YAYYYY THE DEMO IS HERE!!! I've just finished reading and omg I'm getting addicted to this your writing is so good plz show me your ways. And in my excitement I'm brave enough to share my MC with you (I've been hyping myself up these past few days 💀) I hope you like him!
Doctor Yue Campbell
A kindhearted, charming man. Everyone loves him (Much to Jae-sung's annoyance). But under that handsome face and charming personally is a stoic killer.
Loves his baby Salem very much, would kill everyone in the area if anything happened to her. Ah and he also loves his twin brother, maybe just right after Salem, his mother and grandmother lol
Kinda oblivious to why people are always looking at his chest first then his eyes. Doesn't looking in the other person's eyes when talking is an appropriate social interaction??? (bby have u seen your tits-)
Jae-sung will be the one who takes action in the romantic department to claim this walking wet dream to himself cuz Yue is dense af.
These are some facts I have of my MC now. Sorry for the long ask!
GOOD GOD, BONNIE, I LOVE HIM! YOUR MC IS DR. MCDREAMY IN THE FLESH 😭 SALEM WILL DIE FOR THEM AND SO WILL JAE HEHE POOR BABY IS OBLIVIOUS TO HIS OWN SEXINESS, HOW IS JAE SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE 😞
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@anotherghoul666 sent me this ask a thousand years ago, and I wrote the first option.
Today, I have a craving for the second.
@forlorn-crows more Dew/Aether fluff so you will spare my life.
Dew's hair, under the cut.
It's been a long day. One of the bad ones. Dew's head aches behind his eyes. They're halfway through a tour. It's about this time that everyone usually starts to get cranky. Mountain misses his plants, Rain misses water. Dew misses his bed. This tour is apparently no exception. Cirrus got into a snarling fit with Swiss over breakfast. And Mountain threw a drumstick at Dew while they were backstage. If he wasn't as agile as he is, it would have cracked his goggles.
He's over it. Over all of it. The traveling, the ever-revolving scenery, the shitty gas station coffee, the endless dive bars. He likes the shows. Likes playing. Likes the way people reach out for him like they're expecting he will jump off stage and into their arms all because they waved at him.
That part feels good. It feels like the thing he's supposed to be doing. The thing he was made for.
He's had enough of the rest of it.
Tonight's show was good. They've got it all down to a science now. But Dew knows he missed a mark somewhere. Every show blurs together after a while and he suddenly can't remember if it was two days ago that he stumbled down the steps of his platform or tonight. Maybe he was a little too far away from center stage at the start of Ritual. Or--did he remember to choke Rain? He doesn't know. It's a whirlwind.
His head pounds.
He throws himself onto the hotel bed and snarls into the pillow, bunching it up under his face as he does.
He's still lying there, fully clothed, face down on the bed when he hears the keycard in the door. It swings open. He hears Aether walk in and drop his stuff off to the side.
"Are you alive, firefly?"
"No," Dew answers miserably. "headache."
The bend sinks beside him as Aether sits. "Everyone else is going out."
"Don't care," Dew grumbles into the pillow. "I'll be here when you get back."
Aether makes a noise, and then he shifts, laying down on the bed and rolling on his side to look at Dew. He slides his hand up Dew's arm, over his shoulder, and then under the curtain of hair to brush it away from the side of his face. Dew cracks his eyes open to look at Aether without actually moving his face from the pillow.
"I can stay."
"You don't have to. I'm good."
Aether side his hand up over the back of Dew's neck and into his hair. Dew visibly sags deeper into the bed.
"You sick of me too? already?" Aether jokes. He presses down and rubs his thumbs over the back of Dew's skull. Dew knows he can probably feel his headache. His powers are weird like that. But he doesn't push, doesn't try to take it away. He just guides his fingers over Dew's scalp, and Dew closes his eyes and lets himself feel it.
"Never sick of you, Aeth," Dew answers, honesty dragged out of him under the pressure of Aether's gentle fingers.
Dewdrop doesn't know when Aether learned how to braid. He certainly have the knowledge when he first got topside. But over the years, he's learned it. Gotten good at it, even. It's become their thing. Something Aether does whenever Dew has a long day, a bad day, or a headache. Sometimes, even just when Aether's bored and Dew's hair is in range.
Dew usually wakes up after a night with Aether to small braids hidden behind his ears. Things Aether worked up while Dew slept next to him.
So, it doesn't surprise him when Aether starts to comb his fingers down through Dew's hair absently. He knows he's sweaty from the show--a shower had seemed secondary to throwing himself on the bed and forgetting his existence. But Aether doesn't seem to care. It doesn't stop him from guiding his hands through every inch of the golden strands.
He's careful as he works the snags from Dew's hair. Combing through over and over, from root to tip, even after it's tangle free. Dew sighs into the motion. He presses his face deeper into the hotel pillow.
It smells like bleach, a thousand other people's shampoo. He wants to be home in his own bed, or maybe Aether's. The smell of lavender surrounding him. But he can't have it, and this is far better than nothing. He sighs.
Deft fingers gather small sections of Dew's hair. Dew feels Aether's fingers move against his ear, the smallest catch of claws on his skin, not painful, a reminder of how vulnerable he is like this. That one wrong move and Aether could flay him open.
But he won't.
Dew lets himself drift as Aether dots his head with braids. He stops thinking about the tour. About Mountain and his fucking drumstick. About Cirrus and Swiss screaming at each other first thing in the morning. He stops thinking about whatever mark it is he missed.
He stops thinking about everything.
It's like any time Aether puts him on his knees. Like his body knows that if Aether is here--he can let go. He doesn't have to think, to be, to do. He's free of weight, of obligation, of decision. He cannot form the words to voice his appreciation. But he thinks Aether knows. He doesn't think he has to tell him how much this means to him. How much he loves him.
The headache fades.
Aether keeps braiding long after Dew falls asleep.
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