he laughs softly as well, shoulders relaxing.

"Yes, Sky," You confirm, a smile on your lips as you speak against his neck, a small shiver running through him at the sensation. You kiss his neck, and he softens, "Sex," You agree, voice amused, as you pull your pinkened face away from his neck to kiss him again.

my favorite thing ever is when characters in fan portrayals are virgins but have also been properly educated on consent and the importance of it, though i rarely ever see it.

again, very self indulgent you guys, i think sky is so silly <3

i wrote most of this before valentines day, and was meant to post it on valentines day, but your girl lowk forgot so rip

hope you enjoyed it! <3

[kumasakka]

idk if you guys are accepting rqs but ive been following since yall started so might as well shoot my shot 😹🤫

i am in desperate need of sugishita (windbre) x reader so may i request general dating hcs for a sugi x gn!reader who comes off as standoffish/cold but is really chatty when getting to know them??

THE PERSONALITY IS SELF INDULGENT BUT LIFES TOO SHORT and i wanna keep it vague sorry im rambling im nervous but thank you if you do!!! 💖💖

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐃 ! ❞

⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. s.kyotaro x reader .

⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. general dating headcanon with our underrated favorite character, sugishita kyotaro <3 boy deserves much more love guys .

⋆.˚ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. ~0.99k . IT'S A LOT .

⋆.˚ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. fluff. lots of fluff I think. gn!reader. It's my first time writing headcanons and gender neutral reader ( gender doesn't get mentioned though ). but I tried my best, anon. expect to be a little disappointed. still hoping you'll enjoy this though !! spoiler - free. <3

　୨୧ How did you two meet? Well, good question.

　୨୧ But I imagine you both definitely met through Umemiya. Like there aren't any reasons why you two should talk to each other. You're a student from another high school of course, not in Furin like Sugishita and Umemiya is. How you met umemiya is a different story.

　୨୧ Umemiya needs to do a lot so the two of you can get more comfortable with each other as if he was the bridge between two quiet cities, he does it unconsciously although. If he wasn't there, you'd probably stare at each other before returning to your own matters. You seemed like a cold person in Sugishita's eyes and Sugishita seemed like he would easily burst when not around Umemiya.

　୨୧ At first you thought he was rather hostile towards you, not really fond with the idea of someone other next to Umemiya, someone who's not even from Furin. And whenever he parted his lips to tell to you something, you thought he would threaten you in some way so you'd leave his precious Umemiya alone. He of course noticed your wariness, deciding to leave you alone so you wouldn't feel more uncomfortable next to him.

　୨୧ Seems like you misunderstood his actions though, since the reason behind his actions was once again Umemiya. Only because Umemiya mentioned it would be nice if you two understood each other. Yeah now you felt bad.

　୨୧ After learning this fact, you decided you should take the first step and apologizing for the misunderstanding. Sugishita accepted and took the opportunity to get to know you better.

　୨୧ To be honest, the first few interactions were quite awkward as you both watered Umemiya's plants, not knowing how to start a conversation or have a small talk. And damn, small talks are weird—weird awkward. But after some time, you got more and more comfortable, starting to converse with him about random things and enjoying to yap about the last few days.

　୨୧ Sugishita remains quiet while listening to your rambles and even caring enough to reply your questions or suggestions. Ah, the cold persona faded and it turns out you were a real chatty person who could smile a lot around people you feel comfortable with. Even if he doesn't admit it, he feels a bit honored to be a person you can get comfortable with.

　୨୧ Yeah one day you started dating which surprised the most. You don't seem to fit each other and your personalities didn't match. Oh how wrong they were...

　୨୧ I would imagine that he takes the chance to pick you up from school from time to time while patrolling the town, also walking behind of the rest of the group so you both are alone and have your own peace, not noticing how the others always glance back to you with a curious gleam in their eyes.

　୨୧ Well, you either hang out on the rooftop of Furin, at yours or walk through the town. I promise you, even if you both walk pass a street hundreds of times, you both just don't care, still enjoying every bit and savoring every second.

　୨୧ Surprisingly, he also spends less time with Umemiya than before, rather using his free time to spend it with you and to listen to your daily rambles. Wow Umemiya did the work of an Angel and he is proud that the relationship works out for both of you, god he's so happy for you two.

　୨୧ Except him to beat the shit out of anyone who has ill intentions towards you, who glares at you, who speaks shit about you— the list goes on and on. Don't be surprised if he goes away for a sec, just to return with some bruises ( if that person managed to land a hit on him, that is ).

　୨୧ Loves, loves, loves, LOVES when you patch him up after a fight and when you fuss about him. It just shows how much you care about him. And he is silently savoring every second of it, also using this to get your affections and comfort. He is not a baby. But he secretly is ( only a bit though ). If you tell someone about this side of his other than Umemiya, expect him to be not fond of getting patched up by you anymore ( he still loves it ). He's just a bit sad that you "betrayed" him. It was supposed to his peace between you two. So please don't tell anyone. Please.

　୨୧ Imagine you get hurt infront of him. Yeah now the hell breaks out and his inner demon is showing. The dude who hurt you probably sleeps in the hospital for some weeks.

　୨୧ He would inwardly blame himself for getting you into his shit while staying by your side the whole time. If the accident was really bad that you're also in the hospital, he would ask Umemiya to skip school so he can stay beside you and Umemiya, knowing the kind of guy he is, allowed him to. At this point, he would quietly follow you everywhere around, making other patients wonder. If you need to pee, he would stand infront of the door of course.

　୨୧ Sugishita even spends two third of his time with you, not making the same mistake again and protects you from any danger. You know how proud he would if you can fight? You're so badass, is his only thought. Well there are a lot of other praises in his mind.

　୨୧ Girl, if you ever worry that he doesn't love you, because he doesn't show much affection, worry not. If there are times he puts you over Umemiya, be assured. And if he puts you over Umemiya all the time, you shouldn't even dare to worry. He even cares to listen to your stories and remembers what your favorite things are.

　୨୧ On your birthday, there will be a basket of your favorite things in his hand. Cause he LOVES you.

© 2024 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

a/n's note — I HOPE HE ISN'T TOO OOC. by the way don't worry about rambling in your request <3 I'd love to listen.

[akutasoda]

me again sorry to interrupt ^0^

may I request a sort of part 2 for lynette!reader? like reader begins to open up more, be more expressive and maybe even indulge in their cat traits a lot more! (lynette is half-cat)

living in an environment like that and being mistreated would really ruin someones psyche and it would be hard to break out of that shell, lynette in genshin is thankfully doing well now, so I would like to see that with the reader too!

with moze, jing yuan,dan heng and blade please :3

saving trajectories [part 2]

synopsis - how are they with a lynette!reader?

includes - dan heng, blade, jing yuan, moze

warnings - gn!teen!reader, slight angst, comfort, fluff, wc - 903

a/n : your not interrupting at all ^^

dan heng ★↷

↪even if you opened up to him first, it took a while to get to that point and so it would take even longer to get to a point of full trust with just dan heng - the rest of the express would take even longer but nobody minded. it was very much understandable as to why you were so closed off, all they could wish and hope for was that you did eventually learn to trust them.

↪when dan heng first saw more emotions peeking out from behind your neutral facade, he was overjoyed, not that anyone could tell. he knew that you were on the right track and so he became determined to keep you on that right path and hopefully more progress could be made.

↪he would go out of his way to research anything you took interest in or brought up. that way, he could help you find some things to enjoy with you and therefore help build up that bond of trust - especially if it was more tailored to your cat-like origins as being allowed to be yourself was certainly important to help you recover.

↪he knew it would be a long road for your recovery, one that would certainly come with ups and downs. but that was perfectly okay as he would always be there for you, all he wanted was to help you break out of that shell. however long it took.

blade ★↷

↪it was no shock that blade wasn’t a good comforter. so it surprised pretty much all of them that you kept going to him during your adjustment. he wasn't exactly the most welcoming either. but he didn't mind, if it helped you then he wouldn’t push you away.

↪he was definitely more of a listener but that can do the world. so when you began opening up, blade would always listen and that became quite the comfort for you just having him listen to anything you wanted to get off your chest. occasionally he would try and help you however, mainly as the more you told him, the more he wanted to help you.

↪it didn't go unnoticed by blade when you finally became more expressive. your stories became much more lively and they became more about your day now and less about your past. even with the other hunters you became more open and expressive, dealing with the more lively bunch than blade in his somberness

↪he was proud of you when you began becoming, presumably, more like your old self - before everything happened to you. embracing your cat-like side more and becoming more upbeat and open. and he'd encourage that. blade may not have been the most positive person, but he certainly could be if it helped you.

jing yuan ★↷

↪due to his rather comforting way about him, you found breaking your way out of your shell rather quickly. of course it still took time but jing yuan was patient. he couldn't understand what you had been through but he had a decent grasp of how to help you.

↪mimi was also a great help to you. mimi was a great comfort whenever you needed it and jing yuan noticed the immediate connection between you two which he thought was sweet - he could even be confident in saying mimi preferred you over him.

↪jing yuan would always go out of his way to let you do anything you wanted, whatever helped you, he would throw all his effort into doing so. and he would be absolutely overjoyed when you showed signs of finally breaking out of that shell, any progress was good and he would always encourage that progress to develop into something greater.

↪ especially when you showed signs of embracing your more cat-like self, embracing your identity and not shying away from the person that you were - something that was concerning for him, if you never did, after what you had been through.

moze ★↷

↪it became quite commonly known to some that if they were to look for moze, they would just have to find you.

↪another listener more than a comforter, he isn't exactly great with his own emotions and a part of him was still confused as to why feixiao agreed to let him take care of you. but he would always make sure nothing ever happened to you again.

↪a good start was him helping you slowly break out of your shell by getting all your thoughts and feelings out by talking to him, once you trusted him enough of course. but once you did start, it wasn't long before there were noticeable changes in your behavior - becoming less closed off and more lively.

↪moze could say for certain that even after all you'd been through, you were faring much better than he ever did, and he was determined to ensure you broke out of that shell. that you would live a normal life after everything.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[inonibird]

Sahuldeem Spin-off Snippet #1

Hey, did you know that writing has been extremely hard so far this year? Or doing anything creative at all, for that matter? But did you also know that for a while I’ve been noodling around with—get this—FOUR different story ideas that are adjacent to my Sahuldeem series?? And that, in lieu of posting something new that I've written, I figured I could share a snippet from one of these unfinished spin-off stories because it's Valentine's Day and I WANT TO??? This nameless work can best be described as: "An alternate timeline where Ronderu travels back to the day she died…and doesn’t." It is pure alternate universe frippery; self-indulgent, for-the-ancestors'-sake-give-them-a-happy-life goodness. The description in the actual word doc is: "Ronderu reality warping fix-it shit". This isn't how it starts, but it's quite near the beginning. Enjoy~

— — —

Ronderu landed in something cold, felt her feet slip and stumble, and plunged face-first into saltwater.

Spluttering and thrashing, she found she had not fallen far, nor could she have—she’d sprawled in the churning, knee-deep surf of the Jenuwaa, and though the waves rocked her about in a seemingly conscious effort to force her prone, her palms and knees found sand and gravel and managed to ground her. She still fought to haul her head and sopping hair above the surface, struggling to take in the sight of the beach that stretched before her.

The sea. The surf. The beach.

It all began to rush back with nauseating clarity, churning her stomach and souring her throat with bile. A vise closed over her chest and squeezed, a painful premonition…or rather, she recognized, a horrific, impossible memory. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

But then the pressure around her chest shifted in quality. They were arms, wrapping around her torso and pulling her up out of the frothing surf, up into a supportive grasp and the slight yield of organic leathers.

“Íb-ku huul!” a voice shouted in her ear. “First you yell at me about currents, then you fall in yourself?”

Dizzy, limp-limbed, she twisted her neck and turned to stare up at him.

Sheelal.

Whole again. Masked and magnificent in his clan cloak. The spark of youth and hope in his golden eyes. Nothing broken in his mind, body or soul. This was Sheelal as she had loved him. 

This was Sheelal as she had left him.

She opened her mouth to speak but spat brine, instead. It occurred to her that her body wasn’t quite working properly—as if her spirit was not yet in sync with her flesh, her arms too heavy and numb, legs too unsteady and weak, jaw loose, vision tunneling, spine shivering as she struggled to be.

She didn't remember living ever having been so painful.

It must have been a concerning sight to witness, because Sheelal’s eyes widened behind his kakmusme and his arms tightened. “Ronderu?” he demanded, and his voice—no longer grating and distorted by technology, no longer steeped in decades of exhausting hatred—pitched up in panic. “What’s wrong? Hey! Are you okay?!”

Despite everything, Ronderu knew she couldn’t delay their forces’ assault on the beach without jeopardizing all she had come to correct. Internalizing her screams of frustration, she fought her own traitorous body until her hands balled into fists and her lips wrapped themselves around her teeth in the proper configuration. “M’fine,” she managed to slur. “Jus—jus’slip. Slipped. Beach. Get me to the beach.”

Dutiful to a fault, he shifted his grip and scooped her up into his arms, resolved to carry her to the shore. She almost let loose a burst of inappropriate laughter when he staggered under her weight; this was not the mumuu-built man he had grown into, but the lean, still rather scrawny Sheelal who had almost died from a ravaging bout of wet lung barely two years earlier. She loved every straining, determined inch of him, ear pressed to his hammering heart as he clutched her to his chest and forged through the knee-high waves, fighting against the drag of his water-logged cloak.

“Gods, I love you,” she found herself mumbling as his knees wobbled and dropped both of them to the damp sand. She felt his hands fumbling with and removing her kakmusme before his warmth briefly left her side as he climbed to his feet. He was shouting orders—delegating, so he could focus on what was important. Me, she realized when his hands returned, cradling her cheeks and sweeping through her wild hair, gentle but firm ministrations as he tried to revive her from he he surely presumed to be a dizzy spell. I’m more important to him than this war.

“—don’t know what’s wrong, if you’re sick or if something stung you, but I need you to try and get up. If you can’t fight we can’t have you here on the beach—maybe one of the others can try to land and pick you up, but I-I don’t think I can carry you somewhere safe, I don’t even know where you could be safe, we’re too close to the colony—”

He’s talking too fast, she thought a second before a wheeze interrupted his racing words and dredged up a few breathless coughs. Feeling a little more in control of herself, she pressed her palms into the sand and heaved her body upright with a grunt of effort. “I…I’m fine,” she shakily assured him. She gripped his shoulder with one hand, seeking balance as much as confirming his solid presence. “Sorry to scare you. I’m fine, I can fight. Deep breaths, Sheelal.”

He obeyed, relief oozing from his sagging shoulders. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked anxiously. “You still look pale.”

Ronderu allowed impulse to guide her, and she wanted nothing more than to embrace him. So, pushing back his kakmusme to expose his worried face—Ancestors above, he looked so young—she leaned her forehead into his and drew in a deep, almost delirious lungful of his kuu-lir.

It was him. It was really him.

She’d clawed her way through space and time to see him again, to bring him back to his best self, the self he deserved to be above all else, and the sheer rapture of feeling him threatened to overwhelm her with less-pleasant sensations.

“Ya igni, after all the grief you’ve given me, don’t you dare throw up in my face.”

She finally laughed, too giddy. “I-I won’t. Promise.”

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Top Shelf Love: Prologue

A/N: So, if you know me, you know that I love hockey. But if there's one thing I don't love, it's hockey romances because they are always so inaccurate that it's take you out of the story SO QUICK! Like what do you mean the captain of this NCAA D1 team is undrafted? What do you mean she magically has access to an NHL locker-room in the middle of a game? So this is my response to that! A super self-indulgent Nessian Hockey AU. For additional hockey context: Cassian is a defenseman for the NY Rangers; Rhys is a center for the Montreal Canadiens; Az is a winger for the Nashville Predators; and Lucien is a winger for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Anyways! Hope everyone enjoys this prologue and this absolute meet-ugly! Happy final day of @nestaarcheronweek

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Next Part

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, tilting her head back against the leather of the seat. Almost instantly, she scrunches her nose, the stale scent of cigarettes, of sweat and previous occupants, flooding her senses. Eager for a distraction, she peers out the window instead. The skyscrapers loom like shadowed giants on either side of the road, a cascade of colorful lights spilling from their windows and reflecting off the wet roads, the puddles from the earlier rain. Throngs of bodies move along the sidewalks, neither the late hour or the dark clouds still clinging above deterring them clearly.

The city that never sleeps indeed.

The cab jerks to a stop along the curb, the driver not even bothering to turn around and say anything to her, merely tapping the fare display. With a roll of her eyes, Nesta fishes her wallet out of her purse to pay before finally slipping out of the cab. At least the driver pulls her suitcase from the trunk, setting it on the sidewalk beside her.

“Nesta! You finally made it!”

It takes everything within Nesta to swallow back down another sigh, takes all her willpower to force at least a hint of a smile to tug across her face. She can feel her earlier annoyance still simmering just beneath her skin, can still feel the exhaustion weighing down her bones. She’d give anything to be back in her own bed right now, anything to slip beneath her pile of blankets and curl up with a good book, but she’s here for Feyre, here to celebrate her baby sister.

So Nesta rolls her shoulders and plasters on an even wider smile before she turns around. But she should have known better, should have known that despite the physical distance between them, there’s no fooling her sisters. From the way Feyre raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching up in the barest hint of an unimpressed smirk, it’s clear she sees straight through Nesta.

“Sorry,” Nesta winces, her shoulders drooping already. “Journey from hell.”

“Sounds like you need a drink,” Elain offers with an easy smile, stepping forward and taking the handle of Nesta’s suitcase.

“Or five,” Feyre adds with a chuckle.

Nesta rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t exactly disagree. A stiff drink definitely sounds appealing after the nightmare of the day she’s had.

“I saw online that a lot of flights were just straight canceled, so I think you’re lucky to have made it at all,” Elain comments, leading the way along the sidewalk.

“I don’t know that I’d call a six hour delay lucky,” Nesta grumbles, practically shuddering at the memory of being stuck sitting and waiting in an airport for so long.

Nesta follows her sisters inside the building, but they take the elevator down, rather than up, Elain leading the way toward a black SUV. She tells her sisters more about the horrible journey as they walk. About the surprisingly long line at security. About the storms in the midwest and the delays and havoc they wreaked on all flights. About the child that seemed determined to scream for the entire five hour flight.

Once Nesta’s bags are securely locked away in Elain’s car, they return to the elevator and take it all the way up to the eighteenth floor, the doors opening with a soft ding. There’s no stopping the way Nesta’s jaw slackens as she takes it all in. A large centerpiece extends from the floor and fans out into the ceiling, the lights embedded within it casting the entire bar and its occupants in glittering golds. Live music seems to be coming from somewhere, twining and molding with the laughter, the conversations, filling the space.

But it’s the windows that really draw Nesta’s attention. Floor to ceiling windows seem to line every wall, offering a truly panoramic view of all of New York City and the Hudson. It’s a picture perfect view of the twinkling lights and night sky through the rain droplets still clinging to the panes.

“Wow,” Nesta breathes, taking it all in. “This place is definitely nicer than I was expecting.”

“If you think this is nice, you should see their venue.”

It takes a few moments for Elain’s words to register, but then Nesta is snapping her head toward Feyre. “You have a venue already? Does that mean you’ve picked a date?”

“Yes,” Feyre answers, unable to bite back her grin. “Next summer. July specifically, after Rhys’s season has ended.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit optimistic to think he’ll still be playing through June?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaims, reaching out to smack the middle Archeron in the arm. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“What?” Elain shrugs innocently. “It’s true. I mean what’s their current record again?”

“Because the Leafs do so well when they choke every year?”

“At least they make the playoffs.”

Nesta snorts softly at her sisters’ bickering. “Since when did you become a sports fan anyways, Elain?”

“I guess Lucien’s been filling her with more than just his dick.”

“Feyre!” Elain squeaks out, her cheeks flooding with a blush.

“Darling,” a deep voice practically purrs, interrupting them. “There you are. I was wondering where my beautiful fiancée got off to.”

“Rhys, this is my oldest sister, Nesta,” Feyre offers, sidling up against Rhys’s side, her fiancé’s arm settling over her shoulders with comfortable ease.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” Rhys greets, holding up the glass in his free hand in a mock cheers. The gesture is a bit sloppy, some of the amber liquid in the glass sloshing over the rim and spilling across his fingers, and Nesta realizes there’s a haze to his violet eyes.

“It’s an open bar,” Feyre mouths, clearly reading Nesta’s expression.

“You don’t have a drink in your hand,” Rhys suddenly says, as though he’s only just realized. “We need to fix that immediately.”

Rhys turns on his heel, pushing his way through the various guests gathered to celebrate him and Feyre without a care. Nesta rolls her eyes, but Feyre has a wide, soft smile on her face as she watches him go, eyes practically sparking with fondness. It’s clear this is the man that makes her youngest sister happy, so she can’t fault him too much.

“He’s right, you know. You do need a drink still,” Feyre says, looping her arm through Nesta’s.

Feyre leads the way toward the bar built around the large centerpiece. She leans over and gets the attention of one of the bartenders with ease, ordering what she tells Nesta is the couple's signature cocktail. It seems to be some sort of margarita, a deep blue in color with edible glitter that looks almost like stars swirling through the liquid.

“So…” Feyre starts, taking a sip of her own drink.

“So…?” Nesta echoes, although she has a strong suspicion she already knows where this conversation is going. She knows that expression on her sister’s face all too well.

“Rhys’s brothers are here tonight.”

“And you need to stop being such a busybody.”

Feyre sighs, turning so her hip leans against the bar, facing Nesta fully. “Why? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just ask Elain…” Feyre looks over her shoulder, but frowns, turning in a full circle with her eyebrows pinched low. “Wait. Where did Elain go?”

“She and Lucien probably found some dark corner to fuck like the bunnies they are,” Nesta answers dryly. It’s certainly the trend with those two, vanishing for a few hours before appearing again with slightly mussed clothes and hair, pink often clinging to the apples of Elain’s cheeks and a wide, shit eating grin plastered across Lucien’s face.

“That just proves my point! At least tell me you stalked his Instagram or something.”

“Emerie and Gwyn did.”

Her best friends had been trying to convince her to get back out there for a month now. Even with how much time has passed since everything happened, it still feels strange. Of course, that hasn’t stopped Emerie from dragging her out to bars for trivia nights and karaoke as if they’re the best places to meet someone new. It hasn’t stopped Gwyn from trying to tempt her to start a dating profile on at least one of the plethora of app options.

It hasn’t stopped either of them from hyping her up after they spent so long helping Nesta to piece together the shattered fragments of herself, of her life, back together. It’s why Nesta loves them, why she doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

But when Feyre had suggested setting Nesta up with Rhys’s adopted brother, practically raving over the phone about what a good fit the two of them would be together, it had been like blood in the water for Emerie and Gwyn. Nesta had barely hung up with her sister by the time Gwyn had tracked down his social medias and had them displayed on the television ‘for the best viewing experience.’

Cassian Valdarez.

Any other emotions aside, Nesta can admit he’s attractive, that much was clear from the photos and videos on his Instagram. With his dark, curly hair tumbling down to his shoulders, his bright hazel eyes. He had been grinning widely in most of the photos, golden skin of his cheeks stretched and crinkles popping beside his eyes. But even the one where his lips were tugged up in a lopsided, cocksure smirk had Nesta staring.

Nesta had done a lot of staring.

Staring at the photo of him in sunglasses and shirtless, lounging casually on some sort of boat, wide shoulders and swirling lines of ink on full display. The photo of him in a locker room, dressed only from the waist down, showing off the tantalizing lines of his abs, his v-lines. The Reel of him working out, chest heaving and skin glistening, biceps bulging with every lift of the weights. The reel of him stick handling with just gloves, in a tank and shorts, the muscles and veins of his forearms working with each flick of his wrist.

“Okay, and?” Feyre’s voice draws Nesta back to the present.

“And what?”

“And what did Gwyn and Emerie think?”

Nesta sighs softly, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I mean, they said I should go for it.”

“Ha!” Feyre exclaims, loud enough to draw the attention of a few others up at the bar. “See? I’m right. A perfect match.”

“Feyre, don’t you think—”

“Feyre, darling, I keep losing you.” Rhys slips into the space behind Feyre, wrapping an arm around her waist. He dips his head enough to press his lips to her neck before raising his gaze to peer at Nesta over Feyre’s shoulder. “Sorry. Do you mind if I steal my fiancée away for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Nesta assures him, but it’s Feyre’s gaze she meets. “I’ll be fine.”

Feyre and Rhys vanish into the crowds hand and hand, and Nesta settles at the bar, sipping her drink. Her eyes flit around, but she truly doesn’t know anyone here outside of her sisters. And despite her earlier words to Feyre, all the people, all the sounds and the lights, are starting to grate against her nerves, prickling and dragging along her skin like nails. Even downing the remains of her drink doesn’t seem to help, the alcohol only weighing heavy in her gut.

Leaving her now empty glass on the bartop, Nesta spins on her heel and stalks toward one of the walls of windows. She glances around at the different tables set up, the booths that line the windows and offer the perfect seats for the views beyond. Maybe she can find a dark corner to hide in for a few hours, or maybe, if she’s lucky, Elain and Lucien will decide they want to leave early to continue whatever they’ve started in an actual bed.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

The deep voice has a shiver skittering up Nesta’s spine, warm breath fanning across her ear. She spins around and comes face to face with a pair of hazel eyes, a cocksure smirk she’s only seen in photo-form before. Cassian Valdarez, in the flesh. He doesn’t even bother for subtly as his gaze rakes over her, and Nesta has to swallow hard as she tracks the way he licks his lips.

“And what if I wasn’t?” Nesta dares to ask, raising her chin.

Cassian chuckles, stepping closer into her space. “I think we both know you were looking for me. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Cassian’s hand reaches up in the space between them, snagging one of the stray strands of Nesta’s hair and twisting it around his fingers. Those same fingers skate down her neck, across her collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His touch traces over her shoulder and down her arm before finally closing around her wrist, Nesta’s breath hitching at the warm of his hand, the size of it, and she can do nothing but follow along as he tugs her toward one of the booths by the windows.

He lets go long enough to fall back against the cushions, for Nesta to settle beside him, but then his hands are right back on her. This time, his palm slides against the skin above her knee, fingers teasing along the hem of her dress. His other arm stretches along the back of the booth, all but curling around her shoulders as he leans into her.

“You look gorgeous in this dress, you know.”

“But let me guess, it would look better on your bedroom floor?”

“You said it, not me, but I don’t disagree.”

Nesta snorts quietly, tempted to tell him that it was wrinkled when she yanked it out of her suitcase before she awkwardly changed into it in the airport bathroom. But she never gets the chance to. Cassian lifts his hand until his fingers curl around her jaw, tilting her chin up enough that he can slot their lips firmly together.

The kiss takes Nesta by surprise, but it doesn’t take her long to respond. She moves her lips against his, Cassian’s grip on her chin holding her exactly where he wants her. When his tongue slips into her mouth, she moans softly, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt to keep herself steady and to keep him close.

Cassian pulls back just enough that he can murmur, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Right now?” Nesta blurts out before she can stop herself. She’s certainly not opposed to the idea, but with tonight being the first time they’re meeting, she thought he might want to get to know her more first. What exactly did Feyre tell him about her?

“You know what they say. No time like the present.”

“I should probably tell my sister I’m leaving then.”

Cassian’s eyes seem to glint, even beneath the low light of the bar. “Is your sister here? Does she want to join?”

Nesta is sure that she must have misheard him. “What?”

“It could be fun. Two sisters, one hockey player,” Cassian says easily, even daring to wink at her. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Nesta can do nothing but gape at him, her mind reeling with this turn in conversation, but then it hits her like a ton of bricks. “You don’t know who I am.”

Cassian chuckles again, that cocksure smirk of his never slipping for a moment. “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“Do you even know my name?” Nesta snaps, pulling further away from him.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, sweetheart. All that really matters is you knowing my name so you can scream it tonight.”

“You didn’t even want to ask for it before you kissed me? You don’t even want to ask for it now?”

“Look. We both know what you came here for, what you puck bunnies are always looking for, and trust me, sweetheart. I am more than happy to give it,” Cassian offers, the way his eyes dance over her frame again nothing short of a leer. It stokes the anger flaring in Nesta’s veins higher, until it burns bright and hot.

“Wow,” Nesta scoffs, pushing up to her feet. “Fuck you.”

Nesta doesn’t even wait to hear whatever sputtering response he might give before she turns on her heel and stalks away from Cassian, pushing through bodies to put as much distance between them as she can. She’s never felt more stupid, can’t believe that she allowed Feyre to convince her that Cassian was some great guy, that the two of them would be some perfect match.

She can’t believe that she had started to believe her sister’s words, that that damned hope had started to bloom and put down roots in the gaps between her ribs.

Because of course. Of course, Cassian is just like every other guy, only thinking with the head between his legs without a single care for what happens once the sun rises. He’s exactly what Nesta expects from a professional athlete, cocky and sure of himself, expecting every girl to fall at his feet ready to worship him and suck his dick.

She finds Elain and Lucien in one of the other booths near the opposite side of windows. Elain has her legs draped across Lucien’s lap, giggling around the straw of her drink. Lucien seems to be smirking through whatever story he’s telling, his arm stretched across the back of the booth, fingers toying aimlessly with the soft brown curls of Elain’s hair.

“Can we go?” Nesta interrupts, looking between the two.

Elain blinks a few times, but then she starts nodding her head. “Of course. You’ve already had such a long day.”

Elain pushes up and to her feet, wobbling just slightly in her heels, but Lucien is there right behind her, his hands spanning across her waist to steady her. She smiles over her shoulder up at him before turning her attention to her purse, rooting around with a frown.

“Wait. Where are the keys?”

“I have them, my love,” Lucien answers, holding up the keys dangling from his fingers. He turns his attention to Nesta, offering her a wink. “Don’t worry. She’s not driving.”

Lucien slides his hand into Elain’s, leading all three of them through the party and back toward the elevators. Nesta keeps her head down as she follows behind her sister and brother-in-law, and she certainly doesn’t bother to look back. Besides, it’s not like anyone is watching her. She’s quite confident a certain hockey player has already found some other poor, unsuspecting girl to capture his attention.

And as they take the elevators all the way down to the parking garage and back to the car, she vows to herself that she’ll never think of Cassian Valdarez ever again.

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

[muiitoloko]

I swear, I live for your Eli fics. 😔💗

Title: Forbiden love

Summary: He was yours and you were undeniably his.

Pairing: Eli Michaelson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, forbidden love, self-criticism, fear, abandonment, guilt and possessiveness.

Author's Notes: I'm so happy to hear you enjoyed the story! Your feedback means a lot to me and I am grateful for your continued support. And now speaking of my portrayal of Eli Michaelson, I must confess that I may have taken some creative liberties and deviated slightly from his original character. I recognize that this departure may not be perfectly in line with how he was originally portrayed, and for that I apologize. However, I hope the story still resonates with you despite these changes. Thank you for your understanding and for allowing me the creative freedom to explore different aspects of the character.

First part here.

Eli finally broke the kiss, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back slightly, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. He gazed into your eyes, a mixture of desire and admiration reflected in his own. Despite his typically stoic demeanor, there was a hint of vulnerability in his expression as he savored the moment.

Your lips, swollen and inviting, beckoned to him, and Eli couldn't resist the urge to lean in once more, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before speaking. "My apologies, darling," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "It seems our little indulgence has caused me to neglect something rather important."

He gestured towards the back seat of the car, where a grocery bag containing a tub of ice cream sat forgotten. "It appears my ice cream is melting," he remarked, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. Your confusion only served to amuse him further as you looked at him quizzically.

"Yes, indeed," Eli confirmed with a nod. "Ice cream. A mundane necessity, but one that mustn't be overlooked." He chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine as he reached for the bag and retrieved the tub of ice cream.

And Eli, driven by his impulsive desires and fueled by the allure of the forbidden, wasted no time in taking charge of the situation. Ignoring any semblance of propriety or restraint, he declared his intentions with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

"We're going to eat ice cream in your apartment," he announced, his voice commanding and authoritative as he met your bewildered gaze with an unwavering stare. Before you could protest, your mind reeling with a mixture of guilt and confusion, Eli had already taken action, stepping out of the car with the tub of ice cream in hand.

You watched in stunned silence as he locked the car with a casual flick of his wrist, the gesture oozing with an air of entitlement that left you feeling increasingly uneasy. As he strode towards the entrance of your building, you couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation creeping into your heart.

Following in his wake, you fumbled with the key to your apartment, your mind racing with a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. This was wrong, you knew it deep down in your bones. Eli was Barkley's father, and you had no business entertaining him in your home.

But despite your reservations, you found yourself unable to resist his magnetic pull, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. As you entered your apartment, the weight of the situation settled heavily on your shoulders, a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. Despite Eli's assurances, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was all wrong, that you were crossing a line that should never be crossed.

"You know, Eli," you began, your voice trembling slightly with apprehension. "I don't think this is a good idea. You're Barkley's father, and... and we shouldn't be doing this."

To your surprise, Eli's response was not what you expected. He turned to you with a look of genuine sincerity, his usually stoic expression softened by a hint of vulnerability.

"You're right," he admitted, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I shouldn't have put you in this position. I promise you, I won't do anything you don't want. I just... I just wanted to spend some time with you. To talk, to... to eat ice cream."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you found yourself at a loss for words. Despite his flaws and his questionable behavior, there was something undeniably earnest about Eli's demeanor, something that stirred a sense of empathy within you.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly, a flicker of trust blossoming within your heart. "Okay," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Okay, let's eat ice cream."

As you retrieved two spoons from the kitchen, you couldn't help but notice the way Eli's gaze lingered on you, his eyes tracing the curves of your body with a mixture of longing and admiration. But instead of feeling uncomfortable, you found yourself strangely comforted by his presence, a sense of warmth spreading through you like a gentle embrace.

Returning to the living room, you handed Eli a spoon with a tentative smile, your fingers brushing against his in a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. He accepted the spoon with a grateful nod, his lips quirking into a small smile as he presented the tub of blueberry ice cream with a flourish.

"Blueberry ice cream," he announced with a hint of excitement, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "My favorite."

As you settled onto the couch next to him, you couldn't help but marvel at the simplicity of the moment, the way in which the tension between you seemed to dissolve in the warmth of the shared experience. Despite the complexities of your relationship and the uncertainties that lay ahead, you found solace in the simple act of enjoying ice cream together.

For Eli, the realization that he had managed to keep his promise and resist the urge to make a move on you filled him with a strange mixture of pride and confusion. It was a rare moment of introspection for a man who prided himself on his unwavering self-assurance, a glimpse into the depths of his own psyche that left him feeling strangely vulnerable.

Was he getting old, he wondered? Was this the onset of a midlife crisis, a sign that he was losing his edge and succumbing to sentimentality? Or perhaps, just perhaps, there was something more profound at play, something that defied rational explanation and defied the boundaries of his carefully constructed reality.

As he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his heart fluttered with a strange mixture of longing and uncertainty. You were a mystery to him, a tantalizing enigma that defied categorization or definition. And try as he might to resist the pull of your allure, he found himself inexorably drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

As you glanced down at your spoon, a pang of guilt washed over you. Barkley also loved blueberry ice cream, and here you were, sharing a moment with his father that should rightfully belong to him. "You know," you began, your voice tinged with remorse, "Barkley loves blueberry ice cream too."

Eli's spoon froze midway to his mouth, his expression growing solemn as he fell silent. His usually sharp gaze softened, clouded by a flicker of introspection as he processed your words. You couldn't help but wonder if he felt guilty too, if he shared your remorse over the undeniable intimacy of the moment.

But when you turned to him, seeking reassurance or understanding, Eli remained silent, his lips pressed into a thin line as he withdrew into himself. It was as if a shutter had fallen over his emotions, masking his true thoughts and feelings behind a façade of stoic indifference.

"Barkley doesn't deserve you," Eli finally muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Today only confirms that."

"It doesn't matter, Eli. I don't deserve Barkley either," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm such a... such a bitch." you put the spoon aside and brought your hands to your face, feeling like the worst human being in the world.

Eli's expression softened even further, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and concern. With a gentle touch, he removed your hands from your face, his touch surprisingly tender despite his usual aloof demeanor.

"You're not a bitch," Eli insisted, his voice firm and unwavering. "Don't ever say that about yourself." His words were like a soothing balm to your wounded soul, offering a glimmer of solace amidst the turmoil of your emotions.

But despite his reassurances, you couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of guilt and shame that threatened to consume you whole. Tears welled up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks in silent streams of remorse as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions raging within you.

Eli's hands remained a comforting presence against your face, his touch a tangible reminder of the fragile connection that bound you together in this moment of vulnerability. And as he wiped away your tears with gentle strokes of his fingers, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth stir within your heart.

"Why do you care?" you whispered hoarsely, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why do you care if I'm hurting?"

Eli's response was immediate, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with a fierce intensity that took you aback. "Because I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never felt like this before. I've never cared about anyone's well-being other than my own."

His confession hung heavy in the air between you, a stark reminder of the depths of his emotional turmoil. And as you gazed into his eyes, you couldn't help but wonder what had brought him to this moment of revelation, what had sparked this newfound sense of empathy and compassion within him.

But before you could voice your thoughts, Eli pressed a finger to your lips, silencing your protests with a gentle gesture. "Let's pretend this never happened," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll go away and leave you alone. Just... just don't cry."

You reached out to him, grasping his hand in yours with a desperate plea for reassurance. "But I don't want you to go," you confessed, your voice raw with emotion. "I don't want to be alone."

Eli's eyes softened at your words, a flicker of understanding passing between you as he gently brushed away the tears that stained your cheeks. "Then don't let me go," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "Stay with me."

But even as you clung to him, desperate for the fleeting comfort he offered, you couldn't shake the nagging sense of doubt that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.

And as you tried to protest once more, your words stumbling over your lips in a desperate attempt to convey the magnitude of the situation, Eli silenced you with a kiss. His lips crashed against yours with a fervent intensity, erasing any semblance of resistance as he poured his emotions into the passionate embrace.

Fuck wrong, he thought, his mind clouded with a tumultuous whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He had never felt like this before, never experienced such a visceral reaction to another person. Was this what being in love was about? Did he fall in love with you?

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, sending shockwaves of panic and confusion coursing through his veins. Love was a foreign concept to Eli, a weakness he had always scorned and dismissed as beneath him. And yet, here he was, grappling with the overwhelming certainty that he was utterly and irrevocably in love with you.

But even as the revelation settled like a heavy weight on his chest, Eli couldn't help but recoil from the truth. Love was a vulnerability, a weakness he couldn't afford to indulge in. It was a betrayal of everything he had ever believed in, a betrayal of the cold, calculating persona he had spent a lifetime cultivating.

Why was he hurting so much? Why did seeing you suffer make him suffer too? The questions echoed in his mind, taunting him with their relentless insistence. He had always prided himself on his emotional detachment, on his ability to remain unaffected by the pain of others. And yet, here he was, consumed by a turmoil of emotions he couldn't begin to comprehend.

As he broke the kiss, his breath ragged and uneven, Eli gazed into your eyes with a mixture of longing and anguish. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry for everything."

But before you could respond, before you could make sense of the maelstrom of emotions raging within you, Eli kissed you again, his lips hungry and demanding as he sought solace in the fleeting embrace. And in that moment, as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming tide of passion and desire, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope for the two of you yet.

But as the kiss deepened and the world fell away around you, a sense of unease lingered in the back of your mind. Eli was Barkley's father, a fact that couldn't be ignored or dismissed. And no matter how deeply you cared for him, no matter how much you longed to be with him, there were lines that should never be crossed.

As you reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, your heart heavy with guilt and uncertainty, you couldn't help but meet Eli's gaze with a mixture of fear and longing. "I can't do this," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "We can't do this."

But even as you spoke the words, a part of you knew that they were futile, that the bond between you and Eli was stronger than either of you could ever hope to resist. As he kissed your jaw, his lips tender and insistent, he murmured softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of longing and regret. "Send me away, darling," he pleaded, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me to leave, and I will go. I promise."

But you remained silent, your heart torn between conflicting desires as you struggled to make sense of the tumultuous emotions raging within you. Eli's words hung heavy in the air between you, a silent plea for absolution that went unanswered as you grappled with the weight of your own desires.

Undeterred by your lack of response, Eli continued to shower you with kisses, his lips tracing a path down your neck with a relentless determination. He leaned into you, his body pressing against yours as he urged you to lie back on the couch, his touch igniting a firestorm of need within you that threatened to consume you whole.

With each fleeting caress, each tender kiss, Eli knew that he was pushing the boundaries of propriety and decency. He was the one who had pursued you, who had chased after the forbidden fruit with reckless abandon, knowing full well the consequences of his actions.

But in that moment, as he gazed down at you with a hunger that bordered on desperation, Eli couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted you, needed you, with a ferocity that defied reason or rationale. And if it meant crossing lines that should never be crossed, he was more than willing to pay the price.

As he slid his hand up the length of your thigh, his touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your veins, Eli felt a surge of triumph swell within him. You were his, body and soul, and nothing would stand in the way of claiming you as his own.

"Send me away," he whispered once more, his voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "Tell me to leave, and I will go. But if you ask me to stay..."

"Kiss me," you interrupted him, your voice barely above a breathless murmur. "Please, Eli, kiss me."

And in that moment, as the world fell away around you and the boundaries between right and wrong blurred into obscurity, Eli's resolve crumbled like sand slipping through his fingers. With a low groan of surrender, he captured your lips in a passionate embrace, his kiss a fervent declaration of desire and longing.

As his hands roamed freely across your body, tracing the curves of your silhouette with reverent awe, Eli couldn't suppress the surge of possessiveness that coursed through him. You were his, he realized with a fierce determination that bordered on obsession. And no matter the consequences, no matter the cost, he would do whatever it took to make you his own.

For better or for worse, he was yours, and you were his. And as he kissed you with a fervent intensity that left him breathless with longing, Eli knew that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side, no matter the cost.

In that moment, as the world faded into oblivion and time stood still, Eli found himself lost in a whirlwind of emotion unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Love, desire, longing... they all merged into a single, overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume him whole.

But as he clung to you with a desperate intensity, as he poured his heart and soul into the kiss that bound them together in a tangled web of passion and desire, Eli knew one thing for certain.

He would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

Eli moaned against your mouth as you arched beneath him, your clothed core rubbing against his cock that was already straining in his pants. 'Fuck, when was I ever turned on by just one kiss?' he thought, his mind clouded with desire as he struggled to maintain control.

He looked at you, eyes dark with desire as he questioned where your bedroom was, and you chose to show rather than tell. Getting out from under him, you stood up, taking Eli with you. And Eli followed you eagerly, the ice cream forgotten on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You entered your bedroom, and Eli looked around curiously. Your bedroom was quite tidy and small, but that didn't matter at that moment. You sat on the edge of the bed to take off your heels, and Eli did the same with his own shoes, not being in a hurry to undress.

But he stopped for a moment after taking off his shoe, placing a hand on your thigh as he questioned if you had condoms. You nodded, going to get a box from the bedside table drawer, saying that you use them with Barkley. But when you mention Barkley, you feel guilty again, and Eli interrupts you.

"Don't think about Barkley now," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Just you and me, darling. Just us, here and now."

With a soft sigh, you pushed aside your doubts and fears, surrendering yourself to the overwhelming tide of passion and desire that threatened to consume you whole. And as Eli leaned in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his touch igniting a firestorm of need within you, you knew one thing for certain.

There was no turning back now.

As Eli undressed, carelessly tossing his clothes aside, you watched him with a mixture of admiration and desire. His physique was impressive, he was not a muscular man but was attractive with hair on his chest. But it was when he revealed himself completely, with his thick, throbbing length on display, that you couldn't help but gasp in amazement.

He ran his hand along his shaft, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you watched with rapt attention. It was like watching a masterpiece come to life before your very eyes, each stroke a brushstroke in the canvas of your desires.

With practiced ease, Eli rolled a condom onto himself, the latex sheathing his hardness in a barrier of protection. And as he turned to you, his eyes dark with desire, you felt a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"It's time to undress you, my darling," he murmured, his voice husky with longing. And with a tenderness that belied his usual arrogance, Eli began to strip you of your clothing, each garment falling away like the layers of an onion, revealing the treasure hidden within.

As he peeled away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him, Eli's gaze lingered on your form with an intensity that took your breath away.

"You have no idea how much I fucking dreamed about this," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "I imagined you, I touched myself thinking about you. And now, to see you here, beneath me, it's more than I ever dared to hope for."

And with that, Eli bent down, his lips trailing a path of fire across your skin as he worshipped every inch of your body with reverent devotion. When he took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking and nibbling with a hunger that left you trembling with desire, you couldn't help but moan his name, your pleasure echoing in the quiet confines of the room.

You grabbed his hair, chanting his name in a breathless whisper as Eli's lips curved into a wicked smile, relishing in the power he held over you. With deliberate slowness, he teased and tormented you with his lips and touches, each caress igniting a wildfire of desire within you.

He played you like a finely tuned instrument, his every move calculated to drive you to the brink of madness. And as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his words a symphony of seduction, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper under his spell.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low and husky with desire. "Did you dream about me? Did you think about me, even when you were with Barkley?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment at his probing questions, but you couldn't deny the truth. "Yes," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I thought about you more times than I care to admit. Sometimes, even when I shouldn't have."

Eli's smile grew even more smug at your confession, a self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Naughty girl," he purred, his tone dripping with amusement. "Thinking about me when you were with Barkley. You've been a bad, bad girl, haven't you?"

But instead of feeling ashamed, you felt a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins at his words. There was something undeniably thrilling about being caught in his web of desire, about surrendering yourself completely to his dominant will.

And as Eli continued to lavish you with kisses and touches, tormenting you until you begged for more, you found yourself unable to resist his magnetic pull any longer. "Please," you whimpered, your voice hoarse with longing. "I need you. I need to feel you inside me."

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Eli finally relented, his desire matching yours with an intensity that left you breathless. "Spread your legs for daddy," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Wrap your legs around my waist, and let me show you what you've been missing."

You couldn't help but gasp in surprise at his choice of words. "Daddy?" you questioned, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. "Is that... is that okay?"

Eli just responded nonchalantly, his smirk never faltering. "I'm used to being called that by younger women," he admitted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "But if I could choose, I prefer my title to be used: Doctor. However, I don't mind indulging you in your little fantasy."

You nodded, not bothering to respond as you eagerly wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Eli wasted no time, sliding into you with a smooth, deliberate motion, his movements fueled by raw desire.

As he leaned closer to you, his hands on the sides of your head, you couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure. "Doctor," you whispered against his ear, the word feeling strangely illicit on your tongue.

Eli shuddered at the sound of his chosen nickname, his control slipping slightly as he cursed under his breath. "Fuck, that's... that's sinful," he groaned, his voice husky with desire. "Shit, what are you doing to me?"

But instead of answering, you simply tightened your grip on him, urging him deeper with each thrust. And as he buried himself completely inside you, you couldn't help but moan his chosen name again and again, each utterance driving him to the brink of madness.

"Oh, Doctor," you whimpered, your voice filled with need. "Please... I need more."

With a feral growl, Eli complied, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate as he sought to satisfy your every desire. He continued fucking you with an intensity that bordered on savage, his every thrust hitting all the right spots with unerring precision. As he watched you beneath him, moaning and squirming in ecstasy, a smug grin spread across his lips, his narcissistic side coming to the forefront.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he buried himself deep inside you. "You like that, don't you? You like being filled up by Doctor Michaelson's big, thick cock."

Your breath hitched at his words, a shiver of pleasure coursing through you at the sheer arrogance of his tone. But even as you struggled to maintain your composure, Eli's relentless thrusts drove you ever closer to the brink of ecstasy, your body trembling with need.

With each thrust, each deep, primal growl that escaped his lips, Eli seemed to revel in his power over you, his dominant nature on full display. And as he leaned down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, his hands roaming freely across your body, you surrendered yourself completely to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatened to consume you whole.

"Harder, Eli," you whimpered, your voice barely above a desperate plea. "Fuck me harder, I need it. I need all of you."

Eli's eyes darkened with lust at your words, a feral grin spreading across his lips as he complied with your request. With renewed vigor, he pounded into you with an intensity that left you breathless, your senses reeling from the sheer force of his desire.

"You want it rough, huh?" he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance as he drove himself deeper and deeper into you. "You want me to fuck you like the dirty little slut you are?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his words, a mixture of shame and desire flooding through you at his brazen display of dominance. But even as you struggled to maintain your composure, Eli's relentless assault on your senses left you trembling with need, your body aching for release.

With each thrust, each delicious moment of agony and ecstasy, you felt yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, your orgasm building with an intensity that bordered on unbearable. And as Eli's movements became more urgent, more desperate, you knew that you were teetering on the brink of oblivion, on the verge of surrendering yourself completely to the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatened to consume you whole.

And then, finally, it happened.

With a primal roar of ecstasy, you felt your climax wash over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with pleasure as Eli continued to pound into you with an intensity that bordered on savage. And as you cried out his name in a breathless whisper, your voice lost in the throes of passion, you knew one thing for certain.

You were his, completely and utterly, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

And as you arch against him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm, Eli holds you close, his strong arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. He whispers soothing words in your ear, his voice a gentle murmur against your skin as he calms you from the storm of sensation that threatens to overwhelm you.

"You're doing so well, my little slut," he murmurs, his words a soft caress against your ear. "Just let go, give in to the pleasure. You belong to me now, completely and utterly."

With a contented sigh, you sink into his embrace, basking in the warmth of his touch as he holds you close. But even as you revel in the afterglow of your climax, a sense of anticipation lingers in the air, a hunger that refuses to be sated.

Eli turns you over, positioning you on all fours on the bed, your body trembling with excitement as you await his next move. He grips your hips firmly, his touch possessive and commanding as he positions himself behind you, his cock throbbing with anticipation.

With a low growl of desire, Eli plunges into you with a single, powerful thrust, filling you to the brim with his hardness. You gasp in pleasure, the sensation of him stretching you to your limits sending shivers of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

But Eli shows no mercy, his thrusts relentless and unforgiving as he pounds into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless with need. You grip the sheets of your bed tightly, your nails digging into the fabric as you struggle to hold on to your sanity in the face of such overwhelming pleasure.

And as Eli's balls slap against your clit with each thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, you can't help but moan like a wanton slut, your cries of ecstasy filling the room with their sweet melody.

"Yes, yes, just like that," you whimper, your voice a breathless moan of pleasure. "Fuck me, Doctor Michaelson, make me yours."

Eli's grin widens at your words, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he claims you as his own once more. He grips your ass tightly, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he pulls you closer, his desire consuming him completely.

"You're mine, all mine," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "I'll never let you go, my little slut. You belong to me, body and soul."

And with that, Eli drives into you with renewed fervor, his thrusts growing more desperate and urgent with each passing moment. And as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge of oblivion once more, you can't help but revel in the overwhelming bliss of surrendering yourself completely to his dominant will.

As the intensity of your lovemaking reaches its peak, Eli's movements become more frantic and desperate, his hips driving forward with a primal urgency that leaves you both teetering on the edge of ecstasy. With a guttural groan, Eli spills himself into the condom, his release accompanied by a deep, resonant moan of your name that reverberates through the room.

You collapse onto the bed, spent and sated, Eli following suit and falling on top of you with a satisfying weight that leaves you breathless. For a moment, you revel in the intimacy of the aftermath, the heat of his body pressing against yours in a comforting embrace.

But soon, Eli pulls out of you, his softening member still wrapped in the condom as he rolls onto his back, his chest heaving with the effort as he catches his breath. You snuggle into his side, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he pulls you closer, his fingers tangling in your hair as he strokes your curls with a tenderness that surprises you, making you fall asleep against his chest.

As Eli stared up at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns in your hair as you lay nestled against his chest, your breathing slow and steady as sleep claimed you. He knew this was his chance to slip away, to leave behind the tangled mess of desire and longing that had consumed them both in the heat of the moment.

He had already taken what he wanted, had tasted the forbidden fruit of your passion, and now he could simply walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath on your own. It was what he had always done in the past, after all. Take what he wanted and move on, with no regard for the consequences.

But as he looked down at your peaceful face, your skin glowing with the remnants of your lovemaking, Eli couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him from within. Why did the idea of walking away from you bother him so much? What hold did you have over him that made him hesitate, even now?

Gently pulling away from you, Eli laid you down on the pillow, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form as he contemplated his next move. What would he do with you now? Would he turn you into his pet, his plaything to be used and discarded at his whim? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

But as he caressed your cheek with a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed, Eli realized that he couldn't bring himself to treat you like just another conquest. You deserved better than that, he knew it deep down in his soul.

But why was he hesitating so much? If it were anyone else, Eli wouldn't have even given it a second thought before leaving. But with you, it was different. With you, everything was different.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Eli ran his hands through his hair, feeling more confused by a woman than he had in years, maybe even never before. The thought both intrigued and frightened him, stirring up emotions he had long buried beneath layers of arrogance and self-assuredness.

But as he removed the condom from his shaft and made his way to the bathroom to discard it, Eli couldn't suppress the arrogant smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. Once again, he had won. He wanted something, and now he had it, like always.

But as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered words of doubt and uncertainty. Was this really what he wanted? To use you and discard you like yesterday's trash?

No, he realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. You deserved more than that. And maybe, just maybe, so did he.

With a heavy sigh, Eli made his way back to the bedroom, his heart heavy with the weight of his own conflicting emotions. He knew he couldn't stay, couldn't give you what you deserved. But he also knew that he couldn't simply walk away, not without at least trying to make things right.

And so, with a sense of determination that surprised even himself, Eli leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing. But I promise, I'll figure it out. For both of us."

As Eli started to pick up his clothes from the floor and get dressed to leave, he froze when he heard you moving in bed, waking up softly and calling for him. He hesitated, torn between his desire to stay and his fear of the consequences of his actions. But before he could make a decision, you spoke up, your voice tinged with bitterness as you realized that Eli was preparing to leave you behind like nothing more than a one-night stand.

Desperation clawed at your heart as you watched him dress, your mind racing with a million questions and doubts. Would he really just leave you here, alone and abandoned, without a second thought? Were you nothing more than a fleeting moment of pleasure to him, a distraction from the monotony of his existence?

Eli's response was evasive, his words carefully chosen as he tried to placate your growing anger and frustration. But as you pressed him for answers, demanding to know what his intentions were, Eli's patience began to wear thin.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" he snapped, his voice tinged with frustration. "I told you, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm confused, okay? Can't you see that?"

But your anger only intensified at his dismissive tone, your fear and insecurity bubbling to the surface as you lashed out in frustration. "Confused?" you scoffed, your voice trembling with emotion. "You think you're confused? Try being in my shoes for a fucking second, Eli. You waltz in here, make me fall for you, and then expect me to just let you walk away without a second thought? What the hell kind of game are you playing?"

Eli's eyes narrowed at your accusation, his jaw clenching with barely contained anger. "I'm not playing any games," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I came here looking for one thing, and one thing only. And now that I have it, I'm leaving. End of story."

But as he moved to leave, you couldn't suppress the surge of anger and betrayal that welled up within you, threatening to consume you whole. "So that's it, then?" you spat, your voice dripping with venom. "I'm just supposed to let you walk out that door, without a backward glance? Is that what I am to you, Eli? Nothing more than a disposable fuck toy?"

Eli's expression softened slightly at your words, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes. But before he could respond, you continued, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I'm scared too, you know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "Scared of what this means, of what will happen if Barkley finds out. But I can't stop thinking about you, Eli. I can't stop wanting you, even though I know I shouldn't."

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air between you, the tension palpable as you both grappled with the weight of your emotions. But then, with a soft sigh, Eli moved to sit next to you on the bed, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek.

Eli's hand trembled slightly, his touch hesitant and uncertain. "I... I don't want to leave," he admitted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Part of me... part of me wants to stay, to be with you. But..."

He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to find the right words. "But you have to end things out with Barkley first," he continued, his voice tinged with sadness. "I can't... I can't share you, not with him. I won't share you, not with anyone, especially not my own son."

You felt a surge of emotion welling up within you at his words, a mixture of relief and longing washing over you like a tidal wave. He chose you, you realized with a sense of awe and wonder. Despite everything, despite his arrogance and self-assuredness, Eli chose you.

You reached out, taking Eli's hand in yours and squeezing it gently, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his response. But instead of returning your gesture, Eli tensed at your touch, his hand pulling away from yours as if burned.

"Why are women always so complicated?" he muttered under his breath, his frustration evident in his tone. "I just want... I just want to go out and think. I just want... damn, I don't know what I want."

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the conflict raging within him as he grappled with his own emotions. Part of him wanted you, you realized with a pang of sadness, but the other part of him was afraid of getting too attached, too involved.

You sighed, feeling the weight of his indecision bearing down on you like a leaden blanket. "Okay," you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "If you want to leave, then go. I won't stop you."

Eli looked at you in surprise, his brows furrowing in confusion as he called your name hesitantly. But you ignored him, your heart heavy with disappointment and hurt. "Just go," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I won't stop you. I won't blame you. I won't expect anything from you. Let's just forget..."

As all this happened, you turned around and laid down with your back to Eli, burying your face in the pillow as you fought back tears. You couldn't bear to see him go, couldn't bear the thought of being abandoned by him so callously.

Eli stood still for a moment, his gaze lingering on your bare back as he struggled with his own conflicting emotions. He sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Damn woman," he muttered under his breath, his tone laced with frustration. "Fine, I'll stay. But give me some of the covers, will you? I'm freezing here."

You turned around in surprise at his words, your heart skipping a beat as you realized that Eli hadn't left. He had chosen to stay, chosen to face the challenges that would come with you. And in that moment, a weight lifted off your shoulders, replaced by a sense of relief and gratitude.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion as you reached out to share the covers with him. "Thank you for staying."

Eli just grumbled in response, his facade of indifference slipping slightly as he settled down beside you. But despite his gruff exterior, you could see the warmth in his eyes, the flicker of something genuine that he couldn't quite hide.

He cared about you. He was in love with you.

With a surge of emotion, you threw your arms around him, holding him close as you whispered words of love and gratitude into his ear. And as you melted into each other's embrace, you knew one thing for certain.

Eli might be complicated, he might be arrogant and self-centered, but he was yours. And you were his.

Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, heart to heart. For in each other, you had found something worth fighting for, something worth holding on to.

Eli continued to grumble as he shifted uncomfortably in bed, the chill of the room seeping into his bones and sending shivers down his spine. "If we're going to be together, you'd better invest in a better heater," he muttered, his tone gruff with annoyance. "It's freezing in here, you know."

You couldn't help but laugh at his complaint, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of the room as you snuggled closer to him. "I'll make sure to add it to the shopping list," you teased, your voice laced with amusement. "But for now, why don't we just share body heat? It's much more efficient."

Eli rolled his eyes at your suggestion, but he didn't protest as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close until there was no space left between you. And as you pressed yourself against his warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

Maybe things weren't perfect, maybe there were still challenges to face and obstacles to overcome. But in that moment, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew one thing for certain.

You were home.

[cherryrainn]

hii can u pls write onceler (dom) smut w a fem reader????

YEAH I CAN!! i dunno what to do for the story since you didn't ask for one, so i'm just going to write something random, hope it's okay!

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— eternal embrace

onceler (greedler) x reader

the room was bathed in the warm, golden hues of the setting sun, creating a cozy and intimate atmosphere. you sat comfortably on the window sill, enjoying a peaceful moment in the presence of your boyfriend, onceler. as he sauntered into the room, a confident smirk played on his lips.

"well, well, well, look who we have here," onceler remarked, his voice laced with playful arrogance. he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his light-blue eyes fixated on you with a mischievous glint. "if it isn't my favorite partner in crime, sitting there, stealing the view."

he closed the door behind him, striding towards you with a self-assured swagger. leaning against the wall, he crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "you know, y/n, i can't help but be so captivated by your presence. it's like a magnet, drawing me in with that irresistible charm of yours."

onceler took a deliberate step closer, his voice dropping to a seductive undertone. "you've got this way of turning heads wherever you go, babe. it's no wonder they say i'm the lucky one to have you by my side."

a smug smile played on his lips as he continued, his voice filled with unabashed confidence. "i've gotta admit, being with you, it's like having the key to the world. we make quite the pair, don't we?"

he reached out, lightly tracing a finger along your cheek. "but let's not keep it all business, babe. let's indulge in some well-deserved fun. tonight, we'll create our own adventure, just you and me. no rules, no limits."

he gave a wicked grin, eyes dancing with barely contained excitement. "we're gonna have us a time that'll last till dawn." as you stared at him, mouth agape, you felt your heart quicken. "so, whaddya say, love? wanna play nice and cozy with me?" you nodded slowly, still unable to speak.

onceler smirked, his hands sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts. "that's better. now, hold on tight, 'cause i'm about to show you a whole lotta love."

he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as he kissed you deeply, his tongue flicking out to tease your bottom lip. you felt yourself melt beneath his touch as he pressed you against the wall, kissing you feverishly. your legs parted, instinctively wanting more, and onceler obliged, pushing your skirt up over your hips.

onceler broke from your kiss, pulling back for air, his lips lingering on yours. "oh, you're a naughty little thing," he whispered.

you glanced down, noticing how his pants had slid further down, revealing the length of his thighs. as his fingers traced the curve of your spine, his gaze met yours, causing a shiver to run down your spine. you felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment at his blatant flirting, and didn't even bother trying to hide it.

"what would you like, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "tell me what you'd like, and i promise you, you'll get it."

you gulped, feeling flushed and breathless as you struggled to form the words.

"i...um..."

onceler leaned in again, his hands roaming freely across your body. "do you like the way i taste?" he breathed, sliding his hand between your thighs.

you shuddered, arching your back, moaning softly. "tell me if you like it."

onceler's fingers slipped inside you, gently stroking your wet flesh. you moaned, throwing your head back, shuddering as pleasure coursed through you.

onceler's grin widened, a devilish sparkle in his eye. "you like that, huh? i knew you were a dirty girl."

his fingers moved faster, rubbing you in a circular motion, making you whimper.

"you see, i could stop right now," he purred. "but i think you'd rather i didn't."

you gasped, gripping the fabric of his tailcoat in your fists. "yes," you breathed. onceler smiled, his fingers slowing their movements as he pulled away, gazing into your eyes. "good girl."

he slid his hands back to your waist, lifting you onto your tiptoes, his arms wrapping around your bare back. you laid your hands on his shoulders, watching as he began to unbutton his tie. as the buttons came undone, a flush crept up his neck, making his eyes glow with desire.

"oh, love," he breathed. he pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. you gazed hungrily at him, admiring every inch of his physique.

onceler's fingers grazed your collarbone, his thumb brushing across your throat. "here we are," he said, kissing your neck, his hand moving down your chest.

you parted your legs, allowing him access to you, already glistening with arousal. he dipped a finger inside again, your moans muffled by his lips.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he thrust his fingers in and out of you, fucking you with slow, steady strokes

onceler pulled his hand free, sucking his digits clean. "your juices are so sweet," he murmured, staring into your eyes.

you nodded slightly, biting your lip. "please..." you muttered, your voice barely audible.

onceler moved between your legs, teasing your clit with feather-light touches. you panted softly, biting your lower lip. he finally slipped inside, stretching you open, eliciting a sharp cry from you.

"shh, just relax," he cooed, kissing your temple. "just let me take care of you."

as he spoke, he began to move in a slow rhythm, his thumbs rubbing against your sensitive flesh. his touch was gentle, yet firm, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

"god, you're so beautiful," he murmured, running his hands over your body. "i could watch you forever."

you gripped his shoulder, shuddering as waves of pleasure coursed through you. you'd never been touched so tenderly, and it only made you crave more.

onceler glanced down, seeing how hard your nipples had become. he bent forward, capturing one with his lips, sucking it into his mouth, drawing out a deep moan from you.

you mewled, clutching the front of his shirt. "don't stop," you begged. "i need you to give me everything."

onceler sped up, plunging deeper inside you, making you gasp. you dug your nails into his neck, burying your face in his shoulder as he fucked you with quick thrusts.

he pulled free, he traced his fingertips down your stomach, grazing your clit, causing you to buck against him.

onceler chuckled, kissing the base of your neck. "you really do love it, don't you?"

you nodded, biting your lip. "please," you pleaded.

onceler grinned, placing his hand on your hip. "okay, baby, but just remember, you only get what you ask for. now, tell me, what do you want?"

you turned your head, meeting his eyes, your voice trembling. "i...i want you."

"all yours, my love," he said, bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

onceler's member slipped inside you again, eliciting another sharp cry from you. he drew back, gazing into your eyes as he pushed inside, you cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder.

onceler stroked your thigh, him moving inside you, playing with your clit. you whimpered, rocking against him, desperate to feel more. as he rubbed himself against you, you bit your lip, your breathing heavy.

onceler's thrusts became quicker, his member becoming rougher. you moaned loudly, your hips buckling against him. you grabbed his arms, your nails digging into his skin, the pain only adding to the pleasure. as he pounded you, his hands slid up your torso, cupping your breasts.

onceler moaned softly, rubbing your breast. you cried out, grinding against him, your legs trembling as pleasure rushed through you, pooling between your thighs.

onceler growled, his hips slamming against yours as he poured his seed inside you. he collapsed, gasping for breath, his weight resting on you.

you glanced up at him, seeing the love in his eyes. "i love you," he whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

note; don't write smut often, so it may not be the best. but i tried!

[professorspork]

I hope this doesn't come off as an invasive question, I'm just curious how you came up with which fetishes to depict in each chapter of SDAU.

not invasive at all, if only insofar as the short answer is of course a) because i thought it was in-character and b) if I didn't at least find it at least nominally appealing myself i wouldn't have had any interest in writing it now would i so that's a bit of a tell

but short answers are no fun, of course, so let's break it down shall we?

Chapter 1: Thursday

This chapter was always intended to go hot and heavy, both as a genuine Watsonian introduction to Blake's world and as a sort of Doylist vibe-check for readers of "if you can't stomach this you're probably not going to enjoy the rest of this story, you can click the back button no harm no foul." but it's interesting to me that you specified fetishes rather than sex acts, because generally speaking that was a lot clearer to me in the conception of each scene. i knew what i was *going* for, even if I didn't always know from the outset how I would get there. so!

in this instance, I knew the vibe I wanted to nail (har har) was the degradation and humiliation aspect of Sun's kink. partially because I think that that's what canon Blacksun would have to be like-- if Sun didn't get something out of Blake being a dismissive and controlling sardonic shit to him they would never have stayed friends, jfc look at how she TALKS to him (and slaps him, twice!!!)-- but also because I really wanted to explore what that would be like for Blake, who doesn't *share* the kink (and in fact has some trauma around it) but still earnestly desires to indulge it, and gets something out of Sun's satisfaction in it.

I know I can write some Dora-the-Explorer-ass "seatbelts everyone!" sex scenes, but my goal is always verisimilitude that encompasses that-- never to break immersion. (I also find the sort of call-and-response ritual of verbal consent to be deeply erotic when actually portrayed like the act of intimacy it is rather than a chore or a checklist, so there's that.) i think i probably went a little more overboard than i had to in terms of in-prose justifications of the spicier moments, adding mental "because she knows he likes it so much" or "as they'd responsibly negotiated previously" caveats instead of letting things ride, but I also think that I got away with it because this Blake, like all Blakes, is deeply anxious and would feasibly have those self-soothing measures on the brain.

this (and what comes later in Dungeon Master) was also my avenue to explore just how "into character" Blake could get, because she goes full Domme performance here in a way she doesn't-- and in fact can't, constitutionally-- with Yang later on. she'll tease Yang, and isn't shy about being direct or even forceful, but I think she's hypersensitive to sounding *critical*-- due to a combination of a) her cognizance of her own responsibility as a sex partner of a trans woman generally and b) what being in love does to her and makes her feel specifically.

less under the umbrella of "fetish" and more in terms of erotica writ large and the broader goals of the fic, it was also very important to me to write a sex scene featuring (and glorifying in) bottom growth because THERE SHOULD BE MORE OF THEM OUT THERE.

Interstice: Sun

I saw an opportunity to put Blake in cat ears and I took it.

Chapter 2: Dungeon Master

listen, it is not my fault that Emerald Sustrai very obviously has a mommy kink situation that can be seen from space. that is in some ways the MOST obvious example of "I'm just depicting the character as I honestly see them, no agenda" in the whole fic. (well. tied for first place with Yang and the gag, but more on that later.)

the wax play with Russel was just a kind of scene I'd never written before that I thought would be fun and hot (lololol literally), and the come-on scene with Neon and Flynt was always intended to be more about Blake's social standing, experience, and inherent comfort at the club rather than the actual kinks involved.

Emerald, on the other hand, was supposed to be about the sort of... I'm not quite sure how to put it. the perils of unrestrained Id? a cautionary tale? Emerald *doesn't know herself,* that's part of her whole off-screen journey that gets paid off in in the end. she just knows that she Wants, but not what she wants, which makes the fact that she can only get what she wants by asking for it an immense frustration to her. she HATES that. so she tries to skirt by entirely on innuendo and provocation to force other people to make the decisions for her so she can just take whatever is given and deal with it, for good or ill.

and for Blake, that's a nightmare situation because she's basically used a sex club instead of therapy for the last several years of her life precisely because it's SUPPOSED to have these guardrails and people are supposed to know what they're looking for so nothing can cross lines. emerald basically shows her that that's a convenient lie she's been telling herself (one of many). emerald simultaneously shows Blake just how far she's come from where she's started-- which is quite far!!-- but also shows her she's gotten as much out of this particular coping strategy as she's ever gonna get. if Blake wants to grow more or get healthier, she cannot just keep doing what she's been doing. it's been clear to her friends for a while, but this is the moment it becomes clear to her. and if it hadn't already been, she could never have actually accepted it when Neptune says it at the end of this chapter.

Chapter 3: Beacon

no fetishes here. really the headline here is what i very much did NOT want to come off as a fetish, which is the way Blake becomes more attracted to Yang after she clocks her.

threading that needle and exploring that line-- the difference between "you are even more beautiful to me now because I see who you are and the fortitude it took to become that person, and the things I already found attractive before stand out even more to me now, and also Trans Women Are Hot We Don't Have To Make A Thing Of It" versus, like... getting weirdly prescriptive and flirting with straight-up physiognomy and ABSOLUTELY making a thing of it is not always an easy one to strike! honestly bless @alexkablob for being so patient with me because i had her read minutely different versions of that moment over and over and over again so the scene came across the way i intended it to: not being cutesy, not trying to obscure the fact that Blake is attracted to Yang BECAUSE she's trans, rather than in spite of or ignoring it.

i think-- or at least, i'd like to think-- that more cis writers want to be braver about writing trans-inclusive romance but don't for fear of sounding chaser-y. and this scene was always About That, in every way it's possible to be about that, for Blake AND for me

Chapter 4: Dirty Laundry

the fetishes depicted here-- electroplay and vampire roleplay-- don't have any significance unto themselves but instead are meant to be wider examples of Blake's true kink, which is indulging the kinks of others. Blake is GAME, not because she thinks she has to be or because it's an expectation Adam put on her, but because she's down for a challenge and likes to be the reason people get off.

Blake's just, embarrassingly, really into improv. that yes-and instinct gets her into weird sexy situations at the club, and also makes her very fun to play DND with.

Chapter 5: Proper Socialization

this is where we first start to see the signs of Blake's next self-inflicted mental health crisis, which is "i am somehow diminishing Yang by having sexy thoughts about her being submissive because obviously she'd never agree to that" blake. BLAKE what are yoU TALKING ABOUT

YOU COULD TRY. ASKING.

like Blake knows damn well that it's not degrading or insulting to sub, and a lot of this is just her being embarrassed about having lustful thoughts about Yang at all, but there IS that edge there of "if she knew that's how i see the world she'd never forgive me" that is... the self-obsession and fretting is in some ways a fetish, if that makes sense? like Blake's so far down the rabbit hole on this it's a fetish in the most clinical way, it's a fixation.

Prelude (1): Adam | Prelude (2) Adam Blake

... and once I got that far, it was obviously the right time in the story for me to dig the origin of that thought out at the root

this chapter is in many ways the other side of the coin from Thursday. just as it was important to me to show Blake owning her identity as a Domme with Sun, it was equally important for me to show her owning her identity as a sub with Adam. not as his victim, but as her own person. there was never a chance of this relationship being healthy because Adam's a manipulative groomer shitstain, but Blake *could* have had *a* healthy relationship as the submissive partner and truly enjoyed it, if she'd found a worthier person to crush on. that ability to trust and let go-- to surrender-- to submit, in the most basic meaning of the word-- is not something Adam forced upon her, but rather something he took from her. it was hers, and he ruined it.

I've also talked about this a lot in the author's notes and elsewhere, but it was also important to me to show that Blake chose this and wanted him. I think diminishing her agency in the development of their romance is a misread of the character that does a disservice to who she is and what she's overcome. what she has to accept here is not that she missed the signs, but that she SAW the signs and WELCOMED them. his being dangerous, edgy, and forbidden was a major part of the thrill and appeal to her; she'd gotten off on that. which: that's also a reason i could only ever explore this in an AU and not canon, because it's very different to put that on a precocious but ultimately consenting college student than a twelve-year-old but we don't have time to unpack all that

and... maybe it's very obvious to say it, but the other fetish that comes up here (and did previously in Sun's interlude) is just like Blake's fundamental awakening to the possibilities of polyamory and ethical non-monogamy. which isn't a fetish in and of itself, but is the mechanism by which every other fetish gets explored. it's a permission structure that lets Blake live her life in a way that feels natural to her without shame-- or would, if Blake were capable of not feeling shame lmao-- and that's the engine that makes everything else in this fic go.

Chapter 6: Four Questions

No real fetishes present other than Blake's fixation on Yang's bruise, which: see what I said about Proper Socialization.

Chapter 7: Body & Recovery

see above, again, more and harder (heyo). this is the first time Yang literally TELLS Blake "I like when you get toppy and particular" and Blake like... believes her but also decides this can somehow only apply to the most vanilla of instances and couldn't possibly translate into a larger dynamic because that would be Deciding For Yang somehow

also, dry humping is hot. the simulacrum of control vs the obvious and overt loss of control, the way it has an innocence to it despite being (literally, in terms of necessary cleanup) filthy... fun times. we see this come up again several times, the "I like getting messy," and that's just a thing I have about sex scenes generally that I think is deeply important. you have to want the bodily fluids around or why are we doing this.

Chapter 8: Balance

There was no way I was gonna get though a fic like this without a breathplay scene. there couldn't BE a more on-the-nose depiction of Blake's need for control-- but also, to her credit, the way she's thoughtful and responsible with the power she's given. it's a way of showing how her pathological mistrust of herself is unearned. like, people literally put their lives in her hands and homegirl doesn't even notice.

(see also, related: Blake promising Yang "I love when you say no to me" and meaning it like GIRL JUST LISTEN TO YOURSELF)

and going back to the polyamory point, it was important to me structurally to show Blake continuing to have encounters at Anesidora, and to tease out how they don't bother her or seem like cheating to her until she, as she always does, creates a mind prison about it.

Chapter 9: Power

well this one's a fun one for fetishes, eh?

this chapter is the first hint at Blake's fantasies regarding Yang's mirror, which will come up a LOT from here on out. I could (and honestly probably should) write a whole other essay about what I did with mirrors in this fic, and what their presence throughout signifies, but in terms of kink and fantasy I imagine it's pretty damn clear even here at jump: she sees Yang for exactly the woman she is and wants Yang to see it, too.

then we've got the juxtaposition of Yang In Panties and the rimming scene, and like... I don't think I'm being subtle here, you know? Yang is deeply vulnerable about her relationship with her own femininity, her desirability, her acceptability on like a basic level, and Blake... wants to devour her. Blake sees all of it, loves all of it, wants all of it. the things Yang sees as potential dealbreakers because they're shameful or subpar or ~gross, Blake just sees a goddamn sexy dreamboat. which Yang, like a hero, actually REALIZES at the end, while Blake then spirals out like a moron

this is another one where this is also just an act I don't see very often and had never attempted myself, and both were worth remedying.

Chapter 10: The Ropes

and-- see title-- the complete lack of subtlety continues.

Yang literally says this in her POV section in the next chapter, but the collar and leash was also a very deliberate and very linear, obvious choice. Yang WANTS to be bound to Blake, wants to be kept close and to have physical, tangible proof of their intimacy, and she picks the objects that tell Blake so. Collaring scenes are also A Big Deal in D/s stories and putting my (/their) spin on it-- having Blake present it to Yang to do it to herself, to put that agency in her hands-- was important to me. Blake's terrified of taking too much, of being this greedy conqueror, and Yang's trying so hard to say "you can't take what's already yours."

and of course just when Blake finally hears and accepts it, she misses that she's been so up her own ass about HER shit she hasn't at all been paying attention to the rest of Yang's or she'd have picked up the prior signs Yang dropped re: the ways her abandonment issues do and don't manifest

which brings me to the other major thing here, which is Yang's flirtation with cucking and depersonalization fetish and her own relationship to polyamory. Yang does genuinely find the idea of Blake with other people hot. and you can chalk that up to her always sublimating her needs to others, or you could see it as something she inherited FROM her parents rather than developed due to her proximity to their bullshit, or any number of other interpretations. but the way Blake's reveal to Yang goes-- with Yang wanting to be walked through the process of Anesidora and being turned on by it in this slightly-removed proxy way-- was one of the earliest things in my outline for this story. yang is stressed out about it Happening To Her and having to Do It Right in a way she isn't when she can just enjoy the idea of it as a voyeur without having to Perform.

Insterstice: Yang

So. The gag.

I have been on the record for years about my belief in this being a kink Yang would have, and I think I was fairly explicit about it in the fic itself. Yang is desperate to have her Class Clown instinct suppressed. she has gone out of her way to make herself likeable so she will not be abandoned again, and being explicitly shown that she does not need to do or say anything and will still be adored is deeply healing for her. this is why a lot of dommy or toppy takes on Yang leave me cold-- not because of the caretaker aspect, which I think she'd excel in and enjoy, but because it feeds into exactly that same charismatic (yet inherently performative) part of her that like, beats up on Junior and the show is clear FROM THE VERY OPENING TEXT is not truly who she is. it's a front she puts up.

and the thing about the mirror, which gets its first big culmination here, is that there is NO front Yang can put up. all she is faced with is her own actual reality, and the inarguable truth of it. it also plays into the voyeur thing I was talking about before, where there's this sort of pleasure at the idea of seeing Blake work and getting to see it on HERSELF, where she is simultaneously some other girl but also cannot escape the fact of "that girl is me." does that make sense? it's like the two circles finally converge into a venn diagram and then align.

Chapter 11: Play

This being its own chapter didn't exist in my original outlines. it was only when i got to this moment as I was writing linearly that I realized the audience both needed and deserved a chance to bask in the new normal before i started wrapping things up

actually rewarding everything I'd set up in terms of how they would approach Anesidora *together* seemed the obvious thing, and then going a few steps further to take it to the shibari and chastity cage place, well

*polite cough*

i have it on some authority that there is a hunger for that among my target audience

but seriously, it's all just more of what i've said. yang's desires revolve around being tethered and contained because she's had a lifetime of being gregarious and on her own. but she's also intrepid and COMPETITIVE, so blake making up rules she can WIN at stokes that fire in her to explore the unknown and also make it her bitch

and blake sees all of that, and wants desperately to indulge it

Chapter 12: Home

not really sure if the shower scene here rises to "fetish" level but to touch on it briefly

--or NOT touch, as is sort of what happens here--

i... hmm. i think in a way this is sort of my thesis statement about where blake's coming from with domination. which isn't touching, or being serviced, but is literally just talking Yang off and guiding her to her own pleasure.

Blake wants to be RESPONSIBLE for that, likes knowing she's a force for good, and the control she exerts is about learning to trust herself just as much as it is thriving at the evidence that her partners trust HER

blake obviously enjoys sex tremendously, but that's not what makes it erotic for her. her own pleasure is really the smallest part of it....

Epilogue: Surrender

... which sort of brings us full circle, to Blake's inevitable realization that her pleasure DOES matter and her desires CAN be identified and sated. even despite all she's been through; even if those desires don't seem coherent or consistent to her

the what of this, the improvised rock climbing bondage, was the very last thing to come together for this story. i knew i wanted Blake to experience full body restraint in an unconventional way, but I didn't have a solid plan on how to achieve it. which, because you asked about the fetish and not the act, I suppose is really entirely incidental

and like, as far as How I Chose To Decide Blake Wants To Be Tied Up, that did not feel like a choice at all. the excessive ribbon wrapping up the arms of her beacon-era outfit made that call for me. gambol shroud's existence AT ALL made that decision for me. Blake getting captured by Yuma and Trifa, Blake getting caught in the vines in the Ever After... you'll have to ask CRWBY about this one, not me, because that's just literally lifted wholesale from the show as Blake's obvious and inevitable Thing lmao

... and apparently this post is 3.5k so you know what i'm gonna cut it off there

THANK YOU FOR ASKING THIS WAS FUN

[elliethejellie]

There Are Two Types of Dancers

A oneshot with both Fool and Sol from the renowned @venomous-qwille story - Ghost in the Machine

I've been working on this for so much longer than I expected to pfff- I just wanted it to be perfect for Qwille and all the readers of GITM! A bar has been set with that story and I wanted to at least reach it hahah-

Fool and Sol have become my personal favorites so far (although I'm sure it'll change as time goes on and I learn more about the others). Sol was rather easy to write in my opinion. But my lordy - Fool was a challenge! A fun one, at that, but still! I'm glad I got to challenge my writing and receive some amazing constructive criticism from others as I went!

Also - this is entirely self-indulgent hahah! I just love dancing scenes and I'm too impatient to wait for the possibility of such a scene happening in the story! So here you go, and I hope this lives up to your standards Qwille!!!

Read it on AO3 Instead -> Here

Or read the oneshot under the cut <3 Enjoy!!

*****

Fool definitely fascinated you.

His odd ramblings that always either ended in your confusion or laughter were somewhat... endearing.

Something told you that he didn't spend as much time with the others as he did with you. He seemed to make it a point to bring attention to his loneliness in jest when you would show up to the storage shed looking for different things. He would pursue a conversation with you every time without fail - whether with friendly banter or mocking jests or cheeky jokes all depended on the day. But each instance would still somehow end with you staying longer than you originally intended.

This time had been no different. You had allowed him to convince you to linger and play a game or two of mahjong (although you were pretty sure he only offered the particular game because he knew it had become your favorite). He used the excuse of not letting you walk back the short distance to the house in the rain - which you didn't wholly disagree with. Without your jacket back from Sol (or a replacement, at this point), you really didn't want to deal with the chilling water soaking through your clothes again. So you allowed him to entertain you with a few rounds.

Now you rested within the nest of pillows that filled the resin chariot as light thunder rumbled overhead - watching curiously as Fool shuffled a deck of cards with practiced precision. He was humming a tune you didn't recognize - but it filled you with memories of running around with friends and stuffing your mouth full of pink fluff that melted when it touched your tongue. You made a mental note to ask him about it later, given that you didn't want to interrupt him.

"Hasn't anyone told you that staring is rude, Sweetling?" he piped up suddenly, setting the cards up for a game of solitaire. You scoffed.

"I get told by Sol practically every day." The bot's eyes upturned into crescents, amusement sparkling in the dim lighting.

"My, my, then we'll have to fix that staring problem of yours," he fired back. " It can come across as terribly impolite. Although you are rather lucky I am so gracious as to accept your presence as a most humble apology." You mocked a scoff, fighting the grin that threatened to pull at the corners of your mouth.

"I think the circumstances of my arrangements should allow me some breathing room in that regard."

Fool didn't miss a beat with his response. "Oh, so you find me alluring enough to stare~?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The others are just as interesting as you."

The bot placed a hand to his chest as he did every time you managed to get in a silly insult. "Why must you always be so very cruel," he cried, using his other hand to dramatically scatter the cards on the table as he fell backwards to the floor. You couldn't help the giggle that fell from your lips.

"Oh no, have I broken you finally?"

He lifted his head slightly to peer at you over the edge of the low table. "Finally?" he repeated, sounding somewhat discouraged. "Is that really your harrowing intention? To break me down with your beautiful voice spewing malicious language until I am nothing more but a hunk of wires and metal? All so you can woefully put me back together and claim me as your own charming creation?"

"Who knows?" you asked mysteriously. He dropped his head back down.

"Hm... Would this be the right time to inform you that I've been keeping track of your insults to compliments ratio? I think it tells quite a lot about your character."

"Oh really?" You didn't need to be sarcastic - you were genuinely interested. "And what conclusion have you come to about my 'character'?"

He sprung up suddenly - startling you a bit further into the nest of pillows. He grabbed at his baton - spinning it around a few times before settling on placing the moon side in front of his face. "You're a terrible friend. Naughty. Rude."

"Surprising." You rolled your eyes and resettled yourself on the edge of the chariot, looking down at the mess he'd created with the cards. "How ever shall I make it up to you?"

There was a pause from the jester bot as he dropped the baton from his face and smiled. Mischief sparkled in his expression. "Oh, I thought you'd never grace me with such a question, Sweetling."

Before you had the opportunity to object, you were being lifted from your comfortable resting place to stand in the clear area in the center of the shed (which wasn't very much space, honestly). "Fool," you said, irritation clinging to the edge of your voice as you tried to regain your balance.

"Hm?" he hummed, listing his head to the side in an attempt to feign innocence. "Is something the matter? You're wearing quite the nasty scowl upon that pretty little face of yours." You placed your hands on your hips.

"Fool."

"Have I told you just how much I adore hearing my name from your beautiful lips, Sweetling?" He snatched up one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, ignoring your tone. He bowed his head down and spread his free arm out to the side. "Dance with me."

Seriously?

"I don't know how to dance."

He lifted his faceplate enough to peer at you from the tops of his eyes. "Ah, and neither do I," he whispered, before standing back to his full height and emitting that musical laughter you had come to adore. He tilted his head down and gave you a cheeky smile. "But you, dearest, had so graciously promised to make it up to me~"

"I didn't promise you any- Ah!"

Fool swept you away through the door of the shed before you could protest. Before you knew it, you were standing in the backyard as light rain poured down on the two of you.

"I thought you didn't want me to walk in the rain?" you questioned, quirking an eyebrow up at the bot - already feeling the chill of the water on your back.

"Correct!" he blurted, tugging you towards him with the hand that still held yours. You crashed into his chest embarrassingly. "But I never said anything in relation to dancing in the rain," he corrected, spinning around in a circle with you pinned to his body.

"Fool! Squishy human, remember?! Easily breakable!" you exclaimed. Fool released you immediately - drawing his hands away like a child discovering a hot stove for the first time. You didn't give it much thought, though. You were too busy trying to catch your breath.

"You need to work on your breathing, Sweetling. Hyperventilating in such conditions can give you a nasty bout of dizziness," he tutted, snatching up one of your hands again. He looked at you expectantly.

"You're not going to let me go back inside until I dance with you, huh?" you questioned once you stopped heaving. His smile stretched wider as he shook his head. It must've been contagious, because you chuckled and let a soft smile lift the corners of your mouth. "Fine. But how do you expect me to dance if we have no music?"

The bot tugged you again - gentler this time. You let him spin you around and dip you down so you were leaning back in his arms, looking up into his monochromatic eyes. "Ah~ But we need no accompaniment when the sound of your voice is already music to my ears, Sweetling," he mused. Then he lifted you back up and grasped your waist. "Can't you hear it now?" he called up into the downpour. "I think my sweet is bound to sing again soon!"

A giggle fell from your lips as you watched him. He mocked a gasp and looked back down to you. "Why look at that, the music is back! Now we must dance before it disappears again!" 

Laughter overtook your body now as you joined him - dancing lively in the chilly rain. You almost didn't notice the water slowly drenching your clothes. Somehow, Fool was actually a pretty good dancer in your opinion. He kept you moving - swiftly pulling you closer to him and pushing you away with the same precision he had when shuffling cards. It was fun all the way up until you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

When you turned towards the house to investigate, you barely saw the curtains being tugged back to the closed state you were used to seeing them in. The only thing you could make out in the blur was a low, glowing blue. Maybe you hadn't seen anything. The rain was really starting to come down now, and it wasn't exactly like you were standing still.

Fool must have noticed it, too. He had slowed the speed in which the two of you were dancing and pulled you closer to him again - although this time, he brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders and then dragged his own down to rest upon your waist. "There are many a people I've danced with in my lifetime," he started. You swore he shot a smug glance towards the house, but it could have just been your imagination. You were starting to feel the chill of the rain through your wet clothes now that the two of you were merely swaying from side to side, and it was proving to be rather distracting. "But you, my Sweetling, have been the most pleasurable to enjoy such a spontaneous moment with."

A shiver forced its way through your body. "Uh, thanks?"

The bot stopped his swaying, took hold of one of your hands, and dragged you back towards the shed. "Now - if you'd so please - I believe we were just about to indulge in a marvelous game of Go Fish, were we not?"

You rolled your eyes to the best of your ability despite Fool not even looking your way. "I believe you were setting up a game of Solitaire, actually."

"Oh my, was I now?" he asked as the two of you reached the door to the shed. He held it open for you. "How very forgetful of me. I guess my distraction must have been a rather breathtaking one to indulge in for me to forget such an important detail."

You felt your cheeks warm despite your steadily dropping temperature. "I guess so."

*****

The silence between a stare can relay a million emotions even with no words exchanged.

One stared from the window. One stared from the rain.

*****

"I saw the two of you," Sol piped up, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he watched you work from the other side of the workbench. Your brows knitted together as you tried to decipher what he could possibly be talking about. A moment of silence passed as you hoped he would elaborate, but he didn't.

And then you remembered - the pull of curtains in the kitchen window and the blur of the glowing, pale blue you saw darting behind them. At the time you thought it to be nothing but a funny reflection from the gloomy lighting, but now...

"Are you talking about when Fool and I were dancing in the rain?"

A sound reminiscent of a scoff emitted from the bot as he leaned away from the work table, dragging your gaze from your work to look at him.

"You call that dancing?" he asked, listing his head to the side ever so slightly. The faint sound of mechanical clicks and internal fans emitted from his body - making his tauntingly benign smile take on a sinister shadow. "The imbécile didn't stay in time at all, and you kept tripping over your feet." You shook your head and went back to your work.

"What, thinking you can do better?" you asked, offended by his words. He grew silent, but you thought nothing of it. You didn't have time to appease Sol's unusual sudden interest in your time spent with Fool. You had to finish this, and his questions were only going to distract you and cause some sort of mistake in your meticulous work. So you turned back to your task at hand.

That was, until your wrists were being seized by the bot. You opened your mouth to object, dropping the tools from your clutch as you were dragged away from the table and to the only free spot in the room. What the hell was with these bots and their lack of understanding in regards to personal space? "Sol, what the fu-"

"A basic waltz is simple," he interrupted. He placed one of your hands on his shoulder, grasped your other hand with his, and then rested his free hand on your waist. "It starts with a box step."

Your brain fumbled for words as he gently pushed you backwards. Why was he teaching you how to waltz? Dancing in the rain with Fool had been a spontaneous decision with a rather large lack of judgement - leaving you freezing and shivering by the time the two of you had gone back inside. There wasn't anything proper about said dance, and you especially hadn't anticipated anyone watching it take place to begin with.

"Are you even paying attention?" Sol's voice pulled you from your thoughts as you stepped on his foot.

"S-Sorry," you muttered. Why were you sorry? You didn't even ask for this!

"You're not stepping in the right direction," he said simply. "This is a 3/4 time signature dance, not 4/4. You have to focus."

He started over, pushing you backwards yet again. You let your right foot fall behind you while he pulled you gently to the left, your left foot following suit. When he pulled you forward, you were unsure of which foot to move first, so you hesitated. Ungracefully, you tripped forwards and almost smacked your head against his chest.

A light blush defiantly dusted your cheeks as he sighed. You started over yet again, and your competitive nature made itself known with the bubbling frustration in your stomach. If he said it was simple, why were you struggling so much?

After a few clumsy tries, you eventually understood the rhythm. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat. You were by no means perfectly in time with Sol's feet, but he silently continued nonetheless. The only thing that messed you up was when he brought the hand that rested on your waist up to your chin.

He tilted your face up until you looked into his eyes and were no longer staring at your feet. "Darling, it's considered rude not to look at your partner while dancing."

The same frustration from before returned as you tripped over your feet again. "But I can't know where your feet are going to be if I'm looking at you," you huffed, avoiding his gaze.

"Relax. And focus." His smile loomed eerily over you as you looked up into his eyes nervously. There had to be some kind of trick to this, right? He talked about it as if it were the easiest thing in the world, yet here you were, unable to focus on the movements of both your feet and his at the same time without looking.

You shoved your frustration back down and drew in a breath. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat.

It took longer to get your feet to move the way you were telling them to, but once you ran through the steps three full times without messing up, you smiled.

"I'm doing it!" you said excitedly, almost tripping up at the deviation from your concentration. Sol didn't praise you, though, instead informing you that there was a lot more to it than what you were just starting to get a grasp on.

"You have to turn counterclockwise with every half box," he said, pulling you to the left. You couldn't remember what step you were on, letting out an exasperated breath as you kicked his ankle.

"Gah- Why can't we just be happy that I learned the beginning and leave it at that?" you cried, attempting to pull your hands away from him. But his grip on you tightened enough to make you look up into his eyes fearfully for a moment. Memories of your first encounter with the bot danced across your vision - bringing the ghost of an ache to your wrist. He loosened his grip at your expression, but still refused to let you go.

"There are a lot of things I let slide when it comes to you. But this, I simply will not let go." You felt your mouth go dry.

"What do you mean you let a lot of things slide? You're not my parent," you retorted, narrowing your eyes to accompany an annoyed glare. There was a long moment of silence after that as he just stared at you - perfectly still as his unchanging smile sent a shiver down your spine.

But then he was pushing you backwards again, restarting the steps and ignoring your comment entirely. You gave up, simply redirecting your attention on the steps you had to implement a counterclockwise turn into. You figured that it would be easier to learn had there been music playing or even a metronome sounding off your beats, but you were too stubborn to ask.

It took an embarrassingly long time to relearn the steps with the turn. But once you started to understand the pattern, it seemed to click in your head where your feet were supposed to go and when. You held Sol's gaze a little more confidently after that - even smiling at one point at the realization that you had been going on fifteen or so rotations without tripping or hesitating once.

Sol's blue eyes seemed to flicker for a moment when you smiled, but it could've just been the dim lighting of the workshop playing tricks on you as the two of you spun around. You actually felt yourself starting to enjoy the simplicity of the dance - wondering if there was anything else you were supposed to add.

When Sol stopped and dropped his hands from you suddenly, you frowned. "Wha- Did I do something wrong?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought we were doing pretty well."

"I was doing well," he countered. "You were only following my lead."

You scoffed and settled your hands on your hips. "Why can't you just be nice for once and compliment me?"

There was that silence again. But Sol's gloved hand shifted as he clenched it into a loose fist, filling the quiet space with the soft sound of silk on silk. You swore you could see emotions shifting behind his pale eyes for a fleeting moment, but you couldn't decipher which ones. As the quiet stretched on longer, you felt your frustration dwindle - hesitant anxiousness replacing it.

"Nevermind," you mumbled, pushing past him to your work table. You took your seat again and felt the frustration boil your blood as you fought the blush that warmed your cheeks. There was no reason for it. Sol was just being the same bot he'd been since you showed up - cold and blunt and honest.

So why did his refusal to compliment you make you feel so... bad?

You picked the tools back up and tried to distract yourself from the sunbot as he approached the side of the work table again, hands clasped behind his back once more. You ignored him - continuing with your task. After a bit, you started to hum to yourself while you worked. The melody was familiar, though you couldn't recall where you'd heard it. But soon you became so engrossed in your work - paired with your curiosity as to the tune you were emitting - that you almost completely forgot that Sol was even in the room with you.

"Do you prefer his company over mine?"

The question startled you to silence. You held your gaze to the table, though, as his words echoed in your mind. Was he referring to your time spent with Fool? You honestly hadn't put much thought into comparing the bots with each other besides physical appearance. There just wasn't a need - they were all different to you. Far too different for comparisons.

Your lack of a response must've struck a nerve, because Sol placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forwards. As you looked up at his smiling face, goosebumps erupted down your arms as a small reminder of the lack of warmth in the workshop. A faint click, click sounded from him before he spoke. "You were humming the same dreadful tune he does."

So that's why you'd sworn you had heard the tune before.

"I don't think I can answer your question without eliciting some kind of negative response from you," you quipped, peering back down. "I'd prefer if you would just let me work."

Apparently, that was the wrong answer as well.

Sol rounded the table in an instant - spinning your stool around and pressing you back into the wood's edge as he loomed over you. A gloved finger hooked under your chin and forced your eyes to meet his - that same unnerving smile burning its image into your mind. "Oh mon dieu," he tutted, the disappointment in his tone making unease cloud your mind. It almost felt as if a slow finger dragged its way up your spine, eliciting more goosebumps across your body. "Ma poupette, what ever are we going to do about your poor manners?"

*****

A/N: I wanted to leave what happens next up to your imaginations~

But ahhhhh how did I do?! Is it good?? Or is it GOOD??? I'm literally shaking right now as I'm typing this because I'm so excited and nervous for everyone to read this rahhh-

But as always, likes, comments, kudos, and reblogs are VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!! Stay sweet, my lovelies~!

[veilstqr]

like i like you

𐙚 note from the writer before you read:

this fic is pretty much the epitome of self indulgence. it's really not anything particularly fluffy or romantic — but it does encompass the feelings of unrequited love, and falling in love for the first time. it is fully inspired by my own experiences, with anecdotes from my own life that i'm now putting into writing because the feelings i've had for this boy have never changed even after two years. jake is merely a placeholder in all of this, i just used him because he reminds me of the guy i like. (literally as i am typing this, he is texting me wahaha). i hope this fic does speak to someone though, and if you relate then all i can say is this: love will come to you when you least expect it, and having to navigate it's waves is going to be rough, but i wish us all a happily ever after at the end of our story. i don't know when that will happen, but it is bound to. that's enough out of me hahaha, i hope you enjoy! i know the ending may seem a bit abrupt, but yeah this was just meant for me to get things out my system.

─── ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

All you ever dreamed of, since you were a little girl, was a love story like the ones found in fiction. Love at first sight—one that even death couldn’t break. A love like the poetry of Rumi, or the letters Kafka wrote to Milena. Unrealistic, but true.

You had it all planned out.

In your twenties, while in college, you would fall hopelessly for a man in the same major as you. You would have an intimate wedding, and be happy together until the end of time. He would be your first and your last—the only one your heart would ever beat for.

How bitter of reality to crumble your hopes.

How bitter of reality to do it without you even realising.

The moment you stepped into that classroom, it was him. Without even taking a good look at his face—his physique—it was him. And yet, you didn’t realise it.

When did it become him?

When did his looming figure become the one your eyes searched for?

When did your skin learn his presence—enough to crawl along your bones whenever he was near, as if you’d grown a radar made only for him?

It was crude, the way you’d find yourself typing furiously to your friend about a millisecond-long glance. Eye contact that lasted barely a breath—and yet, it had your heart stumbling like a fool. You had hardly spoken more than a string of words to the boy, and somehow, he already had you wrapped around his slender fingers.

And when you did finally talk? It was like heaven’s gates swung open before you—while you perished in hell.

You pushed open the door to your classroom. It was 8AM on a Tuesday, which meant Biology for first period. The only cells you knew of at this moment were the ones groaning for reprieve after a long night of not sleeping and rather being hunched over your desk trying to meet assignment deadlines.

The boy sitting at the front hardly spared a glance as you made your way to the desk behind him, plopping your back on the empty seat next to you with a hard thud. You slipped into your chair, tipping your head back with a harsh groan, and you heard the boy giggle softly under his breath, fingers dancing along the trackpad of his laptop. Fighting back the heat creeping up your neck, you sat up straight and narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re playing Bloons, again?”

“Nah, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jake replied, still arranging monkeys to form the perfect army against the incoming warheads.

You scoffed, leaning forward just enough to peek at his screen. “You’re on round 63. That’s literally the hardest one.”

Jake didn’t look up. “Which is exactly why I wouldn’t be playing it during class.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips anyway. There was something infuriatingly charming about him—like he knew how ridiculous he was but didn’t care enough to stop.

Your teacher walked in, cheerily greating the two of you (plus your one other classmate) before turning on a powerpoint on the day’s lesson. You forced yourself to sit up right, pulling out your notebook and pencil case from your bag.

Your teacher walked in, cheerily greeting the two of you—plus your one other classmate—before switching on the PowerPoint for the day’s lesson.

You sat up straighter, suppressing another groan, and reached into your bag for your notebook and pencil case. The screen lit up at the front of the class, casting a dull glow over the room, and you squinted at it, tilting your head slightly.

The words on the slide blurred into one another. You blinked hard, trying to sharpen them into something legible, but your eyes refused to cooperate. You knew your eyesight had been getting worse, but you hadn’t exactly done anything about it yet.

A quiet shuffle caught your attention. Jake slid his bag off the seat beside him and patted it once.

“You can sit here,” he said, not looking at you. “Better view.”

Your pride flared for a second, but your vision fuzzed just enough for you to swallow it down.

You hesitated—then grabbed your things and shifted into the seat next to him. His laptop was now closed, his posture unusually upright, as if trying not to crowd you.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

“No problem,” he said casually, but his fingers tapped a rhythm against his notebook, betraying the stillness he was pretending to wear.

You tried to focus on the lesson, but your shoulder brushed his every time you wrote, and your cheeks burned at the proximity.

He didn’t move away.

As the school year progressed, that fact remained constant—he never moved away. Not when he knew you might need him close.

He didn’t move away when you stood near him in a crowd of strangers. In fact, he shifted closer, subtle and sure, whenever unfamiliar men drifted too far into your space. His eyes always found yours when you looked up, steady and watchful, anchoring you in every uncomfortable moment.

And yet, even then, he always leaned just far enough to give you room. Always careful not to overwhelm you.

Small, quiet acts that made your heart thud violently against your ribs— but you reminded yourself, over and over, he was just being nice. Just being respectful.

He was just being nice even when he locked eyes with you and never broke contact whenever it was your turn to speak. Always being nice when he offered to help you carry your stuff to a different class. Always being nice when he would drop all his work to explain a concept in physics you didn’t understand.

Being the nice, sweet guy he is when you got overwhelmed and weren’t sure you could handle it anymore.

You couldn’t take it.

You couldn’t handle the flutter of nerves whenever he got too close. Whenever your skin brushed his, even for a second. The sweat that pooled in the pits of your arms, the clamminess of your palms—it was all too much. You couldn’t stand how your eyes always dodged his, how every inch of your body seemed to buzz under his gaze like it had suddenly become aware it existed.

When did you ever care about your appearance?

When the hell did you start wearing makeup?

And why, suddenly, did every love song sound like it was written about him? Heartache. Unrequited love. Pining.

They all sang of him.

One day, Heart Attack started blaring through your headphones during an English study session, and you very nearly launched your JBLs straight at the wall. You locked eyes with him as Demi Lovato sang “but you make me want to act like a girl” and had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to splash some water on your face in hopes of calming the heat that rose to your cheeks.

You were now standing in the science lab. With him. Very much alone.

Your other classmate had bailed today, and the two of you had a lab report due by the end of the week. So, after a brief mutual exchange of “Should we just skip the rest of the day?” and a shrug that meant yeah, why not, you'd chosen to stay behind and finish it.

Now, you stood on opposite sides of the desk—your hands busy stirring up dilutions while he drummed his fingers in an offbeat rhythm against the counter.

Your brows were furrowed as you jotted down the percentages, sketching out a table for your observations. You were mid-calculation when a flicker of blue moved in your periphery.

Jake was wiggling his fingers at you, clearly trying to get your attention—grabbing at the air with dramatic flair.

“Masterful way of distracting me, Sim,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you bit back a smile.

He grinned, cocking his head to the side. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You scoffed, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upward. Jake leaned over the desk just slightly, eyes scanning your notebook.

“You’ve got a little smudge on your number seven,” he pointed out.

“Oh my god,” you deadpanned, “the horror.”

“I’m just saying, one day you’ll thank me when your Nobel Prize doesn’t get revoked for poor penmanship.”

You shook your head, fighting the warmth blooming in your chest.

You turned back to your notebook with a dramatic sigh, muttering under your breath about his handwriting not being any better. The tip of your pen hovered over the next cell in your table, trying to refocus on the numbers that now looked like meaningless squiggles.

You glanced up, only for your entire field of vision to be swallowed by his hand.

Jake had reached across the desk and planted his palm right over your face—gently, like he was pressing pause on you.

Just… covered your whole face.

Your body froze, breath catching somewhere in your throat as your heart stuttered against your ribs. You couldn’t even form a proper reaction before his hand slipped away just as effortlessly, like nothing happened.

No explanation.

No look back.

He just turned toward the Bunsen burner setup and started fiddling with a beaker, utterly unbothered.

As if he hadn’t just sent your nervous system into DEFCON 1.

You sat there blinking, the ghost of his palm still lingering on your cheek. Your pen had rolled out of your grip, forgotten, somewhere across the desk.

What the hell just happened.

He waved at you, a lazy “buh-bye” falling from his lips as he climbed into his car. The two of you had been granted an early leave, considering how your schedule was basically empty for the rest of the day.

You gave him a quick wave back, too distracted by the low hum in your chest to respond more than that.

As his car pulled away, your mind kept flickering back to the lab.

His laughter echoed in your ears like a familiar melody, filling the silence left in the wake of his departure. You could still see the way his eyes sparkled when he made fun of your handwriting, or the way he waved his hands in exaggerated movements whenever he tried to get your attention. Those little antics of his, meant to annoy you or coax a smile out of you, seemed to follow you now like a shadow.

You couldn’t stop replaying the way his fingers brushed your face, how casual it was for him. But for you?

It felt like an earthquake in slow motion, rippling through every nerve, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a thousand unasked questions.

"I’m so done with this," you groan, face buried in your hands.

Your friend freezes mid-bite, sandwich hovering just in front of her mouth. She frowns, clearly not expecting this kind of energy. "Done with what?" she asks, taking another casual bite of her lunch, seemingly unfazed by your meltdown.

"Him!" You fling your hands out dramatically. "He’s so confusing! One minute, he’s all sweet, joking around, making me laugh, and the next? Cold as ice, like I’m invisible. Like, why does he have to be so... complicated?"

You slump back in your chair, curling your knees to your chest, your cheek resting against your knee. "I can’t even go an hour without thinking about his stupid face or his stupid voice, or his dumb rants about math that I pretend to care about. And then he just... pulls away and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened." You sigh, your voice tinged with frustration. "It’s like he has this power over me, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t even know the chaos he’s causing in my head."

Your friend pauses, sandwich still in her hand, and looks at you, eyes narrowing as she takes it all in. "So… tell him?"

You stare at her incredulously, as if she just suggested you twerked in front of the Pope in a LOL cosplay. "Are you mad? No way. I’m going to avoid him."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Avoid him? And that’s going to help how exactly? You can barely go a minute without thinking about him. Avoiding him isn't going to fix anything."

You cross your arms, huffing. "Avoiding him is the smart thing to do. The last thing I need is to have another one of those weird, awkward moments where I say something dumb and make it worse." You drop your head back into your hands. "It’s better this way. Less chance of me making an idiot of myself."

She shakes her head, sighing in disbelief. "Okay, but tell me this: If you just keep avoiding him, do you think he’s going to magically figure it out? Or are you just going to keep torturing yourself while he has no idea what’s going on?" She taps her finger on the table, making the point hit hard. "You’re just digging yourself into a hole."

You groan, slumping further into your chair. "I don’t know what to say to him. I’m not going to just randomly show up and start talking about all this... mess." You gesture vaguely at your heart. "He’s probably going to think I’m crazy, and I’m not sure I can handle that."

Your friend looks at you, almost sympathetic now, but still with a hint of teasing in her voice. "Listen, I get it. You’re scared. But the way you're acting right now? You’re already in deep, whether you like it or not. You can’t keep running from this forever."

You stare at her, trying to ignore the anxious pit in your stomach. "You really think I should just... go up to him and tell him everything?"

She leans in, voice softening. "No, not everything. But maybe just... start with being honest. Just a little. It might make things less messy than you think."

You chew on your lip, eyes darting to the side as the weight of her words sinks in. "I don’t know..." You exhale shakily, the thought of facing him overwhelming. "I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I might just... make everything worse."

"Or," she interrupts, "maybe you’ll actually get some clarity. You won't know until you try."

At the end, you decide to keep a distance. You turn your phone on silent when his name pops up, and you avoid him, keeping things casual when you do talk. It’s easier that way, you tell yourself. Less messy. Less confusing.

But the truth is, it’s never quite that simple. You catch yourself glancing at your phone every few minutes, heart fluttering when a text from him finally comes through. You fight the urge to read it immediately, waiting until you’re sure he’s not around, before replying. You smile at his messages, even if you don’t show it. You can’t help but think how nice it would be if things were different. If you didn’t have to keep pretending like it doesn’t matter.

Sometimes, when you’re by yourself, you replay the moments you’ve shared in your head—his voice, his smile, his stupid math rants that you secretly love. You remember the way he looked at you sometimes, and you feel that old ache stirring deep in your chest. The one you’re trying so hard to ignore.

You want to tell him, just once. But you can’t bring yourself to, because you know it would just make everything worse. So you keep the silence, keep the distance, and let the crush stay alive in the background, like a song you can’t stop humming.

And maybe that’s just the way it’ll stay. You’ll never really be over it, and maybe that’s okay. After all, some feelings don’t need to be resolved. They can just exist, quietly, in the corner of your heart.

Maybe not all first loves were fated to have a fairy tale ending. Maybe some of them just flickered before sputtering out, leaving a room in your heart sheltered in darkness.

230425

© veilstqr 2025. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission

[tinycrescent]

do you have any tips for learning how to draw? your art looks so free and expressive even in rough sketch form, and the colors are absolutely gorgeous, but i don't even know how to color normally and don't have the means to do it digitally, so i'll leave that for later haha. anyway just wondering if you did anything in particular to practice or to learn your skills. your art is just so good. sorry if you've been asked before. thank you for sharing your art with the dn fandom!!

thank you for your message!!! ♥︎ you're very kind. I hope what I write here is helpful, but this is sort of a complicated one for me to answer!

in all honesty, I struggle deeply with seeing my art as good enough. my relationship with my creative process is something I’d consider unhealthy more often than not– though I’d like to think it’s getting better as of late. :')

I wasn’t formally taught how to draw, but I was obsessed with hand-drawn media from a young age, whether it was comics, 2D animation, illustrations, etc., and growing up, I would try to emulate the artists I loved as practice. I was just using a cheap yellow pencil and notebook paper, but it was all I needed at the time. and I think that's a really good place to start! don't worry about buying a bunch of art supplies all at once; you'll naturally accumulate tools as you go.

I’d say look at art, a lot of different types of art, and study it to discover what you like, and equally importantly, what you don’t. drill into why. if an artist you love shows their works in progress or sketches, really take a look at those. it’s so much easier to understand a rough image and how it was drawn/what marks the artist used rather than dissecting a polished piece. 

if you have friends who like to draw, spend time drawing with them! make up stories and characters together. I drew all the time growing up. all the time. I was a super quiet, well behaved kid in school because I was terrified of getting in trouble, and yet I was constantly reprimanded for drawing during class. it was the one thing I was willing to get yelled at for. my point isn’t to get in trouble (lol), but more so– draw whenever you can, wherever you can. even when it’s mindless. keep paper nearby. doodle. draw what you see around you.

these days, it’s my perfectionism that really kills my love for drawing. it stops me from drawing at all sometimes, because I’m worried (before I even start!) whatever I make won’t be “good enough”, whatever that means. it got much easier when I stopped trying to keep a neat sketchbook and allowed myself to let go. draw quick, draw messy, draw “bad”. you have to make art you aren't satisfied with to get better. and it sucks! you might try something new and feel like, damn this looks so incredibly amateur, but it's an unavoidable part of the process. if you can look at what you made, accept it for what it is, and then keep going, you’ve already jumped the biggest hurdle.

when I’m stuck in a mental feedback loop of oh my god, I don’t know how to draw, why is my art so bad, I compare something I made this year to the year before. even if the differences aren’t immediately apparent, chances are you learned something between then and now– whether it be a better understanding of your personal taste/drawing style or composition or, like, how to draw ears. it gives you concrete proof that you’ve improved.

⬇ this is a Light I drew in 2022 compared to one from early 2024. even now, I look at the more recent image on the right and think, yeah I would probably draw that differently. but I'm also proud of the me back then who did her best.

really, truly, I’m still learning how to draw all the time. part of the reason I made this account and started posting Death Note fanart was because it was a low pressure way to be creative and let go and have fun. and maybe that’s my biggest piece of advice, simple as it is. enjoy it! draw self-indulgently. strive to improve, but also be lenient with yourself. if you find the love in drawing, it'll pull you through the times when it’s frustrating.

♥︎

[sugamehhq]

His Angel (Johnshi)

Quick things before you indulge;

This is an au I've started working on where these characters are placed in a world of demons and angels. For this specific story part, a process known as "marking" or "claiming" is done.

In the realm of demons and angels there are rankings. The higher your rank, the more privileged you are. Anyone who falls in the 7-12 range are not lucky people. The only way to climb in the ranks is either by someone above you dies, or by a higher up claiming you as their own (with consent). The marking/claiming process can never be done without consent. An action of consent is required to begin the process.

In Johnny's case, he was born a rank 12. Being a rank 12 means he's been treated poorly most of his life. Of which leads me to say CW/TW for mentions of Sexual Harassment/Sexual Assault. Please stay safe!

(Art is included at the end for visuals :] )

--

“Remind me why you’re here again,” Johnny stated, avoiding Kenshi’s gaze.

The demon was a little confused by the sudden request, but complied, “I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Right,” the angel fidgeted with his fingers, “and why is that?”

Kenshi sighed, “I’ve told you already. I enjoy your company, you’re comforting to be around.”

He paused before asking a question, “Do you not enjoy our time together?”

The angel’s brows furrowed as he searched for an answer.

“Would you prefer I leave?”

“No,” Johnny replied quickly, “I’m just confused is all.”

Kenshi raised an eyebrow before placing himself by the angel’s side. His hand gently took Johnny’s, the other’s small wings moving to cover his face.

“If I may ask,” the demon spoke softly, “what’s confusing you?”

Johnny hesitated, his hand accepting the demon’s touch while he thought how to word his concern.

“Who told you about me?”

His voice was gentle, but rough enough to get the point across. He felt this wasn’t genuine. That Kenshi was sent to keep watch over him for something worse, that there were no real feelings. The fear in his mind was making it hard to see the truth. Johnny was aware there was some connection. The demon had spent months visiting, doing everything he could to protect his lower rank self, showing him respect, bringing him gifts, and yet there was still the strong feeling of it being too good to be true.

“I’m not sure I’m following.”

“If you’re just here to use my body for satisfaction, then use me. There’s no need to butter me up for months if that’s all you want.”

Kenshi’s heart hurt knowing that thought has been stuck in the other’s mind for months, yet all he could do was repeat the same thing over and over, hoping one of these days it would get through that horrid road block in the angel’s mind. He found himself standing in front of Johnny, gently pulling his feathers from his face, revealing an expression of fear yet acceptance.

“Starlight, look at me,” the demon placed his hand against the other’s cheek, “there’s no need to be afraid of me.”

Johnny’s lower lip twitched as he fought back tears.

“You know that, and I know you’ve been through a lot, but please don’t be afraid of me,” Kenshi wiped the singular tear that fell, “I’d rather die than ever think of hurting you in such ways.”

The angel’s hand shakily met the demon’s wrist. His eyes closed, allowing the tears to fall.

So Kenshi continued, “A close friend of mine told me about you, how you’re a good person, that you don’t deserve what you’ve been through, so I came to see for myself. I started spending more time here than in my own territory. It occurred to me that you really are something special.”

The demon hesitated, his words feeling way too corny for himself, but he chose to keep speaking his mind.

“I grew fond of you. I’ve wanted nothing more than to bring you up from this hellhole, not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because I truly fell in love with you, and I want you to see that. So, over the last few months, I’ve tried my best to prove myself to you. I’ve brought you things I thought you’d enjoy. I respect your wishes. I avoided anything you disliked. I wanted to make you feel safe and give you a safe space. I’ve grown territorial of you. I want to protect you. I-”

The demon’s mind went blank. He had so much more to say, but couldn’t figure out how to word it. It sunk in that he admitted to the fact of wanting to claim the angel, take him as his lover. His mouth hung open, slight nerves settling in his gut as he waited for a slap in the face, assuming the angel would think he was crazy.

How many people have told him the same thing, only to turn around and hurt him for no reason at all? What he did just now, he was probably no better than the other disgusting demons that tried to get a taste of Johnny.

A laugh entered the air, a song the demon would kill for just to hear again.

“You’re so blunt,” Johnny laughed.

Kenshi’s face relaxed, assuming he didn’t mess up his words.

“Not blunt, honest.”

Johnny pulled Kenshi’s hand away from his face, squeezing it in his other hand. He admired the claws of the demon, the color of his skin, how rough yet soft his touch felt, the jewelry that adorned his arm. His eyes trailed up to his shoulder, chest, opposite arm, back to his chest, to his feet, and finally up to his blindfolded eyes. Kenshi stood still, his posture stiff in fear he was presenting himself wrong, which earned another laugh out of the angel.

“You’re trying too hard for someone like me,” Johnny smiled, wondering what his eyes looked like under the cloth.

“I beg to differ,” Kenshi sighed while relaxing his shoulders.

Johnny continued to laugh at the demon. Even if it was to make fun of him, Kenshi enjoyed the sound.

“So, run that by me again,” Johnny spoke, “what’s this about love?”

The demon’s tail twitched nervously, but he obeyed, “I said I fell in love with you.”

“Right,” the angel leaned closer to the other, his voice softening, “and what did you say you wanted to do?”

“Bring you up from this hellhole,” Kenshi replied automatically.

Johnny smiled, taking in Kenshi’s features once more.

He really did love this demon. So why should he feel guilty about this? Kenshi himself just stated he loves him, but that word doesn’t mean anything when you’ve been told all your life how loved and beautiful you are, only to be used and thrown around like a damn toy. 

Even still, Johnny followed his heart. The angel planted a soft kiss on the demon’s cheek. A silent way of inviting the demon into his heart.

Kenshi was hesitant, his heart grew louder, his tail swishing slowly behind him. Was he really allowing him into his life? Was all his hard work finally paying off? 

“Johnny,” Kenshi whispered in awe.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure?”

The angel froze. Did he mess something up?

“I-I mean are you okay with me. Are you sure you’re okay with it being me?”

“Kenshi,” the angel placed another kiss on his face, “I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.”

The demon’s lips broke into a smile, his heart pounded in his ears. He could only imagine how stupid he looked at that moment. His head fell against Johnny’s shoulder, his arms embracing him.

“You do know it’ll hurt like hell, right?”

Johnny sighed, “I’m sure I’ve felt worse.”

Kenshi cringed at the statement. Both for what it implied as well as the idea Johnny might be overlooking how painful a marking for them would be. Regardless, if Johnny was okay with it then he’d gladly deliver.

The demon lifted his head, taking the angel’s face in his palms. His lips found the other’s, testing the waters. He gave Johnny the opportunity to back out, but the angel returned the kiss.

His left hand gently trailed its way down to Johnny’s right hip, where his initial “12” mark was exposed. As if staged, Johnny’s left hand found its way to Kenshi’s exposed back, his finger tips grazing over the demon’s “3” mark. With a consenting kiss and connected marks, their palms began to glow, signaling the start of the marking process.

The two stood together, hands grasping at each other’s marks. It took about a minute for the pain to creep into the angel’s muscles. A burning sensation ran down his thigh to his knee. While Kenshi remained unphased, Johnny’s leg started to shake lightly.

Pulling away from the kiss, he rested his head against Kenshi’s shoulder, a hesitant growl resonated from his throat in response to the pain. As another agonizing minute passed, his knee started to give out, the only thing keeping him from falling over being Kenshi’s hold on his hip.

“Use your other hand,” Kenshi spoke, his voice ever so slightly shaking, “you can hold my arm.”

Without thinking, Johnny did as told, his right hand finding Kenshi’s upper arm. His fingers dug into the underside of his arm. The pain from his hip spread to his side creating a combined feeling of a horrific side stitch alongside a massive leg cramp. 

In an attempt to mask the pain for the other, Kenshi returned to his prior position in providing a kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Johnny to pull away again. He tried to speak, but the pain took his breath away, though Kenshi could tell what he was trying to say.

“You’re alright,” Kenshi sighed in an attempt to combat his own aches, “I’ve got you.”

The angel rested his forehead against the demon’s in an attempt for comfort. Having been in immense pain for about three minutes, all he could do was stand there and listen to the other’s calming words until the pain subsided.

After an agonizing four and a half minutes, the pain started to dissipate. Johnny’s body collapsed on itself, all his energy had been used connecting his energy to Kenshi’s. The demon’s hands immediately moved to embrace the other, guiding him to the ground safely. While the process was draining for both of them, it wasn’t nearly as bad for Kenshi as it was for Johnny.

The angel struggled to keep his eyes open, fatigue catching up with him almost instantly. As his eyes closed, Kenshi laid him on the ground comfortably so he could rest.

As much as Kenshi would’ve loved to take a nap as well, he dedicated himself to staying by his partner’s side, keeping watch for any suspicious higher ups. Fatigue wouldn’t stop him from protecting the angel at all costs.

As the angel opened his eyes, he felt disoriented, like his world was on a tilt. He blinked a few times trying to take in his surroundings, to understand where he was and what happened. He felt a sense of fear being unsure of where he was or who was around him, but that slowly ceased as his mind registered the gentle messaging of his hip.

Kenshi had found himself instinctively brushing over the mark on Johnny’s hip, a way of comforting the other. He wasn’t sure how much it actually helped, but he did it anyway. The demon waited for a bit to eventually speak.

“How do you feel?”

Johnny hummed in response, still tired.

“Is this helping?”

The angel nodded, the comfort he felt from the other’s touch kept him from seeing the world upside down. Kenshi huffed in response, acknowledging the silent request to keep at it. 

As Johnny slipped in and out of sleep, Kenshi grew tired. He too wanted to rest from prior events. The next time Johnny opened his eyes, Kenshi asked if he could move them to somewhere more secluded.

“Can you stand?” Kenshi asked while helping the other sit up.

“Mm, doubt it,” Johnny shook his head, barely able to lift himself up from the ground originally.

It was a little worrying the effect marking the angel had, but Kenshi pushed his concern aside in favor of picking the other up. He lifted Johnny into his arms, noticing his leg was still stiff, he quickly moved to somewhere more hidden, somewhere that he wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening to his angel.

It didn’t take long for the demon to join the other on the ground. Without any sort of bed, the floor was just barely tolerable, but for a fatigued pair such as them, it was the comfiest thing in the world. 

Having been newly bonded, Johnny joining Kenshi in being a rank 3, the two settled for cuddling each other for a while. They’ll save rank discussion and their future for a later date.

Right now, the only thing that mattered was the fact that Kenshi’s goal was met. He had saved him.

His angel.

--

Some extra details to think about:

Markings hurt for every pair that consents to one. For Johnshi their marking is the most painful one of the list of character's I have.

Pain of markings is basically like a cramp in your muscle.

Receivers' markings can be found in three places: Their hip, cheeks, or their necks.

Givers markings can be found in three places: Their back, chest, or stomach.

Markings are extremely draining, specifically if the rank distance is large like Johnshi's was. (Johnny had to sit through four and a half minutes of burning pain as his mark switched through the nine stages of ranks before ending at Kenshi's rank 3.)

When bonded with another being, your energies are tied to one another. You can feel what the other feels, comfort them by touching their mark, and overall, just feel closer to your other half.

Angels and Demons all have three types: Angels can have white wings, brown wings, or black wings. Demons can have spiked wings, pinched wings, or rounded wings. (There's more to this, but I don't want to make this too long.) Johnny is a lower-ranking brown wing while Kenshi is a higher-ranking spiked wing.

Ranks also determines the kind of jewelry a person would own. Kenshi's on the higher end, so he possesses golds. Johnny originally being the lowest rank of 12, he possessed bronze.

Kenshi's whole goal in this au was to bring Johnny up from a rank 12 to a rank 3 to keep him safe, of which clearly, he won.

Here's some art to give you an idea of what this looks like :))

@s-icarus-hofmann designed their outfits ! Everyone thank them for the help :))

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed!

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

John Price x Journalist Reader

Gaz conducts a plan to set his Captain back up with an old flame of his. He'd hoped to recruit help from Laswell. However, the CIA operative wasn't as optimistic about this whole "reunion" as the Sergeant.

Fluff, Banter, Light Reading, Sappy Romance, One That Got Away Trope, Setting up Dates, Gaz just being an inquisitive sort, slight Character Study on Price

WC: 1.5k~

Prelude | Chapter One | Chapter Three

Masterlist

So I'm sorry to say that Price and the Reader are not in this chapter, as it is centered around Gaz and Laswell.

However, Price and the Reader are the topic matter of the entire chapter. I'm legit trying to tell a story versus it being kinda self-indulgent and smutty like my other stuff. However, we'll get there at some point, maybe 😏

Please Enjoy!

Chapter Two

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Kyle."

Gaz gives Laswell a slack-jaw look, though it does little to sway the CIA operative on her stance -- this was just something she would not involve herself with.

Of course, the Sergeant hadn't been content with a simple no. In fact, all day he's been at Laswell's side, his presence just around every corner, lingering a little longer each time. Anything in the hopes of finally convincing her to see some worth to what he was trying to suggest. After all, this plan wouldn't work without her.

Or... at least, he'd have to come up with something new if this didn't pan out, and that felt like more work than this. Though thus far, convincing her has only been an uphill battle.

"Oh, come on Kate," Gaz begins to whine, rather childishly, brown eyes growing deceptively puppy dog-like, a hidden talent of his, or rather a subliminal quirk. "You're telling me you can't help at all?"

Laswell sets her fork down beside her salad, knowing she wouldn't be able to eat how she'd like with the Sergeant still seated in her office. The woman had hoped she'd finally escaped him on her lunch break; the building was usually dead at this hour, seeing as the others were off contending to their own devices.

It had been the perfect timing to finally have a proper sit-down if you asked Gaz.

"I mean, really think about it," Gaz tries to explain his plan to the woman one more time. "We just throw a small little get-together, nothin' too fancy. All you'd be doin' is hosting, which is nothin' new for you. Then, we just invite them both over and simply... let things play out. Easy."

"Except you would be blindsiding them," Laswell says.

"Not blindsiding," Gaz retorts. "More like... surprising them. Look, it'd be doin' 'em both a favor I'm sure, yeah?"

"Look, it's not that I don't want to," she starts. "I just know it's a lost cause. Think of this as me trying to save you some time."

"Sheesh," he sighs. "That bad then, huh?"

"And then some, Kyle."

Kate gets back to eating the croutons she'd been picking through her salad for. She didn't want to ask when it was that Gaz would be leaving, however, she wouldn't complain if he did.

Gaz continued to leisurely spin in the spare rolling chair in Kate's office, sighing to himself in contemplative thought.

That bad and then some, huh? He thought. Gaz struggled to imagine a scenario where such animosity could exist between someone and the Captain. And yet this supposed relationship between him and you had existed, and the Sergeant couldn't be more intrigued by it.

"Well, what happened?"

"She cheated on him."

Gaz's mouth goes agape, his tone completely defeated. "No... really?"

Kate smirks. "No."

Laswell laughs to herself once she sees the sigh of relief the Sergeant releases. The woman's career revolved around secrets and lies. It figures her idea of fun would be pulling the Sergeant's leg.

Of course, the man's a good sport about it, chuckling to himself once he realizes it's a joke. For a second there, he really thought this had all been a waste of time.

"Seriously though," he says. "What happened?"

"To be honest with you, I still don't know," Kate admits. "Neither of them felt too up to talking about it when it happened. I just know that some kind of argument occurred, and they split up the following day. But I don't want to be the one to air out the Captain's dirty laundry, Kyle."

Laswell sinks back in her seat, thinking back on those days after the split. She had seen war slowly harden Price over the years, as it had done to all of them. For a while, he went through great efforts to try and keep a healthy work balance between that and his personal life.

Losing you had made something in him turn to stone, however. As though some other part of him had died, made up abundantly clear by the increase of his work. More eager to take assignments, less so to be home. Ops that had him away for months at a time became his favorite, and when those ops had finished, he went out to find more.

And by the time he'd become Captain, that time with his former lover merely became a bedtime lullaby for him, growing fainter by the years. No one ever really heard him talk about love again. Not until Gaz brought it up.

"So who was she anyway?" he asks. "Price said she was a friend of yours."

Kate chuckles to herself, seeing how observant the Sergeant had been in his conversation with the Captain. "That's right," she confirms. "A family friend."

"What was she like?"

"She was... is... a very interesting woman, to say the least," Kate sighs. "I can't really describe her; she was a lot of things."

"Not even a little?"

Kate thinks to herself for a moment, having gone through all the croutons in her salad now. "She was definitely a firecracker, always getting into some kind of trouble. She spoke her mind freely too. It didn't matter what it was; if a thought crossed her mind, at some point, you'd hear about it."

"Hmm," Gaz grins. "I don't know if that's what I was picturing. But, I guess I can see the vision."

"I was just as surprised," Kate says. "But... they stayed together for a long time. Six years, if I'm not mistaken."

Gaz's eyes grow wide at that fact. Longer than any relationship the Sergeant's ever been in. Though, it hadn't been for a lack of trying. Six years. That's not just enough time to know someone, that's enough time to be another half of them, at that point. Not a lifelong love, but someone who did once matter.

"So who shit the bed?"

"That would be John." Kate didn't even have to think about that one.

Gaz shrugs, having not been too surprised by that answer.

However, she then adds only seconds later, "Though... it's complicated."

"How so?"

"From my understanding, it hadn't just been an argument," Laswell says. "Honestly, I'd almost say life is what ended their relationship."

“And you really think she wouldn’t want to see him again?” he asks.

Kate pauses, short of an answer for a moment. It gives Gaz the drive to keep looking her in the eyes and pressing the matter.

"Why do you want this so bad?" she asks. No doubt, she'd been curious as to what it was that was driving Kyle to go into full investigation mode about this.

The man pauses, trying to come up with the right words to say, as he already knew his answer from the start.

Kyle thinks back on the Captain, and all the times he's seen him alone while the others had each other, wanting to be content with that. Adoring their love from afar, so he'd have something to warm him on his lonesome way home.

He thinks about that look Price had on his face the other day when he finally told him about this mysterious woman for the first time. As though he couldn't wait to talk about her again, given the opportunity.

"I just think it would be good for him."

Kate's expression softens at the Sergeant's words. Understanding that want he held to be there for Price. She's been there herself, many times before. And it makes her wonder.

She’s moved passed her matchmaking days, having tried to find Price a good match since she’s known him. Gaz’s determination to take up the mantle had been admirable to see, however.

The woman sighs, having finally been broken down by Kyle's stubbornness to not drop the subject.

“Look, I can help,” she says. “But if this backfires, I’m leaving damage control to you.”

Gaz practically jumps in his seat.

“Deal!”

Chapter Three Here!

I wanted this to be both character and plot development, so I can set up where this story is going.

The next chapter jumps back to 10 years ago, maybe a day or so after the last chapter. Price and Reader are going to have yet another cute encounter. It will be much longer than this chapter, hopefully. Stay Tuned!

~Also, I'm quoting a poem from Charlotte Erikkson - You're Doing Just Fine. I was gonna credit them at the end of the series, but I just wanted you to know so it didn't look like I was stealing their quotes!

@embers-of-alluring @quincessimus @urfavsunkissedleo @lacunaanonymoused @deadbranch @poohkie90 @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @random-thot-generator

If you don't wanna be tagged, please let me know! And on the flip, if you do want to be tagged for the next chapter, also please let me know! I feel super awkward tagging people unless they explicitly state it (I don't like to impose, I just wanted to tag people I thought were interested in the next chapter 😭)

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