#i look like a 5 year old and a grandma at the same time

[abby-howard]

Spoons going apeshit over my haircut

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

I just looked at the price on the back of a book I’ve had for a bit over a decade and it was four. fucking. dollars. Just four with no taxes. No extra 97cents or something before taxes. Just a round number that you would add taxes to.

I googled the price of a new edition and it was almost thirteen! Not an even thirteen, it was like 12.96 or something. Close enough that it’s basically thirteen but if you’re adding multiple items together to try and get the price on a purchase with more items it would add more confusion.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

WANTED

You find the advert face down on the table. You’re picking up after your grandma. She insists her mind is sharp as a tack but her empty tea cups and loose handkerchiefs and day-old newspapers litter every surface. You scan the paper, and a part of you is sure there aren’t any more jobs like this.

The paper is yesterday’s paper and the various jobs match LinkedIn. Nannying and dog walker and kitchen staff. The advert, the one, is stark against the others. You read the tiny printed words over and over, always getting stuck on the word WANTED.

Your friends told you not to go: what kind of job asks you to meet in the middle of the woods? What kind of jobs has no website or contact info? What kind of jobs were advertised in the goddamn paper? You friends wouldn’t get it.

Anastasia, your best friend since third class, tells you to keep your “Find My Phone” on and call when you get there. She really wouldn’t get it. Your grandma tells you that this is the world, the other version of it, and you are her granddaughter. So go.

You walk the three and a half miles in your high heels. This job probably wouldn’t even expect high heels, but old habits die hard. You were once convinced in college your girlfriend cast a curse on you, the sleepless nights and a relentless rash proved it. Now that you’re an adult, an adult-adult, you don't think so anymore. If anything was a witch’s spell, it was LinkedIn. Hours and hours of youth wasted on the same go-around.

5 years of experience and 3 different references and no street parking but the bus is only a block away. You can walk, right? Unpaid overtime and shaving your legs to go sit for an hour in an uncomfortable plastic chair. That’s an unusual last name, is it a family one? Ah. I see.

You can walk for a long while. Your heels slup, slup, slup in the soupy ground and it takes you longer than you’d like to look around. The street lights dwindle. The trees gather. The path disappears. The woods are thick and unfamiliar and an iron fence rises in the distance. Despite the late summer heat, the air smells of frost. Maybe Anastasia was right–whether you are your grandmother’s descendent or not.

She comes out of the woods on rail-thin chicken legs. Her skirt is short, cut at a horizontal angle, and she looks like where the punk scene from the 80s went to die. She has a studded leather jacket and bleach-blonde asymmetrical hair. You shove your hands in your stupid suit jacket and check the skies. Half-moon, just risen, you’re right on time.

“You here for the advert?”

“It’s half-moon, isn’t it?” You say back and flash her a tight smile. You have a sudden sinking feeling about her ability to write you a paycheck. 

She looks you up and down. “Spirit?”

“Ghoul.” You shrug. “Yaga?” She sticks out one of her stalky chicken legs. “Servant of one. Two gens back. On my father’s side.” Your strained smile gentles. “I’m Katie. You?” Her smile sharpens in response. “Stephanie. Come on, let’s take a walk.” “Was that a real advert, Stephanie?” You saddle up beside her despite yourself. “Cause if you’re just here to pull my leg, know that I'm pretty hard to put down.” She lets out a harsh laugh that sounds like it hurts. “I’m counting on it.” She winks. “Now, not sure I know your line so well, what’s the difference between a ghoul and a spirit?” What is a spirit or ghoul? What was a gig worker or a salaried one? Perhaps a whole length away. Stephanie pushes a bush aside to reveal a hole in the iron fence and leads you through. The grass turns from wild heather to manicured green and you emerge into a field of rolling hills. Your skin prickles. You might be hard to kill, but maybe not to capture. You stay low to the ground.

“Can I be paid upfront?” Her breath smells of winter frost and fresh-turned soil. “You down that bad?”

You survey the trimmed grasses and gentle slopes, the unnatural prickle spreads through your skin to your bone. A house rises in the far-distance, and you swallow thickly. “Is this some Scooby Doo shit?”

“Come on.” She pushes your shoulder. “I’ll pay upfront. The only real question is if you’ve got a pair of lungs on you.” You toss your ponytail back. “For as long as you like. But, I gotta ask, are there really not any free banshees right now?” Stephanie’s smile falters for the first time. “Old world is dying,” she snorts. “Or just buried deep enough to feel that way.” “We’re still here.” “Still here.” She slips you two hundred and takes you to the side of a small lake. The water is murky and the edges form an unnatural drop. She hands you a lightweight dress, gauzy and impossibly white, and you wrinkle your nose. You looked back and forth between the far-distant house and the lake.

It took you the whole walk to place the gate and the house and the land: The Turnpikes. Built almost seven generations back and larger than ever. You couldn’t imagine. The old world was dying, but you supposed it was also just right there. You put the dress on and kick your heels off. Gathering your stuff, Stephanie gives you a big thumbs up and backs away. You take a deep breath, you don't need many, but you had a feeling it would count.

A light in the far-distant window turns on. You see your grandma in your mind’s eye, her tangled green hair and wicked little smiles. All this for two hundred? But ghoul isn't a banshee. You jump in feet first.

The wet and the cold and the dank water with no memory swallows you. You submerge in the tiny manmade lake, and when you come out, you come out screaming.

The fear of ghouls is an ancient one–something hard to kill. That can walk forever, fight forever, go Without forever. And you think, as you toss your head back, drip water, and let your lungs rattle in your chest, that you might scream forever too.

For two hundred bucks, a ghoul can be a banshee and a world can be made old and new and when you scream, you can scream until you’re made real again.

FIN

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Newsletter 🧡 Pre-order my new book!

[girlietips]

Investment Pieces Every Woman Should Own 💐🤍

Hey cuties! Here are some investment pieces that every woman should own. These are things that probably cost a bit more but in the long run the quality and reliability will last you forever. Now I don’t have all of these yet but I am in the process of saving up for good quality versions of all these products. These are things that you can have for a life time.

Simple Black heels

Perfect for any outfit, from job interviews to dates.

Get a nice pair of leather heels that fit well. Once fully broken in they will become the perfect shoes for any more formal occasions.

Simple 2-3inch heel fits pretty much any occasion.

A good quality blow dryer.

Very necessary for keeping your hair well kept and presentable.

I imagine a diffuser would be the best if you have curly hair (I don’t have curly hair so feel free to correct me and leave suggestions for reliable hair tools for all hair types)

Something that works quickly and gives you a reliable style without too much heat damage.

A genuine wool coat.

Let’s face it regular puffers are warm but can ruin your outfit completely.

So buy a high quality wool coat that fits you well that can go with any winter outfits. You obviously can still have the puffer but it’s always nice to have pieces that add to your outfit.

A perfume scent that you love

Having a signature sent is just so iconic.

I learned this from the biggest icon in my life my 100 year old great grandma who still uses her Chanel 5 everyday just as she has for 80 years. (Such a baddie for real)

I am currently in the process of trying to find a perfume that I love and want to wear for the rest of my life.

Red lipstick

I feel like people hate on red lipstick purely because they haven’t find the right red shade for them.

Red is one of those colors that if you get the wrong undertone it looks clownish and not chic.

I recommend spending some time finding the right undertone and red. And then hoping it never gets discontinued.

While you don’t need it all the time it can be such a perfect touch to have red lips

Simple jewelry that doesn’t tarnish.

I am one of those people that wears the same necklace and earrings everyday. The reason I do this is because I invested in pieces that wouldn’t tarnish and now I have instant outfit upgrades that are comfortable without leaving my skin green.

I do add other jewelry on top but I think having simple jewelry that you can add more fun pieces to as the outfit calls for it is so necessary.

When I was thinking of this list I was also thinking of things that you might pass down to your daughters. You wouldn’t pass down your SHEIN dress but you probably would pass down a good quality dress. Obviously these are expensive I have like 2 things from this list but I am currently using this list as a way of motivating me to use my money wisely. I have a system set up so I use these as a reward for good spending habits and putting away money.

Xoxo 💋

[shjsnjkj]

MY SUMMER LOVE┊ p.sh

kinktober day 5! - masterlist

warnings: smut, MDNI, unprotected sex, making out, pussy eating, nicknames, crying

genre: smut

taglist: @blackp1nkfan @mitmit01 @pasteltheghost16 @harukayoiiiiiiizzz @mlywon @lhspeachie @seraphira @kaykay11sworld @winuvs @yuniesluv @shhth @rizzki09 @mylettterstoyou @d-dilemma @moonpri @blushbunini

wc: 2,8k ✧.*

☆ sunghoon x reader ; It was August 31st, and you were heading back home tomorrow because of school. Unfortunately, sleep didn't come easily. Your mind kept replaying all the memories you had with Sunghoon this summer, except for one. The one you'll be making tonight with the help of his camera. “Fly through the deep night to you. In the thick darkness, I will hold you again”

After all that time at university, you were finally ready to travel somewhere. Somewhere you could unwind and leave all your stress from the past few months behind. You considered traveling to a new city or even a country, which seemed like a great idea. However, you didn't have anyone to travel with because your friends had other commitments during the summer. That's when you saw your grandparents coming in sight. You don't get to see them often since they live far away, but you figured it was time for a visit. After all, you went to Hawaii when you were just 10 years old. You really missed your grandparents, but video calling was a great way to keep in touch with them.

That night, you discussed the idea with your parents and purchased the tickets for yourself. In less than a week, you had packed everything you needed into two suitcases and one bag. You brought at least five bikinis and planned to buy more when you got to your destination. You pictured yourself going to the beach every day, making new friends, learning new dances, putting flowers in your hair, drinking coconut water, and doing other fun things. This was all you could think about while you were on the plane.

When you arrived, you first met your grandmother and then your grandfather, who walked behind your grandmother with a beautiful flower lei. They were more than happy to meet you. You received many compliments and hugs from them, which made you happier than ever.

On the ride home, you rolled down the car windows and put your hands out to feel the air hit your fingers and blow your hair. The first surprise to you was the house where your grandparents parked. You didn't understand where you were. You remembered that there was a normal, cute white house with a balcony and a garden in the back, but this house was almost the opposite. At the entrance, it was kind of the same, but there were trees in front of it, so you couldn't see much from the house. When you walked in, you were shocked. The house was huge! Everything was much bigger than before, there was even a pool in the backyard, not to mention the ocean view right behind it. Your bedroom also had a window overlooking the ocean, so you could admire it every time you were there. Your grandmother bought you some bikinis, straw hats and dresses. They were so pretty and you couldn't wait to wear them while you stayed here.

The other day, just before you sat down to eat, a sudden ringing of the bell interrupted you as you were putting the food on the table. Your grandmother went to see who it was, and you continued your task.

"Grandma, who was that?" -when you looked up, she wasn't alone; a boy was standing next to her.

Your eyes widened for a moment at how handsome he was. Jet black hair and deep brown eyes. He was quite tall and slim, yet muscular. You didn't want to be weird, so you looked away. You assumed he was just some neighbor's son asking for something, but your grandmother proved you wrong.

"Y/n do you remember Sunghoon?" -she asked in a soft voice.

"Uhmm, yeah? The boy who was my best friend when I was little, right?"

"Yes, oh you remember. That's good to hear, Y/n" -she became so happy.

"But why are you asking me this now, when we have a guest? What's up with him? Is he doing well?" -you put the silverware next to the plates.

"Why don't you ask him?"

"Come on Grandma, I haven't seen him for ages and I don't even know where he lives anymore. How could I ask him anything?" -A long silence remained between the two of you, and you realized that you could be so stupid to say such things when Park Sunghoon himself stood right in front of you.

"Oh..." -all words stuck in your mouth.

"It's good to see you again Y/n! I missed you a lot!" -he stepped forward and gave you a big hug.

"Oh...Sunghoon...yeah it's nice to see you too!" -you hugged him back, still processing who you had just met.

Sunghoon was your best friend. Or is he still yours? You were not sure.

He, you and your 3 other friends formed a group of friends when you were little. There was nothing to do in the summer and your parents always worked, so you came here every summer and met these amazing people. Unfortunately, your friends moved to another country and you lost touch because you were little, but Sunghoon stayed and the last summer you were here in Hawaii, it was just the two of you, just like now.

He didn't stay for lunch, even though your grandmother tried to convince him, but it might be a good choice. It would be a lot for you at first. Still, you were so curious about Sunghoon. What happened to him over the years, how is he doing, does he have a girlfriend, what's up with his family and things like that. Wait, why did you care if he had a girlfriend?! Anyway, you went out to think about your feelings, accompanied by a tasty strawberry mocktail. You sat there for hours until you fell asleep and the only thing on your mind was Sunghoon.

The next day, you woke up in your room. Out of nowhere, you got up and went to your window to look at the sea, just in time for the sunrise. You were amazed by the beautiful sight when someone came into your sight. You immediately recognized that it was him, Sunghoon. He was sitting on the sand watching the sunrise just like you. Thinking that there was no reason to wait any longer, you wanted to talk to him and decided to go outside. You changed into your white bikini and wore a long white dress over it. You brushed your hair and did your morning routine in the bathroom. Then, as quietly as possible, you went out of the house and looked for Sunghoon. He was still sitting on the sand, wearing a white t-shirt and black pants. He was so good-looking you forgot that and also how much you loved him. You pushed your thoughts away and sat down next to him. He looked at you and smiled softly, then turned his gaze back to the sky.

After a few minutes, he finally began to talk to you. The two of you forgot about time and sat there until lunch. That day, he had lunch with you and was still talking about what had happened in the past years. You couldn't even remember the last time you felt this happy and free, but you knew that this feeling was everything to you and you didn't want it to end.

2 days later, Sunghoon asked you to go swimming in the late afternoon and you agreed. It was so much fun, you joked a lot and dived into the water where you saw beautiful fish and plants. As time passed, you felt more and more attracted to him. Sometimes you went out for dinner, coffee, and there were nights when you went out dancing hula and other dances. Some days you went swimming in the morning and some days you went swimming at night. You felt that Sunghoon must feel the same way because he showed you signs. Every other day, he would bring you a flower to put in your hair, making you blush every time. He took care of you and always brought happiness and a smile to your face.

One night when you went swimming, the two of you became closer. He kissed you for the first time. To be honest, you have been waiting for this moment since you were little and it finally happened. Sunghoon admitted that he felt the same and was ready to take steps towards you, but you stopped to come here. Yes, it was painful for both of you to bury your feelings in your hearts. But it was over and you were free to live your love lives this time. Your grandparents were incredibly happy for you both. They always knew how much you loved each other from the beginning, and they often invited him over for dinner, a day at the pool, or just to be with you. After a month, Sunghoon started sneaking into your room and spending the night with you. Those nights were your favorite because the way he made you feel had the power to make the whole world stand still for you.

All the love you had for each other, you couldn't describe what it did to your heart. And now it was the opposite of what you felt all these months. You just cried at the dinner table and felt that your heart was breaking because you knew that tomorrow morning Sunghoon wouldn't hold you in his arms, you wouldn't go swimming anymore, you wouldn't watch the sunrise anymore, you wouldn't see the lust in his eyes for you, you wouldn't be able to kiss his red lips anymore. At least for a year. It can be easy for someone, but not for you, you hated the idea of spending the days apart and you weren't ready for tomorrow.

Your grandparents tried to comfort you, but the tears didn't stop pouring from your eyes. The best idea was to go to sleep, but the moment you saw your suitcases ready to travel back to your hometown, it started again. Slowly you lay down on your bed and stared at the ceiling for hours because sleep didn't come easily. To be honest, you didn't even want to sleep because tomorrow would come faster and you didn't want that.

Before midnight, you heard your window open. It was Sunghoon.

"My love" - he said

"Sunghoon, what are you doing here?" -you ran to him and hugged him as tightly as ever.

"I know we talked about meeting tomorrow before you go back, but I couldn't be without you tonight Y/n" -he kissed your cheek.

"Do you know how much I cried today? I can't lose you Sunghoon" -tears started to form in your eyes for the nth time tonight.

"Baby, don't cry. It will only get worse. Look, I brought a camera for tonight."

"A camera?"

"Yeah, I was thinking about making a recording tonight. How do you feel about that?"

"How could we forget? That is a perfect idea baby. Let's do it." -you kissed him.

The next second, he put the camera down and started recording while you closed your door.

You kissed Sunghoon hungrily and he returned the kiss. You sucked on his tongue while his hands roamed all over your hot body. Goose bumps formed on your skin as his hands passed over every part of you. Soft moans left your mouth between wet kisses. He moved his left hand under your thigh and lifted your leg a little. You knew what he was going to do so you jumped and crossed your legs on his waist. He moved over to your bed and gently laid you down on the mattress. His kisses went from your lips to your jaw to your neck. You felt a little pain, but it was a good kind of pain. You assumed he was marking you and it made you feel even more lustful. His fangs would certainly leave deeper marks on you, but in no time his fingers traced the inside of your thigh. Sunghoon touched the hem of your dress and pulled your nightgown all the way up over your head. Revealing your already hardened nipples, he only reacted with a smile. He went back to your lower part, surprising you with his finger pressing against your clit over the fabric. "You're already so wet, baby. Let me make you feel better." He gave you a kiss on the lips before pulling off your white panties, which were a little stuck to your folds from the wetness. "You're so beautiful, sweetheart," he whispered before kissing your pussy as he grabbed your waist to keep you still. You felt his tongue doing all the tricks down there, making you tremble and scream inside for his touch. You closed your eyes and soon you felt Sunghoon put two fingers inside your pussy. Slowly he moves them in and out, making you see just starting from this. He watched your every move, all the sounds you made and he couldn't wait to hear your screams. To kiss you while you moan so loudly from the pleasure he gives to you. Sunghoon couldn't wait any longer and stripped off all his clothes. He positioned himself at your entrance and kissed you deeply the moment he pushed himself inside you.

Your folds take him so well that you have to cry out from pleasure. Making Sunghoon's wishes come true. "Don't hold back your beautiful voices Y/n" and right after that you let out a loud moan, hoping that your grandparents are asleep and don't hear anything from your room. Sunghoon just pushed himself deeper and deeper into you with a grin on his bitten lips.

"Sunghoon...mhhm"

"Tell me baby what you want"

"Please..." -you couldn't form a word anymore, just mewing nonstop.

The sounds of your skin, the kisses, the shallow breathing heightened all your senses. You buried your head in the pillows and felt like you were going to cum any second.

"Ahh.. Y/n. You feel so good." -He rolled back his eyes.

A few more thrusts and you came at the same time. His release filled you completely and as he pulled down he was covered with your white release as well. Sunghoon's muscles flexed and he collapsed next to you, sweat dripping from his face. Loud breaths filled the heated room and you could feel the cold night wind on your naked bodies. But it didn't matter, because after you had cleaned up, you were safe and sound in your lover's arms. You felt his breath on your shoulder and his heartbeat on your body. You didn't want this to be over, so you looked at Sunghoon for a few minutes after he fell asleep, capturing this moment in your mind forever.

You woke up early since it was time to go to the airport. Sunghoon was still in your bed but he was up as well. You went down to have a quick breakfast which your grandma made for you, and after he noticed Sunghoon he made another serving for him as well. Your suitcases were in the car and it was time to go. Still, you and Sunghoon were sitting on the sofa, watching the ocean view while making out.

As slowly as possible, you reached the car and Sunghoon gave you a gift bag which he insisted you open when you arrived home.

“My one and only love, please don’t cry too much. I’ll wait for you as much as it takes. I would wait for you until the end of the time because my heart belongs to you forever. Please smile a lot and call me everytime you want, I’ll be here for you Y/n! I’ll love you until the day that I die. Even after that I’ll love you. Here’s a flower for today as well” -he put the pink hibiscus in your hair. The same one he gave to you the first time- “You are the most beautiful human being in my eyes, take care, until we meet again.” -he held your hands and kissed you deeply.

“Sunghoon…” -you touched the flower and started to cry- “Thank you so much for everything, I’ll be back before you know it because life without you will be misery. I love you with all my heart until the end of time. I’ll always love you Park Sunghoon” -you pulled him in for another kiss and then waved him goodbye from the car. The two of you held back your tears but after you drove away you both broke down. You cried as much as you could until you got on your plane and he went back to work.

After a long flight and car ride, you were finally in your room. You put the flower from your hair into a glass box and then checked your messages. Of course, Sunghoon had already sent a lot of messages, but your eyes stayed on the video notification. You knew what was in the video and you couldn't wait to watch it. Before you opened it, you remembered what Sunghoon asked you to do. Open the gift.

Fighting back tears, you opened it. There was a T-shirt sprayed with his perfume, a white plush bunny, and a letter. You didn't hesitate to open it, only to find a ticket from Hawaii to your city with Park Sunghoon's name on it.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene II: he kinda looks like my ex boyfriend | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, generally gross!daemon, harwin 'big daddy' strong, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: Following the events of our mighty poll 😁😁😁😁 im excited to say what won was was always my intention and im glad you lovely readers have synced with me on it BWHWAHA sorrows sorrows prayers

"Fucking Seven," I sigh and gather my thick skirts, running up to the blue haired girl. The servant who escorted her promptly curtsies then walks away. I release the fabrics to grasp her face. I sigh in relief, "thank the gods you're here, Libby."

"What the fuck are you wearing?" she asks groggily, eyeing my dress.

I shake my head, "fuck, shit, I mean Lilibet."

"And how did you braid your hai-" Libby speaks the same time as me before freezing and raising a finger, "fuck you."

I growl and grab her hand, "no, no, no. Listen to me," I push her hand down, "you remember running through that damned arch?"

Libby wrangles out of my clutch and rather exasperatedly glares at me, "what?"

I release a shudder then grab her face again, "listen to me, Libby!" I sigh, "remember that stupid urban legend?"

Libby's face contorts as she groans. She pushes my hands off her à la 5-year-old tantrum; her blue hair, in turn, flies to her face.

"We crossed that arch," I grab her arms, "and now we're in fucking first century Westeros, Libby," I hiss, pulling her to the bed, "which is why I have to call you Lilibet-"

"Fuck you."

"-and you have to change and cover your hair," I release her to grab the clothing on the sheets, shoving them into her chest.

"What ABOUT my hair!"

I shake my head, "it's a dead giveaw-"

"You're closer to dead. You look like a fucking grandma and you have problems with my hair?!" Libby throws the clothes back on the bed, "listen, I know I got wasted and shit, and I'm sorry, but if you want me to cosplay as a peasant, just say that and get me coffee, please-"

"LIBBY!"

Libby's ear's ring, "bitch, the fu-"

"THERE IS NO COFFEE!" I grab her arms and shake her, "we're being held hostage by Daemon Targaryen and this hair," I manically point to my head, "is our fucking lifeline!"

Libby's face pinches, the initial grogginess in her expression is expelled, "Ok, calm your tits, YN-wannabe. I told you reading fics of him would fuck with your head. Imagine reading fics about King fucking Charles-"

"IT'S NOT THE SAME!"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT THE SAME?! IT'S FUCKING WORS-"

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT, LIBBY!"

"HE'S THE COLONIZER OF COLONIZERS!"

"IT'S NOT A FANFIC!" I pinch my fingers together, "THIS IS NOT A FANFIC! I AM telling you we fucking crossed that arch and now we're FUCKING-"

My words cease when a creaking sound of the heavy door fills the room. The both of us turn to the door as it opens. My heart begin to race.

Lo and behold, Daemon Targaryen walks in, one hand on his hilt, eyes looking us both up and down. Libby shifts in her spot as Daemon approaches. Her demeanor immediately changes when she sees him. She straightens up and pushes her hair back, dusting off her hot pink top. Aint no way.

"Do I look good?" Libby mutters to me before Daemon is in front of us. My eyes blow wide and my jaw slacks. Be so fucking for real. She fixes her radioactive blue hair and my upper lip curls in disgust and annoyance.

Libby and Daemon lock gazes; the former smirks, "hey, cutie pie."

I slap my hand to my face. The sound reverberates in the room.

"What is a cutie pie?" Daemon asks stoically.

Libby leans on one leg, "you."

"Seven fucking hells," I quip, roughly dragging my palm down my skin.

Daemon turns to me before tilting his head. He mirrors Libby's stance and his lips faintly curve upward, "in this era, girl, pies are food. What would I have in common with a type of pie?"

Libby lets out an airy chuckle, "you ren fair boys really like roleplay, huh?"

Daemon raises a brow, "I assure you, nothing about me is boyish."

Libby bites her lip and claws the air, "rawr."

I am unable to mask the sound I make. Daemon pulls his head back at Libby's actions.

I grit my teeth and grab her arm; she shakes me off, making sure to giggle as she does this. Daemon chuckles as he turns to me, "I see why you are keen on keeping her."

"You can keep me if you like," she blurts, stepping in front of me to garner his attention. Daemon steps back.

I grab Libby's arm again. This time, with much force that the ends of my hair whip around. I whisper-yell, "you do know that is Daemon Targaryen, right?"

Libby barely turns to me as she mutters, "what?"

"You're flirting with the Daemon Targaryen," I sneer, "first of his name," I lean in and whisper, "manwhore."

Libby looks at me from over her shoulder to me then back to Daemon, "ahhhh. A cosplayer."

"Libby, I swear to g-"

"It's pretty good," she crosses her arms then points, "is that a wig or hair dye?"

Daemon furrows his brows, face contorting at her words.

My eyes widen and suddenly the silver hair on my scalp itches like it doesn't belong to me. Well, see-- it doesn't! Not in a way that counts to the incestuous gremlin!

From the way his composure tightens, I could tell he was no longer amused. I yank Libby back, shooting her a glare, "literally shut the fuck up."

She scowls at my pressed tone, "what? I was just asking-"

"Hair dye?" Daemon blurts way too loud, shutting us both up.

We turn to him as he looks between us. He tilts his head and adjusts his grip on his sword. He straightens his posture. In that moment, his expression was changed dramatically. He reaches out for Libby's hair, inspecting it in his hand. His violet eyes dart to hers, "so, your hair is blue because of dye?"

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, fuck.

I grab Libby's hand before she can think of saying some bullshit. She does not move a muscle as I squeeze her palm.

Daemon raises his brows impatiently.

"What?" she mumbles.

I clench my jaw at her ditzy response.

Daemon narrows his eyes, "are you so dimwitted not to understand me the first time?

Fucking fuck. A shiver runs down my spine. Libby raises her brows and turns to me as I stare at Daemon. I blurt, "it is a right of passage for her family."

Daemon eyes me hotly.

I release Libby's hand and scramble to the bed where my clothes were folded into a small sack. I go through my things and pull out my phone, opening my gallery, showing Daemon a photo of Libby and our friends with bright colored hair. I lie, "these are her cousins."

Daemon pulls his head back at the sight of the photo on my phone; it was the exact reaction he had when I showed him a screenshot of the maps of this very place.

Libby blinks rapidly as Daemon comes to my side. The man basically breathes down my neck as he looks a the screen like a boomer. He narrows his eyes and pulls back his chin.

I point to Sandra, who had pink hair, "they do this to... commemorate the war-- of their people."

Daemon looks at Libby again, seemingly expecting more of an explanation. I look at Daemon and begin to panic at the aloof expression Libby held. I place my hand on his arm and rub it gently. Thankfully, he's still a simple man and it seems to diffuse his unbelieving demeanor, "it's hard for her to talk about. It was a war over dye and trading. A lot of her family... were casualties."

Fuck. WELL, real wars have been fought for WAAAY less.

Daemon turns to me, "I find it hard to believe such traditions exist two thousand years from now."

"And yet," I wave my phone, "you could not also believe you were listening to music with me moments ago."

He hums and turns back to Libby. He nods, "well, have her dress," he turns back to me, "I want to break fast with you before the tourney, dragonling."

I nod rapidly. Daemon gives a smile and heads for the door, "you remember your way to the solar?"

"I do."

He eyes Libby as he walks off then turns to me, "very good."

The moment the door closes, Libby explodes, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

"WE'RE IN FUCKING FIRST CENTURY WESTEROS," I whisper-yell, "now keep your voice down, you stupid fucking bitch, and change!"

It took me explaining everything that happened in detail as she got in her dress AND getting lost in the fucking castle then actually finding our way to the solar for Libby to believe I wasn't playing the most elaborate prank on her.

And when we got there, a servant informed us that the prince had been summoned by the king and that we should eat by ourselves.

Libby and I sit across each other. We decide to forfeit the fact the food could be poisoned because we were way too hungry not too eat. This blue haired rat, however, couldn't fucking stop saying the food could use salt and pepper. We were mortified when a servant came to us with a mortar of just that.

Before we could even say thank you, she runs off.

I snap at Libby, who scratches her headscarf for the nth time, "do you fucking understand you're a terrifying aristocrat right now?!"

"I'M SORRY!" Libby makes a repentant expression.

"You should be!"

"It's just that everything is fucking boiled and-"

The sound of the door opening ends Libby's yapping. We both snap to see who was entering.

In walks the dark haired man from the night before. Gold cloak, armor, and all. He steps in front of us and bows, "good morn."

"Hubba hubba," Libby tucks imaginary hair behind her ear.

"Fucking," I snap to her, "stop."

I look back at the man trying to remember his name, I can't seem to.

"Wait! Is this the madly good looking guard you were talking about?!" Libby speaks WAY to loud for a conversation between two people across each other.

The man makes a sound as he wipes his lips. My eyes widen and I sink in my chair.

"You clearly have a type," Libby mutters as she unabashedly eyes him. He is undeterred. She tilts her head, "he looks like your ex."

I snap back at her, "w h a t?"

"Or I mean he would look like him," she points her thumb, "if he wasn't so whiny, short, and pathetic," Libby turns to me.

"He literally looks nothing like Jon."

"He does!" she leans in, "dark curls, thick brows!"

I shove a bread roll into her mouth.

"Prince Daemon tasked me to be your chaperone for the day," he says, clutching his hand in front of him.

"I've always wanted a hot bodyguard," Libby smiles and leans back on her chair, "well, don't just stand there," she beckons him, "come join us for breakfast."

I pretend to fix my silver hair as I clear my throat, "breaking fast."

"Breaking fast," Libby corrects with a grin, "and what was your name again, pretty boy?"

I groan as I shove a bread roll into my mouth.

"Harwin Strong, my lady," Harwin mutters with another respectful nod, turning to me, "and please, forgive me for last night's encounter, Lady Gryffindor."

Libby titters and slaps her hand on her mouth.

"If I came off as impertinent or-"

"No, please, sir Strong," I raise a hand to him, "you were doing your job-- I mean your duty. Nothing needs to be forgiven."

"By the way," Libby raises a finger, "I'm Lady Hufflepuff and I would love it if you sat down next to me."

Harwin turns to Libby and I resist the urge to facepalm. My face twitches and I watch as Harwin shifts in his spot. I blurt, "you can call her Lilibet."

"Fuck you," Libby snaps.

I snap back, "well, that is your name, is it not?"

"I'm not entering my nun era."

I make a throaty sound and grab a goblet, "clearly," I take a sip, "but with that getup-"

"Hey!" Libby bangs on the table, "you're the one who made my cunt levels drop with this milkmaid outfit."

Harwin begins to cough.

"What? Like I chose that for you?"

"No," she props her elbow on the table, "but Daemon gave you a city girl-"

"Prince Daemon."

"-outfit and he made me look like your ugly handmaiden."

"Again," I brush my platinum hair out of my face, "that wasn't my choice, Lilibet."

"My ladies-" Harwin interjects, making us both turn to him. He clears his throat and offers pinched smile, "I am honored by the invitation, but I will stand watch out-"

"Oh, don't be rude and just sit down already," Libby presses with a playful look, "there's way more food than the two of us can eat."

And though she was correct, I kick her underneath the table.

Libby yelps and eyes me. I dodge her when she kicks me back.

"I don't think it appropri-"

"Nonsense!" Libby calls, turning back to Harwin as she fails to kick me again, "please, just join us."

"LILIBET!" I whisper-yell.

"UGH!" she turns to me with disgust and whisper-yells back, "stop fucking calling-"

"You do know he could literally be like your great-great-great-great-"

She raises a hand and cuts me off with a guttural groan, "oh miss me with that bullshit! You're LITERALLY a Targaryen!"

"I will wait outside," the man calls, making us turn to him.

Harwin walks off and Libby raises the bowl of bread rolls, "THE BREAD ROLLS ARE ACTUALLY REALLY NICE THOUGH!"

I wipe my face, "Libby, we're going to fucking die."

"Not before I try myself some Harwin Strong."

"SIT BACK DOWN."

"I'M SAT!"

When we finished eating, Harwin escorted us to the arena to watch the tourney.

"Are you married, Harwin? Can I call you Harwin?" Libby asks.

I shoot her a look, "Lilibet."

Libby ignores me. The man we were following keeps walking, not bothering to look back at us, "you may call me whatever you like, my lady."

Libby and I turn to each other with a gasp. No, cause why he playing like that?

"And I am not married," he looks over his shoulder, eyes locking with mine momentarily.

Libby's jaw drops and begins to shake me. She mutters loudly under her breath, "bitch. why he looking at you, and not at me?"

"Probably because you're fucking stupid!" I retort quickly in the same manner, unable to mask my giddy tone.

Harwin clears his throat again as he looks front. Neither of us catch this.

"Libby, be so fucking real though," I grab her arm and whisper, "that's someone's grandpa."

"Yeah, well, today, he's my daddy," she mumbles then bites her lips, as if it could minimize her grin.

Harwin makes a face and whispers under his breath, "daddy?"

When we get to the arena, the sound of the cheering crowds make both of us excited, up until someone screamed in terror and the crowds continued cheering anyway. Harwin gave us spots quite near the front, and the sight of the horses and their long-ass sticks left me feeling uneasy.

Libby shoves into me as she points to the far right. I, in turn, collide into Harwin's bulky armor. Before I can apologize for it, she squeals, "LOOK, IT'S DAEMON!"

"Libby, he's the prince!"

"TAKE A PHOTO! He looks so good!"

I give her a look as I straighten up, "girl, shut the fuck up."

Without another thought, she pulls out her phone from her bosom and wipes the moisture off the screen.

Harwin looks away, eyes wide, pretending he did not just see that happen.

"Stop it! You have no idea how bad this could-"

"Oh, shut up, you showed Daemon your phone!" Libby makes a face.

"THAT'S BECAUSE HE WOULDN'T LET ME GET REUNITED WITH YOU IF I DIDN'T CONVINCE HIM I WAS FROM-."

"Shush," she opens her camera and begins to take photos of Daemon. She shouts his name along with the other spectators and I beg her to at least call him prince.

"What is that contraption," Harwin asks, eyes glued on Libby's cracked screen.

I turn to Harwin, to Libby's phone, back to him, "it's, err... an image capturing... box."

Harwin nods at me though his face is visibly confused. He furrows his brows as Libby switches to front cam and puckers her lips out, "SAY CHEESE, DADDY!"

The color in Harwin's face drains when he sees himself on the screen. I clutch his arm and give him a look, "it's okay. It's not dangerous."

"Will it capture my image?" he mutters and covers his face. He mutters under his breath, "I'd like to keep my face."

Fuck. "N-not like that. It's... it's not black magic."

All the while, Libby is pressing the buttons on her phone, rapidly taking photos no one asked for.

A few people around us begin to mutter to themselves. I find myself looking over my shoulder, catching a bunch of men staring right at us. I eye Libby, nonverbally telling her to quit it. She gives me a look and snaps a few more pics of Daemon before shoving her phone back in her cleavage.

I release a breath when she does, that, and ser Harwin's arm that I did not realize I was still latched on to. I offer a look, "sor- apologies."

He nods, "all is well, my Lady."

And yeah sure, maybe it was. Maybe all was well. Daemon was winning the tournament-- or tourney, I guess; I have no idea what the difference was. I mean I could barely watch because they were fucking gladiator-ing each other, but I knew he was winning because after every crash, came a trumpet and the announcement of it.

So yeah. Maybe it was fine then, in its own sick way, but then Libby pulled me by the arm and said, "I have to take a shit."

"What?"

She gives me a look, "I need to take a shit."

"Libby," my eyes widen.

"I know!" she grabs my shoulders as the crowd cheers over whatever barbaric brawl was happening this time, "you think I want to know what their loos look like?" she shakes me, "am I going to have to shit in a river?"

I wipe my face and turn over to Harwin. His eyes turn from the match to me when I pull at his cloak, "mmm.... Lilibet has to... ... to poop."

Libby slaps my arm. I turn to her, frazzled. She hisses, "he doesn't know what poop is."

"You think I don't know that?!"

"I beg your pardon, my lady?" Harwin shifts to us, his thick brows knitting.

"Yeah, one second," I raise a finger at him, looking back at Libby, "I don't fucking remember the word."

Libby sighs, "Just tell him I need to sh- I NEED TO SH-"

I slap my hand on her mouth, "QUIT IT!"

Libby pushes my hand off, "WHAT?!"

"HE'S NOT GONNA KNOW WHAT THAT-"

"EVERYONE FUCKING KNOWS WHAT TAKING A SH-"

"NO, THERE'S A TERM THAT THEY USE! Think about it! Have you never watched a BBC period drama?!"

"BITCH, YOU KNOW I ONLY WATCH NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC!"

"OK, THEN THINK OF WHAT DAVID ATTENBOROUGH SAYS WHEN THE ANIMALS ARE POOPI-"

"DO YOU GENUNINELY BELIEVE THEY SHOW FOOTAGE OF ANIMALS POOPING ON TELEVISION?!"

"I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. IN ALL TV HISTORY THERE HAS TO BE AT LEAST ONE TIME WHERE-"

"HARWIN," Libby shoves me to the side and grabs the man, "I HAVE TO SHIT."

Seven father fucking hells. I dig my fingers into the roots of my light hair and to Harwin, whose lips part and brows furrow. He nods, "I will lead you to the privy," he turns to me, "stay here in the meantime."

We both nod. Libby walks to Harwin's and makes a face at me, "they call it a privy on the BBC, do they? Sounds like an office."

"Libby- Just- if push comes to shove, tell him you'll shit in the river."

Libby groans as Harwin leads her off. She shoots me a glare, "I am not shitting in a river with Harwin watching!"

I shriek in shock when there is a loud crashing sound. My hands dart to my ears just as the crowd roars. A loud voice announces the victory of Prince Daemon from House Targaryen.

I drag my hands down my cheek and clutch my chest.

I dare to look at the casualties on the playing grounds, but to my horror, I see something far worse. Daemon's horse is galloping over to me. He rips his helmet off, tosses it, and sighs through a grin. He points his stick to me and loudly calls, "might a fair woman like you reward me something sweet?"

My eyes widen and I feel the entire stadium turn to me. My heart races and my jaw loosens inch by inch.

Daemon shoves his stick to the side and reaches his arms out to me, "a kiss perhaps?"

Rat, I wasn't even watching you play. Why should I reward you for winning a game I didn't watch?

I cannot help the sound that leaves me when the other audience members begin to spur me on and nudge me. Fuck. I hate peer pressure. I walk towards the railing and eye Daemon as if I had laser vision.

"I CANNOT REACH YOU!" I scream back, momentarily shocked by the ferocity and fury of my voice. I gulp and clear my throat, rubbing my neck that I would so like to keep. I raise my hands, "I must then stay here!"

Daemon, face shining with sweat, colored with dirt and blood, beams as he looks up. He chuckles and dismounts his steed. He walks closer to me and begins to remove his armor, "then come down to me, woman!"

The crowd loses it. The women around me scream that I should come down to him.

Maybe if I jump head first, I'll be done with all this bother.

Fuck, but then Libby would be all alone.

I groan under my breath, "fucking Libby. This is all her fucking fault!"

I look back at Daemon, who had two men helping him out of his armor at this point. His eyes are on me; they probably didn't leave. His lips are curved higher, "fear not," he smirks deeper, "did I swear to protect you?"

The crowd is feral. I glance around the place. Isn't the fucking king right there?!

"No!" I look down at him and shake my head, "you swore not to harm us!"

Daemon laughs, "is there a difference?"

"YES!" I blurt, eyes wide.

Daemon stands alone bellow me, free of his upper body armor. He raises his hands up to me, "then believe me when I say you will not be harmed when you jump."

"Oh gods," I grip the railing and screw my eyes shut, "I fucking hate this man."

"Will you make all of King's Landing wait days for you, girl?"

I growl as the people around me continue to pressure me to jump. Had there not been people around, maybe I would have spit at him. And yet - I climb the railing - I am nothing against peer pressure.

Daemon steps forward, arms higher, laugh louder.

The stadium gasps while heart leaps into my mouth when I let go of the railing and drop straight down. The collision is just as messy as I had dreaded it to be and the next thing I know, I've smack dabbed atop the fucking prince of the realm, crushing into the fucking dirt. So much for catching me.

Yet somehow, Daemon manages to let out giggles while the crowd cheers. His arms tighten around me as I push myself up on his chest, "my," he blows silver hair out of his face, "I didn't actually think you'd do it."

"Fuck you," I snap and shove myself off him.

I don't even know where I'm even going, but I storm off anyway, feeling like the biggest idiot in the known galaxy.

But of course, Daemon is quick to get up and grab my arm. He speaks some High Valyrian bullshit, but I care little for it and pry my limb out of his clutch.

It seemed that was the wrong course of action though, cause the next thing I knew, he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. The audience flourishes over the way he took me like a piece of meat.

I fucking hate it here.

Make no mistake, I did my due diligence and tried to wrangle out of his grip. But he was pumped with far too much adrenaline, and his inflated ego would not let him let me go.

Eventually, I got tired and just let it happen. The moment he put me down when we arrived at his chambers though, I shoved him off and distanced myself as much as I could, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Daemon responds in High Valyrian, which effectively pisses me off more.

"I don't have TIME to decode your dragon-heir bullshit, so quit it! I am not a toy!"

Daemon chuckles as he takes a towel and wipes his face, "no?"

"Look," I snap, "I know you're, like, touch deprived and emotionally constipated," I stretch my arm out, "I mean, your family-- our family is a fucking wreath, so you're bound to be fucked up in the head, but please," I press my palms together, "PLEASE just be normal until the end of the day, Dae- Prince Daemon."

Daemon laughs as I go off on him. He watches me for a moment, throws the towel to his bed, and tilts his head.

My chest heaves as we stare at each other. Instead of relaxing, I begin to grow more tense with every passing second. I take a deep breath, but it does nothing for my nerves when Daemon walks forward.

"The truth in the matter is," he raises a hand, "you need me."

My stomach drops when he yanks me by the waist. His violet eyes dart down to my heaving chest. He places his one hand on my collarbone, "shhh."

The feel of him pressing onto my flesh does the exact opposite of what he wants. But no-- with how the corner of his mouth curves upward, I think it's actually the exact reaction he wanted.

When I try to push him off, he pulls me tighter into him and repeats, "you need me."

My nostrils flare but I stop repelling him.

"You need me," he lifts his gaze, "but I don't. I want you, but you need me."

I clench my jaw tightly. I am unable to contain my flinch when his hand strokes my side. He continues, "you need me to open the gate for you and your friend come midnight, do you not?"

I turn away from him.

He nudges me and asks louder, "do you not?"

"Yes," I whimper as I shut my eyes.

He hums, "then," he takes my chin in his fingers, "you'll be what I want, riñītsos." Little girl. He raises his brows. "If say you are a toy, then you say, 'yes, my prince'. If I say you are a rug, then I expect you under my heel. If I say you are my dog, then you ought to bark," he releases my chin, "now, bark, my sweet."

I glare at him, "if you want a dog, I suggest you go up North." I push him by his chest.

He laughs. He grabs my arms and pushes me back. I panic when I fumble on my feet and find myself pressed against a wall. "You're right, riñītsos. How wrong of me to liken dragon fire to dog breath."

I gasp when my back hits the wall.

"A shame," he tucks my silver hair behind my ear, "your parents did not give you violet eyes."

I am frozen in my spot when his lips brush against mine. My breath hitches when he simultaneously presses me back with his chest and pulls me forward with his hands.

I don't kiss him back. My brain was in a glitch. He doesn't seem to mind and feasts on my lips. The moment I have the wits to move, he pulls away and whispers, "worry not," he kisses my jaw, "I'll give your babes violet eyes."

Hearing that really snapped me out of my trance.

I finally turn away from him. It does not deter him though, and he makes due with kissing my neck. He moans against me, "you smell divine."

"I-it's called," I push him back, "personal hygiene."

He snakes his arms around me, "you were sent to me by the gods."

"I travelled here by accident!"

"And I plan to make good of this happy accident."

I fight him off when he claws my skirt up. I weigh my chances with screaming and with talking sense into him. I ponder of telling him my vagina is cursed, but then I think he'd be into that.

"Don't fight it," Daemon grabs my wrists, "I will quench the fires of the Targaryen blood in you that calls out to me."

"My blood does not call out to you!" I whimper.

"You may be Gryffindor by name, but you will be a Targaryen once I am done with you."

And then the doors slam open. "Your grace!"

"Harwin," I call out to the man that burst in.

Daemon growls and but does not pull away or turn, "I'm busy."

"It's Lady Hufflepuff," Harwin speaks through strained breath.

"Who?"

My stomach drops, "wait!" I push Daemon harder, "what happened to Libby?"

Daemon finally looks over his shoulder with annoyance, "what happened?"

Harwin takes a moment to respond. The dread that courses through me makes me strong enough to shove Daemon off. He grunts as I do so. I walk over to the dark haired man, "Harwin."

He clenches his jaw and turns to his feet, "I took her to the privy. She said she was having... trouble using it and that I should call a servant to help. So... I fetched a servant, but when I returned," he clears his throat, "she was gone."

I bring my hand to my mouth.

Daemon walks up behind me, "you lost a woman in King's Landing, Strong?"

"I- I did not think much of it at first," Harwin turns to Daemon, "at first I thought she may have just finished and was playing a trick on me," he glances to me but looks away at once, "but then I saw her contraption on the ground-"

I gasp.

"And then I saw a shoe... and then her headscarf-"

"Dear gods, Libby," my voice strains.

"She was taken by a group of three men," Harwin speaks sternly, "I know not for, but they've since regret their decision."

"And Libby!" I jump and grab his arm, "where is she now?!"

Harwin feels guilt eat away at him when he catches my distraught expression. He turns to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, "she's being attended to by the maesters in the ward-"

I dash to the door, intent on reaching her, though I had no idea where I was going.

"It's this way!" Daemon calls.

When I turn to see where he meant, he was already right behind me. He grabs my arm and leads me down the hall.

The moment we get to the ward, I run around and look for Libby. I am shocked solid in my place when I see the cot she is laid upon. My hands slap to my face upon catching her messy hair, dirty skin, and tattered clothes. Her waist was bound in bandages, but that didn't prevent the red to seep through from her side.

I drop to my knees and crawl all the way over to her. I yelp when I feel how cold her hands are. Hot tears burn down my cheek, "Libby, please!"

My breathing becomes more erratic.

"I've spoken to the maesters," Daemon's voice sounds from behind.

"Fucking tetanus, fucking bacterial shock-"

"They said she lost some blood but she will recov-"

"SHUT UP!" I snap and get to my feet, "YOU GET A FUCKING FEVER HERE AND YOU DIE!" I point an accusing finger, "THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"

"ME?" Daemon snaps back, "that Strong fool was the one that took his eyes off her!"

"If you had just let us stay in your chambers like I begged you to-- but no! You wanted us to watch your stupid fucking game, you EGOTISTICAL BASTARD!"

He steps forward and barks back, "she still would have needed to go to the privy, you whining nitwit!"

"Why did they even take her?!" I whine.

Daemon does not respond.

"I do not contest that the fault is mine," another voice speaks.

Daemon and I turn to Harwin. His hands are linked in front of him, and only then do I realize they were bloody. More tears gush down my face when the man continues, "it was my duty to keep her-"

"It doesn't matter now, does it!?" I wail, waving my hands around. I fall back on my knees and turn to Libby. Her blue hair was stuck on her sweaty skin. And as I wiped her forehead, it felt like a rehash of last night, except worse. I sob, "nothing's gonna change the fact she got fucking stabbed."

Daemon looks from me to Harwin, "what of the men that took her?"

"I killed them."

My expression drops as I turn to Harwin.

The two stare at each other for a moment.

"Well, we can't question the dead, now can we," Daemon mutters, "feed their corpses to Caraxes."

"W-wait," I feel bile rise up my throat, "did- did you actually kill them?"

Harwin looks at me but doesn't respond. He walks off when Daemon orders him to get a chair. I turn to Daemon and whimper, "he didn't actually kill them... did he actually kill them?"

Daemon nods, "he did," and grabs my arms, "do not insult yourself by sitting on the floor."

For once, I do not fight him back. I let him bring me to my feet. The moment I'm stood before him, he takes my cheeks and wipes my tears.

I shake my head, "I have to take her back."

Daemon raises his brows, "you would dare to move her in such a state?"

"It's the only way she will survive," I mumble through trembling lips.

The prince looks at me for a moment. Harwin finally brings a chair. He places it beside us then stations himself by the door. Neither Daemon nor I make a move for the chair. The former asks, "and you think you can carry her all the way back?"

"Daemon," I grab his arms, "I just have to get her back. Once I'm there, it'll be half the work done."

Daemon releases a breath. He takes my silver locks and fondles with the ends, "and what if I do not want you to leave."

Fuck. "Please," I beg, "please. We both know I don't belong here."

I can see it clearly. It was so clear that those words meant nothing to him. It was talking to a brick wall. I sigh and wipe my face, "I'll do what you want. Whatever it is, I'll do, as long as you let us go by midnight."

Daemon narrows his eyes.

I muster up the most sincere expression I am capable of.

"You will give me whatever I want?"

I close my eyes and shake my head, "yes... my prince."

He does not respond. Daemon turns from me to Libby. He pulls away and calls, "Strong."

"Your grace," Harwin responds.

"She could manage on the back of an ass, could she not?"

Harwin thinks for a moment then nods, "she could."

"Then fetch me an ass," Daemon says. Harwin promptly complies.

Daemon doesn't make me do anything besides sit on his lap while we watched Libby for the rest of the night. I knew in my gut that was not what he wanted out of me, but he didn't say otherwise and I didn't bring it up. Soon enough, it was midnight and there I, Daemon, Harwin, and Libby, sat on a donkey, stood before the open gate of the castle.

Rather than thinking this was stupid and it wasn't going to fucking work, I prayed under my breath to the Seven that we be delivered from this nightmare.

But every time I felt tranquil, the donkey made a sound and I just knew it had to go. What the hell was I going to do with the donkey when I got back to the city anyway?

I clutch the satchel containing our things around my shoulders, "I'll carry her instead."

Daemon and Harwin turn to me and mutter at the same time, "what?"

"I don't want to be responsible for the donk- the animal when I get there."

"Just leave the ass behind," Daemon mutters, rather annoyed.

I grab Libby, who I was already keeping upright, and wrap her arms around my shoulders, "I can carry her."

"No, you can't," Daemon mutters.

Harwin adds, "you are not in the right mind to do this."

"Just," Daemon add, "set the beast free when-"

"I can't just let a donkey loose in King's Landing, Daemon!" I snap, "now please! Help me-"

The bells begin to ring.

I immediately panic.

A surge of adrenaline helps me gather Libby onto my back. "Fucking hell," I grunt and try to fix her on me.

Daemon shakes his hand, "here, let me-"

"I GOT IT!" I scream as the sound of the bell tolling makes my entire body burn with agitation.

I shift Libby on my back one last time and beeline to the gate.

Harwin and Daemon watch. It's impossible to tell which of them is more skeptic in the moment.

I begin to struggle and nearly trip on the annoying skirts hindering my feet. Harwin steps forward, "watch your step."

Daemon eyes him in annoyance, "how helpful."

"Fuck," I panic and begin to walk faster towards the gate, "fucking hell, it's not even that far!"

I reach the large, tunnel-like gate and can't help but close my eyes, afraid that if I could see where I was going, it wouldn't work.

Then SPLAT! I fall face down on the ground.

I scream and immediately roll Libby off me, uncaring that it hurt me, that it hurt her, and quickly get on my feet. I drag her corpse-like body across the expanse and cry as I do so.

I was manic. I was delirious. The sound of the echoing bells did not help the situation at all. I couldn't stop pleading to the gods as I tugged my best friend across the ground. I couldn't even open my eyes because I didn't think my prayers were heard.

"Enough!" a voice calls.

No. NO! That was fucking Daemon. GET THE FUCK AWAY!

I feel someone mess with Libby's body. I screech and refuse to let her go, "LET US GO, DAEMON!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

"NO!" I squeal, finally opening my eyes. I release Libby and lunge at Daemon when I spot him. We crumble to the ground. Once he's on his back, I begin to beat him. It unfortunately doesn't take long for him to overpower me.

"ENOUGH!" he barks, both my hands now trapped in his.

"LET US GO!" I cry.

Daemon shakes his head, "STOP IT!"

"WE'RE GOING BACK!" I try to punch my way out of his grip. It doesn't work.

"Look at me!" Daemon yells, "you dragged her through."

"Get off me!"

"You've done it!!"

I flinch when he shakes me.

"You did it!" Daemon exclaims as he sits up, hands cradling my shoulders, "we're in your time now."

I finally register his words. Daemon looks around, "when you said ruins, I expected an empty castle, not... ruins."

A gasp leaves me when I hear a loud roar from the sky. Daemon looks up when I do, and I calm down when I realize it was only an airplane.

"Was that a dragon?" Daemon asks.

"No," I pull away from him, "that's an-" wait. I stare at him. Daemon fucking Targaryen came back with me?

[geekgirles]

Hot Take

Season 3 should have revealed Eva is a demigoddess instead of Ruel.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm actually quite happy with season 4 focusing on her origins and Madagaskan, even if that was clearly only introduced to set up Flopin's character arc during the upcoming Waven series. But the thing I can never seem to get over is how irrelevant the Cra actually are in season 3. Their arc is literally to be rescued/to escape and to give birth (in Eva's case).

Because, let's face it, their relevance in the season hinged entirely on being Tristepin's family. Eva in particular, regardless of how cordial Echo was to her, seemed to have no value outside of being Tristepin's wife who's carrying his third child, who was later revealed to be an extremely powerful demigod.

Meanwhile, poor Flopin's kidnapping didn't even make sense because he just isn't a demigod like his siblings. Yes, he is Iop's son, but he's not an Iop, so he couldn't inherit any of his father's divine powers. As opposed to Élely and Pin, who already displayed theirs at 5 years old and before being even born, respectively. Hell, that ended up being the crux of his character in season 4! His insecurities over not being as extraordinary as his family, especially his siblings!

Yes, you could say Oropo's real plan besides killing the gods was to make Yugo's friends his, and that's why he wanted Eva and Flopin around. But considering he didn't seem all that contrite over Adamaï almost causing Iop's next reincarnation while he couldn't even bring himself to make Amalia age (even though he was not above breaking her spirit so she'd be easier to manipulate), it's fairly obvious he cared more about keeping certain members of the Brotherhood near than others. Which further proves he only kidnapped Eva and Flopin because of their connection to Pinpin.

And let's face it, between that and how out of focus they were compared to the Iops, that's just such a huge disservice to their characters. They deserve so much more than to orbit around Tristepin.

Which is why I believe Eva should have been Cra's daughter and Oropo's target instead of Ruel. Even though nothing really suggested her divine origins before, they could have always hand-waved it and have that explain her craziest feats, like how she was able to keep up with two demigods even while heavily pregnant or her formidable archery skills. Because, come on, until Madagaskan was introduced, the only relevant Cra in the show were Eva, Cleo, and Flopin. It's not like by the time season 3 dropped we'd seen any other member of their race display the same level of dexterity so as to make Eva's prowess being divine in nature not make sense.

Also, in could retroactively explain her exceptional beauty, since most Cra we've seen are actually fairly plain-looking.

Besides, you're telling me that out of the original members of the Brotherhood of the Tofu, only the boys are the ones related to gods? Come on. Is a little bit of parity that much to ask?

And let's face it, Ruel being Enutrof's son doesn't bring anything new to the table other than some shock value. Like, I get he's always been hinted to be more than meets the eye, but being a demigod doesn't really add much to his character.

Hey, maybe I just don't know much about Enutrofs since they don't give me brainrot compared to other classes, but compared to the rest of his kind, Ruel isn't all that unique either, except for how utterly greedy he is. His powers and attacks, while impressive at times, can never reach their full potential because he just doesn't pay tribute to Enutrof, so they remain relatively weak. And though being a demigod would explain how long-lived he is, that falls flat as well when Arpagone seems to be just as old as he is and his grandma's even older.

Again, longevity could be a standard Enutrof power I'm just not aware of. Still, it pretty much proves my point, doesn't it?

Not to mention, it's not like changing Ruel's status as the group's surprise demigod would really change anything from his storyline in season 3. They could have perfectly had Arpagone be the Enutrof demigoddess whose condition to play a part in Oropo's plan was to be allowed to keep her husband even as she ascended to godhood. Hence, you still get your flashback episode and an excuse to capture Ruel and have Sipho replace him to drive a wedge between Yugo and Amalia and kidnap the latter.

But no, let's go with the plot point that won't be touched upon ever again.

And speaking of things that wouldn't necessarily change just because Eva were a Cra demigoddess, you could still keep Madagaskan's role in season 4!

Maybe just make it so Eva and Cleo are actually half-sisters with the same father but a different mother (or vice versa, given the goddesses' apparent distaste for getting pregnant themselves). While I'd personally prefer it if Madagaskan simply had a tryst with Cra and then he fell in love with his late wife, if you're into drama, Eva could always be the result of an affair but his wife chose to take her in and raise her as her own, anyway. Hence, you would have another reason why Madagaskan went along with her last wish, out of love for her and to repay her kindness and forgiveness.

(Or you could enforce his love for his wife by having him be the one to accept her other child and to make sure both her and his own daughter had a better life).

And from then on, everything could play out exactly like canon.

In fact, Eva being semi-divine would also add another layer to Cleophée's inferiority complex and feelings of inequacy compared to her older sister. Much like Flopin, of course she could never catch up to Eva no matter how hard she tried, she isn't a demigoddess!

Which would make Eva's acceptance and pride over her abilities all the more meaningful too (even if by then they wouldn't know the truth).

And speaking of Flopin, his season 4 storyline would remain the same, too. After all, even if he would now be related to Cra, he'd still be a demigoddess' child first and foremost.

As @cocogum explored in one of her analyses, the children of demigods are their own can of worms. So far, we don't know anything about Kali and Poo's baby, but we do know that Goultard's children certainly didn't inherit immortality of any kind, so it wouldn't be far-fetched to assume they didn't inherit his divine powers either. In other words, Flopin could still feel left out—even with more reason, since now he would be the only "non-exceptional" member of his family—and choose to follow his grandfather in order to find his own path.

I guess what I'm trying to say with all this is that while Amalia might be my blorbo and Yumalia my OTP, I still care for all the members of the Brotherhood of the Tofu, especially Eva. And I can't really forgive that while Pinpin still had focus and issues of his own by virtue of being the reincarnated Iop god, Eva's character was ultimately reduced to being his wife and mother of his children when she's actually so much more than that.

[cephalotyrant]

Vinny AUs (Repost)

Vinny Vaughn:

This is an AU I made so Vinny can exist at NRC alongside Azul and Riddle lol, so he's not related to them.

14 year old prodigy that joins NRC /Octavinelle in between Book 3 and 4, which means he misses Azul and Riddle's overblot but is there for when Azul gets to act badass with his plan lol

The buttoned up blazer and the bangs swept to the side are Azul's influence, but Riddle tied his tie into a bow and he never changed it back. He doesn't wear gloves and he's kinda really bad at Heartslabyul chores and working at Mostro Lounge 🥲

The Vaughns are only at home for 24 days of the year! Their neglect is the reason Vinny sees Azul and Riddle as parental figures I guess

Cursed AU:

I made a comic(repost pending) where Malleus tries to bless baby 1yr old Vinny but instead blesses his necklace after some backlash. This au is just a 'what if', and since in TWST, blessings and curses are the same thing and merely depend on whether you view the effect as good or bad-

Vinny was 'blessed' with the gift of 'persuasion'. People who listen to his voice are swayed no matter what, there's an automatic 'affection' towards him. The only one who's immune would be.. Idia.

The problem is that there's no off switch, and any little opinion that Vinny states is automatically taken as gospel- so he speaks in an incredibly roundabout way and constantly asks people what they think.

Due to the stress of balancing all that, and growing tired of everyone, including his parents, simply bending to his actions, (He's the housewarden of Octavinelle, he just asked the old one to give the position to him.) he overblots in this au.

As an effect of the blessing, the ends of his hair have turned into mist. He keeps it long because the mist looks weird when his hair is short.

He's also taller (5'7") and there's a green shade to his eyes.

The pin he wears is a silver 5-prong crown (Which OG Vinny also wears, but only on special occasions)

Vinny Rosehearts:

This one is pretty self-explanatory. At a young age (4yrs or so) Riddle and Azul die, and the custody is given to Grandma (Mrs.Rosehearts)

He's more like.. rapunzel? Than Riddle, because Grandmother has promised to do a better job than she did with his dad- he's never even seen the patisserie up close, and she almost never talks about Riddle. He uses Riddle's old notes and textbooks as a study guide, and sleeps in Riddle's old room.

He's a fairly sensitive person, but unlike Riddle, his first reaction tends to be to burst into tears despite his seemingly serious appearance.

He wears the crown pin, and his hair is slightly longer from the back (his hair gets curlier the shorter it is, and Grandmother doesn't like that unruly appearance www) his ahoge also curls more inward.

His eyesight began to rapidly deteriorate around 10yrs, meaning he has to wear glasses full-time.

There is a side au that branches off from this where Trey just outright kidnaps Vinny and flees the country LMAO

(Bonus Unmentioned AU: Finding Nemo AU)

An AU where Azul's less... legal business catches up to him and the house gets attacked when Vinny is a baby. Azul goes missing in the process (presumed dead).

This results in Riddle becoming overprotective of Vinny the same way Marlin is with Nemo!

Vinny ends up sneaking onto the bus for a school field trip he was NOT approved of, and gets nabbed in the process.

Dory is either Deuce or Floyd, I haven't decided lol

[zaynessbeloved]

It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 5.7k

Chapter 5

The drive to your grandma’s house is comfortable, filled with quiet conversation and stolen glances that make your heart swell.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, squeezing your hand.

You nod, offering him a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

The moment Zayne pulls up to your grandma’s house, you reach for the door handle, ready to step out—but before you can, he leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s natural. Thoughtless. Like breathing. You kiss him back just as easily, forgetting everything—Caleb, your nerves, the heaviness waiting for you inside. When you finally pull away, Zayne rests his forehead against yours for a second before exhaling, his thumb brushing over your cheek. 

“Call me if you need anything,” he murmurs. 

You nod, smiling softly. “I will.” 

And with that, you step out of the car and head inside. For a moment, the house is quiet—almost too quiet. You half expect Caleb to be waiting for you in the living room, pacing, fuming, demanding answers. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Frowning, you step into the kitchen, where your grandma hums softly to herself as she dries a dish.

“Hey, Grandma,” you greet, trying to keep your voice steady. “Where’s Caleb?”

She glances up, her kind eyes flickering with something unreadable before she says, “I saw him in the backyard earlier.”  

Something in her tone makes your stomach twist. You already know where he is. The treehouse. Your feet feel heavy as you walk outside, the familiar sight of the old, weathered structure coming into view. And then, you see him. 

Caleb sits inside the treehouse, his broad shoulders hunched over as he stares down at something in his hands. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable, but you can see it—the tension in his posture, the quiet storm brewing behind his eyes. You take a deep breath before climbing up, your hands gripping the wood like they have hundreds of times before.

When you finally settle next to him, you hesitate before whispering, “Hey.”

He doesn’t look at you. Instead, he grips the frame in his hands tighter, his knuckles turning white before, without looking up, he says—“Do you remember the first night I moved in here?”

Your breath catches. You swallow, nodding slowly. “…Yeah.”

Caleb lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I was terrified,” he admits, his voice raw, distant. “I had just lost my parents. I had no one.”

He finally looks at you then, his eyes dark, full of years of something he never let himself say aloud. “Do you remember how you came to me that night?” he asks, softer this time. “How you crawled into bed with me, made sure I felt safe?”

You nod, feeling something tighten in your chest.

Caleb exhales, shaking his head. “That’s the first time I knew I loved you.”

Your breath stalls. 

“I wasn’t sure what it meant back then,” he continues, his voice unsteady. “But I knew I wanted you to always be by my side. For the rest of our lives.”

He lets out a sharp, bitter chuckle. “…How stupid is that?”

“Caleb,” you whisper, reaching for him, but he flinches before you can touch him. Then—his jaw clenches, his grip tightening on the picture frame in his hands.

“I saw you kissing.”  

Your whole body freezes. Caleb finally looks at you, his eyes burning.

“You were ready to kill him last night at the bar,” he says, his voice low, accusing, hurt. “And today, you were kissing him.”

You can see it in his face—the way he’s already bracing himself for your answer, the way he knows it’s going to hurt, but he’s asking anyway.

“When did that happen?”

He’s already cursing himself for asking, already regretting it. But you can’t lie to him. You won’t. So, sighing, you hug your knees to your chest, resting against the inside of the treehouse before quietly admitting—

“He came over last night. After I ran away.”

Caleb nods, slow, stiff, trying to process what that means. His mind whirls, taking a wild guess. A correct guess. Something happened. And then, another thought—another realization—hits him like a brick.

“If I had been the one there last night,” he murmurs, voice growing tight, “it would have been me. It should have been me.” His voice sharpens, his fists clenching. “I should have been the one there. Not him.”

Your heart aches at the anger, the bitterness dripping from his tone. But you’re so tired. Tired of this conversation. Tired of pretending it would have made a difference. So you snap—

“Caleb, stop. Don’t you see?” You run your hands through your hair, exhaling sharply, your patience wearing thin. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”

His brows furrow, something unreadable flickering across his face. You inhale, trying to steady yourself before meeting his gaze, your voice softer this time—“…It was always him.” 

The words hit Caleb like a truck. You watch as his face falls, as every last shred of hope crushes under the weight of your words. You open your mouth, trying to explain, trying to soften the blow— But he cuts you off.

“Are you in love with him?” His voice is quiet now. Low. Almost dangerous. He doesn’t even look at you when he asks. You hesitate—just for a second. And that’s all he needs. Because the moment you pause, the moment you hesitate before answering—He already knows.

“…Yeah.”

Caleb squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw clenching as a muscle twitches in his cheek. He doesn’t say anything. Just nods. Once. 

Like that’s all he needed to hear. Like that’s all he could handle hearing. The silence between you stretches on, heavy and unforgiving. Caleb stares down at the old photos in his hands, his grip still tight, but his breathing slowly steadies. He knows.

As much as it fucking hurts, as much as his heart aches, he knows that this isn’t your fault. And, if he’s being honest with himself—it’s not Zayne’s fault either. Because how could he blame him? How could he blame anyone for loving you? When he’s done the same damn thing for as long as he can remember? 

So he swallows down the anger, forces himself to breathe, to accept the reality of it all. This is how things are. How they always were. And, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, how much he tried to deny it—maybe he was always meant to lose you.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he exhales and speaks, his voice softer than before, quieter, almost gentle— “…It’s not your fault, Pipsqueak.” 

The nickname shatters something inside you. Because despite everything—despite everything—he’s still Caleb. Still the boy who’s been by your side forever. And suddenly, it’s too much. Your chest tightens, your eyes sting, and before you can stop yourself, soft, silent tears spill down your cheeks.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Caleb. I swear.”

He looks up then, his brows drawing together, something pained flickering across his face. And fuck—he knows. He knows you never meant to hurt him. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt anyway. Still—he can’t stand seeing you cry. Not because of him. So, without thinking, without stopping himself, he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms just like he’s done a thousand times before. Just like he always would.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt as you bury your face against his shoulder, your body shaking gently with quiet sobs. Caleb tightens his hold on you, one hand smoothing over your back, his voice low, steady, murmuring, “I know.”

And in this moment, despite everything that’s changed—despite everything that’s broken— This still feels like home. You stay wrapped in Caleb’s arms, safe in his warmth, your quiet sobs slowly fading as the weight of everything settles between you. He holds you like he always has—like he always will—strong and steady, like the anchor he’s been since childhood. And that’s what terrifies you most. That things will change. That you’ll lose this. That you’ll lose him.

So, with a shaky breath, you whisper against his shoulder— “You will always be my home, Caleb. No matter what.” 

His breath catches, but he doesn’t let you go, his arms only tightening around you for a second before he finally exhales, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles against your back.

“I know.” he murmurs, and you believe him. 

For a while, neither of you move. Then, slowly, the heaviness eases, giving way to something softer, something familiar. You end up reminiscing—talking about the nights you spent in this treehouse as kids, the adventures, the sleepovers, the silly fights, the times you and Caleb would whisper secrets long after bedtime while your grandma thought you were asleep.

Somewhere along the way, Zayne’s name slips from your lips without thinking—maybe it’s a memory, something stupid he did as a kid, something funny. You tense immediately, sucking in a sharp breath, realizing too late. 

But Caleb just sighs. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t get angry, just says, softly— “It’s okay, Pipsqueak.”

You turn to look at him, eyes uncertain, but his gaze is steady.

“I may need some time with this,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “But if it’s not me…” He takes a breath, letting it sink in before continuing, “Then I’m glad it’s him instead.”

Your heart aches at the weight of those words. Then— 

“Otherwise,” he smirks, voice lighter now, “I would’ve had to discard the body of whoever else you dated.”

A startled laugh bursts from your lips, the tension breaking all at once.

You shove him playfully, sniffling. “Caleb—”

“What?” He grins, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

You roll your eyes, but it works—the tightness in your chest eases, your heart swelling with love for the boy who’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember. By the time you both climb down from the treehouse, the air between you is lighter.

Caleb, in an attempt to shift things back to normal, insists on cooking dinner—his redemption for the last time he almost burned your grandma’s kitchen down. The three of you—you, Caleb, and Grandma—sit together at the dinner table, sharing a meal like you always have.

For a little while, everything feels okay. Then, as the night rolls in, it’s time to go. Zayne pulls up outside, the familiar rumble of his car making your stomach flip with anticipation. You stand, hesitating for just a moment before looking at Caleb. He meets your gaze, his expression unreadable, but there’s something softer underneath it now. You don’t say anything—because you don’t have to.

Instead, as you step toward the door, Caleb watches you go, trying—really trying—to look cool and unaffected. But when you reach Zayne’s car, when you open the door and slip inside, you see it. The pain flickering across Caleb’s face. The way his hands clench at his sides, the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes darken as he forces himself to look away.

And it hurts. For both of you. But as you glance at Zayne, as his hand reaches over and rests on your thigh, warm and steady, you know—This is how it was always meant to be.The drive is quiet at first. Zayne doesn’t ask how it went. He doesn’t push, doesn’t probe—he just lets you sit there, lets you process, lets you set the pace. And you appreciate it. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, you start talking.

You tell him everything—what Caleb said, what he admitted, how much it hurt to see him struggling with the truth, how guilty you feel even though you know you shouldn’t. Zayne listens, his hands gripping the wheel, his jaw tightening slightly at certain moments, but he doesn’t interrupt. He just lets you speak. By the time you finish, the two of you sit in silence for a few moments before you sigh, resting your head against the seat.

“I think we just… need to give him space,” you murmur, turning your head to look at him. “I know he won’t shut me out forever. And even though he probably wants to kill you—”

Zayne snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I got that impression.”  

You smile, small but real. “—he does care about you too.”

Zayne exhales, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “I think you’re right. Space is good.”

You nod, the conversation shifting, the weight easing a little. Soon enough, warmth finds its way back between you, the topic shifting to lighter things—memories, jokes, teasing words that make you laugh for the first time since leaving Caleb. And before you know it, Zayne is pulling up in front of your house, the car slowing to a stop.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, ready to step out—but when you turn to look at him, you notice something odd. He’s lingering. His fingers tap against the wheel, his lips part like he wants to say something, but then he just stares at your house instead. You frown, tilting your head. 

“…Aren’t you coming in?”

His shoulders tense, his grip on the wheel tightening just slightly before he exhales through his nose, still not looking at you. And that’s when it hits you. He’s hesitating. You blink, confusion settling in because—why? He literally slept over last night, quite literally devoured you in your kitchen this morning, and now—now—he’s second-guessing himself?

It clicks then. Zayne is still—after everything—unsure if he should just… act freely. If he should do what he wants without holding himself back. Because he spent years thinking you weren’t his.And now that you are… He doesn’t know if he can just walk into your house like he belongs there, like it’s normal, like he’s allowed to. 

Your heart aches at the realization. A soft smile tugs at your lips as you reach over, placing your hand over his, pulling his attention back to you.

“Zayne,” you say softly, waiting until he meets your gaze. You squeeze his hand, your voice gentle, filled with so much warmth it makes his heart ache— “You can come in, you know.” 

His lips part slightly, his expression unreadable for a second before something shifts in his gaze. And then, finally— He smirks. “…Yeah?” 

You roll your eyes but grin, tugging on his hand slightly. “Yeah, dumbass.” 

Zayne chuckles, shaking his head before finally—finally—turning off the engine, pushing his door open, and following you inside. Like he belongs there. The moment you step inside, normality settles over you both like it’s always been this way—like there was never a time when things weren’t exactly like this. You kick off your shoes, stretching your arms above your head before sighing dramatically.

“I’m hungry,” you whine, plopping onto the couch. Zayne barely has time to process before you turn to him, pouting, eyes wide and pleading. “And I haven’t eaten something you made in five years, Zayne.” 

Your lower lip juts out just a little, your voice soft, laced with just the right amount of sweetness, because you know—you know what this does to him. And fuck— He feels it immediately. Something in his chest tightens, his fingers twitch, his entire body reacting before his brain even catches up. Because of course you would do this. 

You always knew how to break him when you were younger, how to make him melt even when he was trying to keep a straight face. And now? Now, after everything? He’s about two seconds away from combusting.

Zayne groans, dragging a hand down his face as he mutters, “You cannot look at me like that and expect me to say no.” 

You grin, victorious, but before he agrees, he pauses, something wicked glinting in his gaze. Then—his lips curl into a small smirk, his voice dipping into something taunting, something dangerous.

“Though, I just cooked you breakfast this morning, my love.”  

Your breath catches. The way those two words roll so effortlessly off his tongue, how warm and teasing they sound, how they still make your stomach flip even though you should be used to it by now. 

But before you can recover, before you can even retaliate, he leans in just slightly, his smirk widening as he adds—“Or were you too distracted to remember that part, hm?”

Your entire body locks up. Your face heats so fast it almost hurts. Zayne knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly how that flusters you, and he’s thriving in it, watching your expression shift from victorious to completely wrecked in a matter of seconds.

“You—” you choke, unable to form a proper sentence, your mind reeling. Zayne just laughs. And fuck, he looks so pleased with himself.

“I—” You try to come up with a retort, but your brain is fried, and your face is burning, and he’s looking at you with that pleased expression that makes you want to either kiss him or kill him.

Before you can decide which, he finally takes pity on you. He steps back, arms crossing over his chest, grinning before finally relenting—“Fine, fine. I’ll cook.”

You sag in relief, still flustered as hell, but you won.…Even if it doesn’t feel like it anymore. 

Zayne moves effortlessly in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hands working with practiced ease as he chops, stirs, and prepares dinner for the both of you. He barely lets you lift a finger, nudging you toward the counter with a soft, but firm, “Just relax, sweetheart. Let me take care of it.”

And so, you do. You sit on the counter, swinging your legs slightly as you watch him, your heart swelling with something so warm, so comfortable, that you can’t stop smiling. Conversation flows easily between you—catching up on old memories, laughing about the dumb things you did as kids, teasing each other over things that haven’t changed, like his insane sweet tooth and your terrible ability to wake up early.

For a moment, it’s just like before—before time and distance got in the way, before misunderstandings and hidden feelings complicated everything. But then— Your thoughts wander. 

You watch his hands as he moves, those long, capable fingers slicing through vegetables with a precise, almost effortless motion. And then, unbidden—your mind drifts back to last night. To those same hands on your body.

Your stomach flips, heat creeping into your face as you realize just how good he was—how naturally he touched you, how easily he knew where to press, how to move—and a thought sinks into your chest before you can stop it.

There’s no way he hasn’t done this before. He acted like it was his first time and seemed just as overwhelmed as you. But what if he was just good at hiding it? What if there had been someone else—someone in medical school, someone before he came back? 

You try to shake the thought, try to tell yourself you’re being stupid, but it lingers, curling into the edges of your overthinking mind. And then—before you can stop yourself, you say it. You mask it under a joke, keeping your voice light, casual, as you lean against the counter, watching him. 

“So,” you hum, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers. “You must have had plenty of admirers in med school, huh?”

Zayne pauses, glancing at you with a raised brow. “What?” 

You shrug, your tone just teasing enough to sound natural. “I mean—look at you, Doctor. Smart, handsome, ridiculously good with your hands.” You smirk slightly, trying to keep it cool. “You’re telling me no one tried to get a piece of you?”

Zayne blinks once. Then—He smirks.Shit.

“Ridiculously good with my hands, huh?” he repeats, tilting his head, amusement flickering in his gaze.

Your face heats. “That’s—not what I—” 

He laughs, setting the knife down before leaning against the counter, arms crossing over his chest.

“I mean, I won’t deny the admirers part,” he says, voice dripping with amusement. “Some people did try.” 

Your stomach tightens. You keep your expression neutral, forcing a light chuckle. “Oh? Anyone special?”

Zayne studies you for a second—too long, too perceptive, and fuck, he knows. His smirk softens into something more genuine, and when he speaks next, his voice is lower, steadier.

“No.” he says simply. “No one special.”

You swallow, your fingers tightening against the edge of the counter. “Oh.”

He steps closer, his hands resting on either side of you, his voice dropping just slightly. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “You were my first. For everything.” 

Your breath catches at his words, the weight of them sinking deep into your chest. Even though you were the one teasing him moments ago, now you’re the one sitting there, flustered, your face warming against your will.

Your eyes soften without realizing, your posture loosening, and for a second, you just stare at him—taking in the way he looks at you, how sure he is, how there isn’t a single hint of hesitation in his voice.He meant every word. And fuck, if that doesn’t make your heart flip.

Zayne notices, of course. His smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, clearly enjoying your reaction, but then— He hesitates. Just for a second. His fingers tap against the counter, his gaze flickering with something thoughtful, something almost… uncertain.

And then—he asks it. The same question. The same thought that had nagged at him before, even though he tried—really tried—not to dwell on it.

“What about you?” His voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it—curiosity, maybe even a little anxiety, even though he already knows the answer. Even though you told him you loved him all these years, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. Even though he knows you never looked at anyone else the way you look at him.

Still. He wants to hear it. Needs to. You blink, your lips parting slightly in surprise at the sudden shift, at the way his voice lowers, at the way his gaze darkens just a little, as if he’s bracing himself for something. You tilt your head, studying him, catching the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides.

You smile softly, your eyes gentle as you lean forward, your hands finding his jaw, cradling his face between your palms.

“No,” you murmur, your voice quiet, but sure. “No one else.”

His shoulders relax, the tension melting from him in an instant, and fuck—the relief that flickers across his face makes your heart ache. You press your forehead against his, sighing.

“You were my first, too.”

Zayne closes his eyes at that, exhaling slowly, like he needed to hear that more than he even realized. And when he opens them again, when he looks at you— It’s the softest thing in the world.

He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away, resuming his cooking like nothing happened—like he didn’t just completely melt you into a lovesick mess with his words. You watch him for a second, taking him in—the way his brows furrow slightly in concentration, the way his fingers move with such practiced ease, the way he occasionally glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he still can’t believe you’re here, with him. And fuck, if that doesn’t make your chest warm all over again.

Dinner is perfect. Comfortable, easy, filled with soft laughter and teasing comments, just the two of you. Afterward, Zayne insists on cleaning up, and you don’t argue, stretching your arms before letting out a small yawn. 

“I’m gonna shower,” you murmur, standing up. “Freshen up a little.” 

Zayne looks up from where he’s wiping down the counter, his lips tugging into a small smirk. “Good idea. Don’t take too long, or I’ll start thinking you fell asleep in there.”

You roll your eyes but grin, shaking your head before heading toward the bathroom. Once inside, you shut the door but don’t lock it—out of habit, the way you always do when you’re home alone. Your fingers work at the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head before you pause, catching sight of your reflection in the mirror.

And then—you see it. A faint, hidden mark just below your clavicle. Your eyes widen, a deep blush creeping onto your face as you reach up to touch it, the memory flooding back—Zayne’s lips, his teeth, the way he had kissed and sucked at your skin that morning, completely lost in you.

You sputter, your face practically burning as you whip your head away from the mirror, refusing to dwell on it. With a deep inhale, you step into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over your skin, washing away the lingering tension from the day. And, for the first time since this whole whirlwind started—you’re finally alone. Alone with your thoughts. Alone to process.

The water soothes you, washing over your skin, but it’s the warmth in your chest that truly settles you. Because despite everything—the uncertainty with Caleb, the years apart, the unknown future— You’re happy. And that is enough. The warm water cascades over you, washing away the tension in your muscles, soothing every ache, but your mind refuses to quiet. It keeps drifting—keeps drifting to him.

Even though Zayne is somewhere in the kitchen, doing something as simple and domestic as cleaning up after dinner, you can’t stop thinking about him. About how much he’s grown. About how ridiculously handsome he turned out to be. 

About how just the thought of him—of the mark he left on your clavicle, of his lips on your skin, his hands on your body—sends a slow, curling ache through you that has nothing to do with sore muscles.Your breath comes out a little shaky, your eyes fluttering shut as your fingers press lightly against the faint bruise on your skin. He did this. Zayne—your Zayne—did this to you.

And fuck, you ache for him. The need is subtle at first, an idle heat thrumming under your skin, pooling low in your stomach—but it lingers, growing with every second, with every thought. You could just go to him. He’s right there, just outside this door. But fuck, this is still new, and the idea of being so direct—of stepping out, dripping wet, needy for him—makes your face burn. 

So, without thinking, without meaning to, your hand drifts lower. Your breath catches as your fingers slide between your legs, the pressure of the water only making it worse, your body already sensitive, already aching. A small, silent gasp slips from your lips as you press your thighs together, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself quiet.

It’s so embarrassing. You shouldn’t be doing this—not when Zayne is right there, not when you could just go to him, not when you— Your fingers move again, slow and tentative, and your thoughts dissolve. Because all you can think about now— is him. Your fingers move with slow, teasing strokes, your other hand cupping your breast, rolling over the sensitive peak as your breath shudders.

Images of him flood your mind— Zayne hovering over you, his voice low and wrecked in your ear. His hands gripping your hips, holding you down as he devoured you. The way he had moved inside you, slow at first, then deep, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you couldn’t even think. A quiet, desperate whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body burning, aching, but it’s not enough. Your fingers feel nothing like his. You need him.

Your frustration grows, your pace increasing, chasing the memory of his touch, trying—failing—to recreate it. You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet, but your breath stutters, your thighs clenching as you sink further into the pleasure, drowning in the heat curling deep in your stomach. You don’t even realize how much time has passed. Don’t realize how long you’ve been in the shower, lost in the heat of the water, lost in memories of him. 

Not until—A soft rap against the door, barely audible over the sound of the water. Your whole body freezes. Your heart jumps into your throat, your eyes snapping open as your hand immediately yanks away from between your legs, your breath coming in shallow, guilty gasps.

“Sweetheart?” Zayne’s voice is muffled through the door, but there’s a hint of concern in it. “You’ve been in there for a while,” he calls, his tone light but questioning. “You okay?” 

Oh, fuck. Your face burns, your hands flying to your face, mortification hitting you all at once. Because, shit—How long was he standing there? Your mind is scrambling, your body still thrumming with the ache of unfulfilled pleasure, but you force yourself to sound normal, to keep it together. 

“Y-Yeah! I’m—” fuck, your voice is breathless— “I’m okay! I’ll be right out.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ground yourself, trying to shake off the lingering heat still pulsing through your veins. Then—under your breath—you curse, a quiet, frustrated, needy whisper that only makes your face burn hotter.

Because fuck—why does he have to sound so good even when he’s just checking on you? That deep, gravelly concern in his voice, the way he called you sweetheart so naturally— Your thighs press together involuntarily, and you groan, knowing you can’t go back to touching yourself, knowing that you really have to get out before you completely lose it.

You reach for the shampoo, ready to speed-run the rest of your shower— 

But then— “Are you sure?” 

You freeze. You barely registered his voice the first time, too caught up in your own flustered thoughts, but now—now you hear him clearly. His voice is closer to the door, softer but serious, slipping into that tone he uses when he’s in doctor mode—or when he’s just a deeply concerned lover. 

“…Can I come in?” 

Your heart slams into your ribs. Your stomach flips. Your legs tremble, still sensitive from everything, and you cannot believe that you’re suddenly even more turned on just from hearing those words. Your breath hitches, your fingers gripping the slick tiles of the shower wall as you hesitate.

Zayne wouldn’t know what you were doing, would he? At first glance, everything would look normal. Your face is flushed, but that could easily be from the heat of the shower. Your voice is unsteady, but you could just blame it on the steam, the warmth, the fact that you’ve been in here for too long. You can play this off. You can. So you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to calm down, to settle your voice, to go back to a composed, relaxed state— As if you can fool him. 

“…Yeah,” you finally manage, your voice much steadier this time. “You can come in.”

There’s a brief pause—just a second too long—before you hear the door creak open. You don’t look. You can’t. You focus on the water cascading down your body, on the way it burns against your skin, on anything but the fact that Zayne is now standing inside the bathroom with you, just beyond the glass. 

His footsteps are soft, barely audible over the rush of the water, and then— “Sweetheart.”

The warmth in his voice makes your stomach flip, but there’s something else in his tone too—something genuine, something still concerned. You force yourself to turn your head, just slightly, to glance at him. And fuck. The moment you meet his gaze, you know. He sees it.

Even if he doesn’t say anything, even if he keeps his expression neutral, you can feel it in the way his eyes flick over your too-flushed face, the way his gaze lingers just a little too long.

You don’t move, don’t breathe, waiting for him to call you out, waiting for him to smirk, to tease you, to say something. But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps closer, his hands reaching for a towel as he pretends—like he doesn’t see it, like he’s still just concerned, like he believes the lie you’re trying to sell.

“You were in here for too long,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady, like he’s just focused on making sure you’re okay.

Like he’s not thinking about what you were just doing. Like he’s not thinking about how desperately you were trying to chase his touch, his memory, just minutes ago. And somehow—that makes it worse. Because now you know. Now you know that he knows. And he’s just waiting. 

You step out of the shower hesitantly, the air cool against your damp, flushed skin. Zayne is already there, unfolding one and wrapping it around you, his movements smooth, calculated, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.  

His fingers brush over your shoulders, then down your arms, slowly drying you with careful, deliberate motions. And he doesn’t say anything. Not about your flustered face. Not about the way you hesitated before letting him in.

Not about the way your body still trembles, slightly overstimulated from the frustration of what you were doing before he knocked. But that’s the thing about Zayne. He’s known you for years. He knows what you look like when you’re simply warm from a shower, and he knows what you look like when you’re trying to hide something.

And after last night—after this morning—he knows the difference in your flustered face. Still—he doesn’t push. He lets you play this off. Because maybe he’s soft, maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, maybe he’s giving you the space to come to terms with whatever new feelings you’re experiencing now.

But as soon as his fingers brush against your still-too-warm skin, the barely perceptible sound tumbles from your lips— A small, unintentional whimper. It’s soft. Barely audible. But he hears it. And that’s when you know—you’ve lost.

Zayne’s hands pause. Just for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, carefully, he resumes, continuing his slow, calculated movements, his expression unreadable.But you can feel the shift in the air. You can see it in the way his grip tightens slightly around the towel. In the way his breath falters just slightly. In the way his jaw clenches, as if fighting the urge to smirk, to react, to say something. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, his fingers brush against your skin one more time, slow and intentional, as he murmurs— “…Still feeling warm, my love?”

Well, fuck—you are so screwed.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @asiaticapple @syluslittlecrows @vyntheria @ixloom819

[zoniteillusion-pyritedreams]

Hiiiii can I also request this ask https://www.tumblr.com/zoniteillusion-pyritedreams/783628120024547328/so-what-really-gets-jeonghan-going

With mingyu of seventeen ?

Thank you!!!!

Sure thing babe! Oh he us so puppy coded so yes mistress whatever you say, Coded! Aphrodite has fun with this one.

“So… What Actually Gets Mingyu Weak in the Knees?”

( Aphrodite-approved reading for SEVENTEEN’s Golden Retriever Boyfriend)

Initial vibes?

The second “JUMP” (Tyla) came on, Aphrodite arched a brow. Add in Hoshi’s “Spider”?

Oh, baby!

We’re not just talking about attraction here, we’re talking about magnetic obsession. That “I wanna be wrapped around your finger but pretend it’s all my idea” type of energy.

So What gets Mingyu looking at you like you’re the only person in the room.

Astro Cards: Scorpio, Leo, Venus

Scorpio: He’s drawn to depth, emotional intensity, a lil’ danger. If your vibe is mysterious-meets-magnetic? Yeah, he’s spiraling. Again black cat energy, so far we got two for 13 I feel like that's probably a good number of members in this group who REALLY like that black cat energy.

Leo: He loves confidence. Someone who glows naturally, who walks into a room and owns it no arrogance, just presence.

Venus: Soft beauty. Romance. Aesthetics. Think soft hands, shiny lips, graceful movements. The kind of person who knows their angles but doesn’t have to pose.

It's definitely giving Marilyn Monroe vibes probably younger Megan Fox during her like Transformer days.

Oracle of the Roses Said He’s Into...

The Lover + The Flirt + The Hero + The Ancestor + The Rescuer + The Outsider

He’s 1000% into someone who feels both nurturing and daring. Someone who will baby him and call him out. Someone who's charming, emotionally intelligent, a little mysterious, and maybe even a bit psychic.

Bonus points if you have old-soul wisdom and that hot librarian with a past . AKA someone that's low-key the embodiment of the office siren aesthetic but on like a mental level.

(Also? The flirt card + puppy vibes? Confirmed: He’s so soft for teasing. Praise him once and he’ll fold.)

Tarot Got Deep

The High Priestess: He wants someone unknowable. Someone he has to earn. Someone whose silence speaks volumes.

( At this point I'm starting to also think you know we got two for 13 and it kind it feels like they might all have a little bit of like a chasing kink. Like they really desperately want someone that they have to earn and they have to chase after like a lovesick little puppy it's quite interesting. It might also have to do with the whole thing though because of how famous they are they'd rather have someone where they have two genuinely sit there and put in the work to get with and not someone who would easily just be like okay I'll date you.)

Ace of Wands reversed + Ace of Cups reversed: Don’t give it all away too fast he wants to chase. If it’s too easy? He loses interest.

(See! I told you!)

* also this might look weird but I normally shuffle all the cards and then as I'm looking at her index also there and write out the message/5 that I'm getting from it. And then when I go back to edit so it doesn't sound boring and add my own personality to it that's when I'm making all these little annotations

Six of Cups reversed + Two of Cups: He’s not into surface-level flings. He wants soul-deep connection and someone who makes him feel safe. Again I just keep getting like the puppy dog Vibes literally while doing this reading I just kept getting like images of my pup that I used to have when I was like really young kid probably around the time I was like 1 years old up until my senior year of high school my grandmother had this like very energetic puppy who we called princey I have no clue what her name was it was a girl dog and she had like a long ass name that no one remembers so that was her name. And it's just the same vibe that I got from like when Prince he was alive and how she would like follow my grandmother around like my grandma was her safe space when my grandmother passed away it didn't take long before Prince he followed right behind her like genuinely that that's the energy he's giving me for him. He needs someone that he can quite literally just latch onto you are his home his safe space and he will be very loyal like a dog. Or like the dog from Japan who like sat there at the train station waiting for his owner to come back those vibes.

Queen & King of Wands reversed: He doesn’t want someone just as loud or flashy as him. He’s the golden retriever he wants the witch in black who only smiles at him.

Aesthetic wise someone who's probably a bit more neutral/ light feminine vibes. But in terms of like personality dark feminine or very witchy Vibes like he basically wants to be your familiar instead of you having like a black cat or an animal he wants to be the familiar.

The Moon + Strength reversed: He wants someone who can handle his emotional depths even when he’s feeling insecure or overwhelmed.

Death reversed + The Sun + 8 of Cups reversed: He’s working on letting go of old patterns. He’s learning to trust his feelings again. He wants joy , but earned joy.

100% certain that this man has dated someone before that knew him first as being an idol or a celebrity. Henceforth why he is so desperate to have someone where he has to earn them. It did not work very well when they put him on a pedestal and instead he wants to have a partner where he kind of feels like he is slightly inferior to them in some way shape or form. So that he's the one who's putting them on a pedestal and like Desperately Seeking for their attention.

So... Would He a Public Figure or "civilian"?

Honestly? Either.

But only if they feel EMOTIONALLY REAL. Like, if you’re famous and grounded? He’s intrigued. If you’re a “civilian” with main character energy and deep insight into people? He’s obsessed. What matters to him most is that you SEE HIM, not the brand, not the biceps, HIM.

He’d never admit it, but he wants to be taken care of by someone elegant, intuitive, and a little spicy.

The whole time I'm doing this reading the song Animal Farm by Bibi just keeps like playing in my head so I feel like definitely those types of vibes. Like really when you think about that woman she's a bad bitch but every time you see her doing interviews with people or friends talking about her they talk about how caring and nice and sweet and kind she is so it's definitely giving those type of lives. He wants a bad bitch Bibi.

What Physically/Emotionally Turns Him On:

That slow smile you give when you know he’s watching again he lowkey wants you to drag him along. Play with his emotions his feelings.

Teasing that dances between “innocent” and bold as hell low key feel like he has a slight corruption King but in the way that he wants you to corrupt him. Like even if he technically might be more knowledgeable than you when it comes to the Arts of like the Kama Sutra he still wants you to somehow find ways to absolutely wreck him. I also say that because I definitely feel like he kind of wants someone who embodies the Madonna whore complex. Someone who is seemingly innocent to some extent but also an absolute freak behind closed doors.

Emotional safety wrapped in a sexy silhouette. Very home vibes slight owner vibes.

Someone who makes him feel desired and understood. Seriously I'm definitely getting the Vibes that he just had like one really bad almost full-on relationship because it's not even giving like they got to the point of calling to the boyfriend girlfriend but more of like right on the cusp of it happening it wasn't a situation ship it was a let's go on a few dates see how this works and it just did not work out. Very I desire you because of your status but I do not understand you and seemingly not trying to understand him.

Soft touches, low laughs, quiet strength again I can't help but think of Marilyn Monroe maybe even like Jessica rabbit. If you ever watched the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit that was one of my grandmother's favorite movies. Jessica Rabbit comes off as very Central but then when you see her with Roger she is just like absolutely a sweetheart with him the way she talks to him how sweet he is when the detective and people ask why did you marry Rodger rabbit you're jessica. She literally says because he makes me laugh and I feel like that's kind of the dynamic that he wants. He wants to be Roger and he wants his jessica. He wants to be able to be goofy and silly and not have to think about his Idol image or being really cool and mysterious or anything like that. While still getting to have like the very hot people look at the two of them and wonder how the fuck they ended up together out of his League kind of girlfriend.

And let’s be real lingerie or cozy oversized sweaters, there’s no in-between.

( I'm telling you he really wants someone who kind of embodies that Madonna whore complex. You either come off a super sweet and innocent or an absolute sex kitten.)

"Mingyu doesn’t want just a lover. He wants a soft-spoken goddess who pulls his soul into her orbit with a glance and wrecks him gently.”

[jmdbjk]

No hurricanes.

We have 4 days left in August but it looks like there will be no hurricanes for us. We are typically waiting for one to arrive about this time every August. Definitely a welcome calm because there was already too much shit packed into this past month as it was so thank you to Mother Nature for not adding that extra layer of a shit show.

That being said, there is always next week for a hurricane. We wait. In the meantime, Episode 5 of Are You Sure? drops after I go to sleep tomorrow night.

Namjoon has been active on his IG account, he just tweaked his bio, changing the title "right place, wrong person" to all lowercase. We are holding the ship on a steady course, Captain. Seas are rough but we see the signals.

In case you didn't know, Miss Karma came back from her vacation. As of today, Min Hee Jin has been terminated as CEO of Ador.

She is being given the choice of remaining as director/producer for NewJeans but all of her stock options and whatever went poof. Good luck bitch, fighting your sexual harassment lawsuits without your CEO salary or perks. On your way out, please fumigate your office and leave the keys with the security team.

In other news, Billboard executives meeting this week to discuss major changes to Billboard Hot 100 and minor changes to Billboard 200. Can't wait to hear what this new round of fresh hell will be.

Also, Billboard having an event in Seoul to fiNd ThE nExT BTS!

Ya know... after all this time... how has no one ever realized its not the NEXT BTS anyone needs to be searching for? Yes, to the part about finding an authentic artist who can craft their own (really good) songs with lyrics that resonate. But the real key they need to find is...

... the next FANDOM that is like Army. Globally diverse from different walks of life including young, old and in-between. Loyal, loving, smart, organized, even if at times we seem to struggle to come together.

If an artist can cultivate a relationship with their fandom which consists of mutual respect and trust between them only THEN can the artist do anything, be anything, even untouchable. Hasn't anyone been listening at all? BTS has been saying for years they couldn't do anything... wouldn't be where they are... would have no reason to exist WITHOUT ARMY.

Seriously shaking my damn head. No one listens. No one.

Some other random things that are constantly doing a hit n'run inside my head...

I hope Jimin’s time with Dior menswear is finished because good lawd that shit is fugly. No. Just no:

It looks like an outfit they would be forced to wear as a penalty for losing a Run BTS game. Isn't that the same way Koreans tie up what they call a "lamb head" towel around their head to go in the public baths?

I haven’t talked about Jin at all this month. Shame on me.

He's been very very busy endearing himself not only to Army but to middle-aged men, women, kids, moms, future spouses, actors, idols, foodies, gamers, fishermen, grandmas, grandpas, the world.

Hobi will be coming home in 49(?) days!

Jimin and Jungkook are sending off their fellow soldiers with autographs as they are discharged. I guess it is somewhat comforting to read these simple messages they write to their departing comrades. It's all we have for now. I hope they are doing ok way out there in the boonies. 9 months and 15 days left.

[sabrinajenre96]

Episode twenty four “Big Sisters, Secrets & Snitches”

Micheal Robinavitch x wife reader x Sawyer Robinavitch x Spencer Robinavitch x Alex Robinavitch

Warning ⚠️: Chaos

Spencer is back in action — scrubs, clipboard, glitter glasses, and Kojo right by her side. She’s declared the living room “The New Pitt Junior,” and anyone who enters must have a valid reason or a badge (she makes Alex color his). She’s even roped in her grandpa to play a delirious patient. Again.

But while Spencer is running the cutest fake ER on the East Coast, things are heating up on the older sibling front.

Sawyer, now 17 and back to pirouetting like the ballerina queen she is, announces — casually, too casually — that she has a date this weekend.

With a boy.

Michael drops the cup of coffee he’s holding.

Y/N freezes mid-text.

Alex, the 8-year-old menace and part-time chaos agent, raises an eyebrow. “You mean Jeremy? The guy you met while volunteering at the hospital?”

Silence.

Sawyer’s eyes widen. “Alex—”

Alex continues, oblivious. “He’s like… older than you, right? 18? You said he’s going to college next year.”

Michael: enters Dad War Mode.

Y/N: enters silent Wife Tease Mode™.

“Wait,” Michael says slowly. “She’s seventeen, he’s eighteen, and they met while she was in scrubs?”

“I was volunteering,” Sawyer defends. “It’s not like we scrubbed in on a trauma together.”

Spencer, overhearing from her stuffed-animal ER, gasps. “Is this why you didn’t want to help me restock the Band-Aids?!” Then she dramatically turns to Kojo. “Assistant, we have a Code Betrayal.”

Sawyer rolls her eyes. “Don’t you have a fake heart transplant to do?”

Alex? He’s thrilled. “I’m telling Grandma. And Uncle Jack. And Kojo.”

Kojo gives Sawyer a suspicious look. Spencer hands him a clipboard. “Add ‘Date Interrogation’ to the chart.”

Y/N, fighting a smile, finally steps in. “Let’s all take a breath. Michael, stop pacing. Alex, stop snitching. Spencer, stop treating Kojo like he’s a polygraph.”

Michael mutters, “She’s seventeen.”

Spencer sighs, “She could’ve invited Theo so we’d double date, but nooo…”

Y/N just grins. “This is karma, honey. Remember your meltdown when I was 22 and we started dating?”

Michael groans into his hoodie.

The night of Sawyer’s date arrives.

She looks stunning — soft makeup, flowy dress, ballet flats. She’s nervous but excited. Jeremy is picking her up at 6:30 sharp. Michael? He’s been “accidentally” polishing kitchen knives since 5.

Y/N tries to intervene. “You’re going to scare him.”

“That’s the point.”

Spencer, dressed in her sparkly scrubs, perches on the couch like a mini mob boss. “I gave Kojo the signal. If Jeremy steps one toe out of line, it’s chomp-chomp time.” Kojo lets out a low huff from his dog bed, clearly ready for duty.

Jeremy rings the bell. Sawyer opens the door before Michael can reach it.

Michael opens the door anyway.

He’s in his scrubs. No lab coat. Hoodie on. Stethoscope hanging around his neck like an intimidation tactic. He offers his hand. “Michael. Sawyer’s father. I’ve cracked chests and replaced a liver today. But you? You’re what might finally break me.”

Jeremy stammers. “Uh… hi, sir. Big fan of your published work on abdominal trauma.”

Michael blinks. “...Oh.”

Y/N pulls him aside. “You’re not going.”

Michael: “I’m just going to sit a few tables away.”

Y/N: “No.”

Cut to: Michael and Spencer absolutely going. They’re in the corner booth at the same pizza place. Spencer has a trench coat and glittery spy sunglasses. Michael has a newspaper with eye holes cut out.

Spencer whispers, “Kojo’s outside, ready to bark if he sees Jeremy get handsy.”

Michael watches Sawyer laugh at something Jeremy says and groans.

Spencer nods solemnly. “That’s how it starts.”

Meanwhile, Y/N gets a text from the waiter:

“Your husband and daughter are trying to be incognito spies. It’s… not working.”

Back home, Sawyer walks in before curfew, glowing and giggly. Michael pretends he wasn’t watching her from the porch. Spencer immediately grabs her notebook to “debrief.”

Y/N just shakes her head. “This family needs therapy.”

Michael: “We are therapy.”

Kojo: sighs in judgmental Belgian Malinois.

[desicanary]

Some thoughts after finishing the double that I need to expel from my consciousness:

1. I haven't enjoyed a show so much in a while. It had all the drama, and it didn't sacrifice it for the romance

2. Princess Wanning! She killed her dad and I think that was queen shit. She should have killed more people, frankly. She deserves to do so much murder

3. Shen Yurong how I hate you. This man is not only a murderer and a coward, he's also incompetent. None of his plans have ever worked. Mans couldn't manage to successfully kill his wife even if every god were on his side. I loved every time Xue Fangfei did psychic damage to him simply by existing

4. Xue Fangfei! Xue Li! Jiang Li! Xiao Limao! A'Li! Many other terms of address I've missed! She truly is that girl. She is gaslight gatekeep girl boss. She's a girl's girl. She stabbed a man in the dick 7 times. She has the man who once called her a pawn wrapped around her pinkie. When her man tells her he has to get into a political marriage for the nation she says do it then, and then he has to admit he was never gonna. She inflicted +9999999999999 damage on those who wronged her and Jiang Li. She can't fight to save her life (as evident) but can and will confuse her opponent into tripping over their own nonexistent shoelaces

5. I loved the progression of the relationship between A'Li and Xiao Heng. They weren't immediately lovers or friends. They fully used each other until they were willing to be used. The chemistry, the flirting, it's too much and too good. Also, Xiao Heng serves. See: the fans, the fucking gold plated murder fan, a walk-in closet full of capes, the most dramatic entrances known to cdramas, and all the audacity

6. BUT what were the last 20 minutes! They don't exist to me! My buddies Wen Ji and Lu Ji are watching their boss embarass himself at Duke Su's mansion and sharing in the hot goss, to me

7. Plus, I've gotta be missing something about the Longwu army. I do not understand them at all. Not a single one of them would survive the Nuremberg precedent. Not only are they not guided by ethics and morals, they're also not guided by loyalty or revenge or anger or hate or any understandable motivation. Instead, they're guided by a rock carving of a fish. wut. They find out the dude holding the fish works for the guy who betrayed and killed their general, their comrades, and even some of their family. And their response is: "How could they?!?!?! But we still have to listen to them because they have the fish!" Truly what. Someone explain this all-powerful rock fish to me

8. I do think that the Jiangs deserved more. And by more I mean worse. I think Xue Li should have told Jiang Yuanbai exactly how Jiang Li lived and died, and that she hated him for his negligence. I think she should have told the grandma too. They had their hand in this and they deserve to feel the full weight of Jiang Li's life and death and hatred

9. Also Jiang Yuanbai being like "It's not that I didn't know what was going on at home it's just that I was so busy working for the nation uwu". Sir, disrespectfully, no. You had not a clue. And if you did, that makes it worse. Like "Oh no! I'm so busy working that I have no choice but to let my wife frame my 8 yr old for her own attempted murder! The murder of the same stepmom that she, until yesterday, adored! Oh well, I gotta go to work so I'll just let that happen and abandon her for 10 years until politics makes it necessary for me to bring her home! And I'll feel really bad about abandoning her now, but I'll also never believe a single word out her mouth!" Actually, I think he should be hunted for sport

10. Anyway, that got off track! But I love this show, and how even the antagonists have arcs and backstories and aren't countering our girl just cuz. I love the fleshed out characters, all the looks it serves, the drama, and the adorable Wen Ji and Lu Ji and Jiang Jingrui

[amethystfairy1]

(I keep sending asks so I dont remember if I've told you this alr or not if so feel free to just delete one of them lol)

Anyway just got back from a really long trip overseas and during that trip I downloaded a buncha chapters of your works to read in various Ubers, and because of the fact that my family has 5 people and most ubers only carry 4, my (ten-year-old) sister ended up on my lap in most cases. So she ended up reading a LOT of TTSBC and a biiit of TT. She wanted me to let you know her commentary on the things she read so here's that (chapters in the order she read them):

TTSBC:

Little birdie - "I think that that one was the most boring out of the ones I read, which is impressive cause it was really interesting. So I was like; 'its good... OMG WHAT IS HAPPENING' in a good way for the rest of the book.

Snickerdoodle - "I likey. Its one of those things that when you read it you feel like you wanna start doing push-ups but you cant read and do push-ups at the same time. It was also really cute." (take that as you will, no clue what it means lol)

Freezer-burned Fever - "That's a chapter?! It was so short... wouldn't putting ice on your back hurt your spine? Also arent their feathers really sensitive, why would he be okay with them being wet."

Hopeful Hero - "Makes me think of that one Christmas song, 'grandma got run over by a reindeer'. I loved the part where he couldn't do anything and Grian flew away and came back as an avian (still, he was already an avian but like now he was cool) and then everyone was like 'Avians arent that bad... or are they?' I liked that he let Grian push him because it showed that they were getting more comfortable with each other, it was cute, like Snickerdoodle. [holds up french fry Christmas squishmellow] also look, its like the chips they ate!"

TT

- I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes: "Scar is very cool. Mumbo... he's there. Grian is Tom Stoltman cause he's flying all night. The storekeeper... let me think of a way to say this nicely... GET OUT!!!!! [all caps, five exclamation marks]. It made my heart sad and my tummy hurt, and then the happy part hurt more because Grian was sad."

"Also... she's in college? [yes] What's she in college for? [I don't know] How'd she find time for writing a book? Isn't college for ten years? Did she write in her free time? I thought there's no free time in college? Did she do it in class? She clearly put thought into it." Message from her:

Hello! What are you doing college for? Where did you go to school for to get writing this good? I like your books. Please write 50,000 more words about Grian and Scar. Actually, add three more zeros to that. Okay. Thank you!

Awhhh???

That's so cute????

I DO get your asks I'm just so behind in my askbox I'm sorry! 😭 I love all your asks, I swear I LOVE the super long asks, I just always take long to answer them because I wanna answer them properly and take my time and I always end up taking too longggggg...

I'm so glad both you and your little sister are enjoying my stories! Thank you so much! I loved all your little comment!

Ah, to answer those questions, I'm not going to school for writing! 😆 I just write for fun and I guess I've done it so much that I managed to get pretty good at it! I'm actually a masters student, so I already have my undergraduate degree! And I'm getting my degrees in history! I'm so glad you like my stories, thank you so much!!! I dunno about 50k more Desert Duo, but I mean, stranger things have happened!

As for when I write, I do it in my free time! Which I don't have a ton of, but I'm pretty quick at typing and writing is my favorite way to relax so I manage to get a lot of it done even when I don't have a ton of time for it! Thanks so much for your nice words!!!

[inameating]

talking about types of deodorant/perfume/cologne tokyo ghoul characters would wear because i thought about it for too long from the hours of 4:41AM to approximately 5:35AM on december 25th 2024. and that’s true im not making it up

i’ll start with the Quinx cus they’re easy.

ginshi. ginshi ginshi ginshi. u know that kind of foul boys’ locker room smell where it’s like sweat and whatever god awful cologne they spray in there like febreeze?? ginshi smells of that cologne.. with all the love in the world. but i feel like he wouldn’t load it on he’d put on a normal amount like a normal boy … so you’d get used to it. like you’d come to go ‘oh there’s ginshi smells here’ but you’d say it fondly

saiko probably likes those yummy cake perfumes… i just think she’d like them . i think they’re called gourmand but idrk. the type of stuff you’d get for your 9 year old niece for her birthday, it has unicorns and stuff all over the bottle , but more grown up (ie no unicorns but bigger cost) . or maybe saiko still uses the unicorns one that she has from when she was tiny . you wouldn’t know

mutsuki you smell like clean linen or sea salt or something. one of those bottles with the picture of the sea and the sand on the front that looks all serene and that but on one of the least serene fellas i have ever encountered . maybe some lemon and lime in there …

urie u probably smell the fucking same … 😡 cis people always stealing from us transgenders i see… /j . but no urie probably smells of SWEAT BLOOD and TEARS you’d hate to be around him.

yeah that whatever that is

haise probably smells like how those 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 gifs look . flowery and powdery and you’d probably choke to death if he hugged you. haise smells of grandma . haise is grandma . ❤️

hsiao is a difficult one bcos at one point i feel like she’d buy those ‘MANLY EPIC MONSTER TRUCK COLOGNE’s just because . at the same time i think she’d like that kind of wet grass after rain smell . maybe both . one on weekdays one on weekends

touma i’m gonna be fr i don’t know probably like rich people stuff umm his uncle dead guys idk much about touma

shinsanpei aura

guys i looked at his wiki help he realy is arson they/them i support goddamn! anyways aura probably smells offf ummmm idk nerd shit this bro likes magic tricks idk what magicians wear

that’s all i’ll do another one of these maybe

byebye

[according2thelore]

So I just saw a post that reminded me of that ask I once sent about the boy's having too many bads(as opposed to the only one bed trope), and ik you wrote a little blurb about the es/ls verse in that post, but now I crave more👁👁(only if your willing to provide of course❤️)

Like I'm imagining the ls boys sneaking into each other's rooms every night(which is harder now because they're older and do in fact get tired ealier lol) and sneaking back out every morning. Or the two of them physically aching with the want of sharing a bed again, or just being extremely restless in general, and always loekey(highkey) blaming it on the es boys for both being here AND not having figured out their stupid feelings yet.

And on an angstier note, dean not being immediately within arms reach when sam has a nightmare!(or vise versa)😃 and the panic that comes after that🥰 + The es boys hearing someone(sam probably) freaking out after having a nightmare and being really worried/freaked out.

Anyway all this to say that the es boys have definitely found compromising evidence of the ls boys currently or previously sharing a room(and bed) in their respective bedrooms.

It'd be even funnier if the ls boys were making it a HUGE point to show that they are in fact sleeping in two separate rooms haha, nothing weird going on here. And then they pass by the es boys rooms and see them literally sleeping on top of each other in deans bed like it's completely normal, despite still being sooooo repressed. Maybe the ls boys have this thought process like "well were literally in our 30s, it'd probably be weird to them if we had this many rooms and still shared" meanwhile the es boys get anxious being 5 feet apart for too long and NEED to be in the same room every night, and if fact find it kind of odd that ls Sam and Dean actually DON'T share a room??? Like, how will you hear each other breathing otherwise???

Also either group of boys waking up with morning wood, that'd just be funny in general because literally neither of them can do anything about it. For the ls boys it's because it'd be hard to sneak into each others rooms, get off, then sneak back out all before the es boys wake up. And for the es boys it's because they are, of course, still soooo repressed.

Anyway, do what you want with this post, yk I love hearing your thoughts on all things wincest so🥰

I'll tag you in the post I saw if you're curious btw(if you haven't already seen it LMAO) because yeah these boys were literally at the edges of their beds trying to be as close as possible.

hi, beloved ari!!! <33 [the post i've written about sam & dean not knowing how to NOT share a bed now that they've started sleeping together]

i have seen that post, but cannot for the life of me find it now!

SHUT UPPPPP this is so cute!!!! 🥺🥺🥺 i am always willing to provide for you!! let's discuss!

[and ES/LS verse masterlist & explanation for our new followers!]

"do you think they're fighting?" dean leans across the table, his voice hushed and excited. dean loves gossip almost as much as a sixty year old lady wearing curlers in a hair salon. he practically starts vibrating when he overhears something he shouldn't.

sam tears his eyes away from his book, and frowns at the excited curl of his brother's lips.

"who?" he asks.

dean rolls his eyes like sam is being particularly ridiculous.

"who?" he repeats. "us. we. our old bastard selves."

sam's mouth flattens, but he looks over to the door that they had just walked out of a few minutes ago.

they'd definitely been more tired than usual, older dean keeping his "my favourite people call me grandma" mug filled to the brim with coffee all day. older sam had dark circles under his eyes, and sam had to get his attention more than once when they were going through the archives earlier that afternoon.

"no?" sam says. "i mean, they told us they were going to bed, but--"

"yeah," dean cuts him off, eyes alight with glee. "they told us like seventeen times."

sam frowns. did they?

he hadn't really been paying attention, but now that dean mentions it, they did linger for a bit.

we're going to bed.

i'm going to bed, older sam adds, loudly.

yeah, i mean, i'm going to bed by myself. alone.

me as well. i miss my mattress.

yup. yeah. same. my own mattress. nothing like it.

it's time for bed. man, i'm tired.

huh. yeah, sam supposes that was a little weird.

"and they just slammed their doors. loud, man." dean continues. "like, this place is so big, but we could hear it in here. two big bangs."

why would they slam their doors? it was like they wanted the two of them to know they went to bed? why would they do that?

"no," sam says, slowly. he'd know if the two older versions of themselves were fighting. the very air changed when they were fighting. a few weeks ago, their older selves had an argument, and sam felt physically sick to his stomach until he walked in on them talking quietly a few days later, beers in hand, heads tilted together in quiet conversation.

it was like the world shifted a little bit until all was right again. sam supposed it made some kind of twisted sense--he'd always hated when he and dean were on the outs, and this way, sam doesn't have the buoyancy of righteous anger to keep him afloat. he was getting all the nausea with none of the conviction when his older self wasn't talking to dean.

"i don't think they're fighitng." sam elaborates, when dean leans closer. "we would know, right?"

dean sighs, deflated at the lack of actual drama. "whatever" he grunts, going back to his book. sam rolls his eyes.

~~~

sam snaps awake, his hand reaching under his pillow for his knife. the cool handle is a comforting weight in his palm, but as he blinks his eyes open, he doesn't know exactly what woke him up.

he sits up, and finds dean already sitting up in his bed.

when they arrived in the future, those few weeks ago, their older selves had originally given them their own rooms down the hallway from their own. but halfway through that first night, he and dean had ran into each other in the hallway, and agreed to find a room with two twins, instead. sam had never really slept in a room by himself, and it was surprisingly, deeply unnerving. first, he shared rooms with his dad and dean, then dean, then his college roommate, then jess, then dean again. sleeping alone...sam didn't like it.

he especially hadn't liked being apart from dean in such a strange, new place, and dean seemed to be of the same mind. they told their older selves that they were moving into their new room in a separate wing, and their older selves had only nodded.

"what's that sound?" dean asks, eyes wide. that's when sam hears it.

"it's not human," sam says, barely awake but able to recognize that at least--it's a low, keening, moan, something that might sound like language but can't be, repetitive. it echoes in the hallways, reverberating.

it definitely doesn't sound good, but dean is especially agitated, hands on either side of his head.

"it sounds--it sounds like--"

then, a scream. it shreds along all of sam's nerves. it's human. god, that noise had to have been human the entire time.

dean is up like a shot. he's pale, dropping the gun he'd grabbed from underneath his own pillow, scrambling for the door. "sammy," dean says. "it's sammy."

sam clambers after him, heart in his throat. there's no way that's older sam. it sounded more animal than human, more tortured than anything living or dead sam has ever heard.

when they get to older sam's room, older dean is already on his bed, sam hauled backwards into dean's chest, dean resting against the headboard. older sam is twisted in the sheets, but older dean rests atop them. he's muttering something in sam's hair, something low, soft, quick, gentle words. sam is holding onto dean like he is going to fly apart, eyes closed tight, breathing laboriously.

sam and dean stand in the doorway, dean's hand an iron band on sam's arm as they watch their older selves embrace.

older sammy is so crumpled in dean's arms, pressing himself into something small and holdable and fragile, that they look like a mother and child, dean smoothing his nose against the curve of sammy's hair.

"he's okay," older dean says, but his voice cracks. he clears it, and all vulnerability is gone--his eyes are sharp when he looks up at them. "go back to bed. he's gonna be okay."

sam has to pull his dean away, dean's eyes never leaving older sam, nose pressed hard into the curve of older dean's bicep.

~~~

sammy snaps awake, his hand reaching under his pillow for his knife. he sits up immediately, the heavy weight of it in his palm a steadying presence.

dean is standing in the doorway, palms up. dean--his dean, thirty eight year old dean, not the kid from 2006. sammy relaxes immediately, dropping his arm against the bedspread.

"what the hell?" he whispers, voice low.

"i can't sleep," dean says, simply. a spark of irritation makes sam's lips press together, hard.

that's probably the truth, but it sure as hell isn't the whole truth. dean's been treating him with kid gloves for the past week. sam's shoulders slump. he can't blame him.

ever since they stopped sharing a bed, sam's been a fucking wreck.

the first week the kids were here--ugh. no. them. their younger selves. sam still doesn't know what to call them, but calling them 'kids' make sam feel like...dad, funnily enough.

regardless, the first week their younger selves were here, sammy had left their shared room one morning and run straight into younger sam coming down the hallway. younger sam had gotten confused, and asked him why he was coming out of dean's bedroom. sammy hadn't known what to say, realizing horribly that he was about to be forced to admit that he's fucking his own brother.

he lies. he lies like a son of a bitch. somehow--fuck--sam believed him. sam's really good at telling when dean's lying, but it turns out, not as familiar with his own tells in third person. fine.

so they'd gone to their separate rooms. for weeks, they haven't shared a bed.

and sam's nightmares had gotten worse. exponentially worse. he hadn't thought that sharing a bed with dean had made things better, but clearly, he was wrong.

it's like--sam flinches--lucifer knows. he knows that dean's not there to protect sam when sam's vulnerable, when he can't control his own mind. every night, lucifer traipses back into sam's psyche, pulls him apart with gentle strings. sam's woken up screaming more nights than not.

after the fit a few days ago, sam screaming in enochian so loud that he woke up their younger selves, dean's been glued to sam's side.

sam can see how much their forced separation has affected his brother, too. dean has dark circles under his eyes most mornings, yawning throughout the day, snappish with everyone around him.

"just." dean clears his throat. "ah. just thought i'd take a nap in here. i've got my timer." dean reaches into the pocket of his dead-guy robe and waves his phone in the air.

sam rubs a hand over his face. god, he wants it. he needs dean's skin on his so bad he feels like he'll be sick with it. he feels thirty seconds away from sitting up on his knees and begging dean to touch him again.

he hadn't realized just how often they touched. how much they weren't allowed to, now. hands on waists as they pass by in the kitchen. knees pressed together under library tables. arms slung across the backs of couches. sam coming into the garage to do his research and have dean within his line of sight. dean trudging into the archives with a duffle bag of rifles to clean so he and sam can work in tandem silence.

but now...nothing. no dean in his bed, no dean in his peripheral vision. no dean, anywhere.

"we can't." sam says. "they'll find out. we were infuriatingly persistent back then, remember?"

dean shrugs, already stepping forward and tossing his robe on the back of sam's desk chair.

hell, sam hasn't even been in this room--his own room, technically--in months. they'd moved into dean's room after this...thing. started.

"nah. they've been buying our separate-room schtick so far." he taps his phone screen a few times, and flips it around to show sam. "look. five hours. that's all i'm askin' for here, man. five hours and i'm gone."

sam's so tempted. he's so...so tempted. he hasn't had a proper night's rest in weeks. just hearing dean's breathing as dean sits down on the corner of sam's bed has his eyelids dropping, pathetic fucking pavlovian response to dean finally being close enough to touch after weeks of withdrawal.

"five hours." sam slurs, arm flopping out lazily. dean beams.

"yeah," he says, flicking hte corner of sam's sheets up and crawling into bed next to him. the bed dips, and sam realizes his eyes are closed. when...when did that happen? "five hours."

dean's voice, his breath, his warmth. he manhandles sam into their usual position, chest rising and falling where sam can feel it.

sam doesn't dream.

~~~

"you're a bastard," dean snarls, a warning finger up. sammy freezes in the doorway, having already closed dean's door behind him. his shoulders tense guiltily.

"wha--"

dean glares, gesturing down at sam's waist.

"you think you can just come in here looking like that?" dean snaps, hissing through his teeth. he doesn't know where their mini-mes are, but he knows they're not far away enough to not hear sam. or dean, frankly, if they really get going.

sammy--a thirty-four-year-old grown man--pouts. and fuck him, it works.

"no," dean says, backing away. "you made me promise, man. no funky business."

"funky business?" sam repeats, incredulous, turning fully to face dean. fuck. that thing is a monster. dean's mouth waters.

morning wood, you foul mistress.

he hasn't been allowed to touch sam's dick in three fucking weeks, and so sue him if his system's a bit backlogged. dean had barely heard the little knock on his door that morning, sammy pressing his way into dean's room with his dick hard enough to break fucking rock.

dean's own dick is starting to take an interest in his flannel pyjama pants. fuck. sam looks good. rumpled hair, sleepy eyes, bottom lip wet as his mouth pulls up in a smirk.

dean's woken up more than once these past few weeks with visions of sammys just like this one dancing above his head.

"sammy if you take one step closer, mini-me's gonna find out." dean warns. fuck. if sam doesn't get out soon...dean takes a step closer.

"don't care," sammy says, taking another bold step forward, and dean's reaching out. he looks strung out, desperate, thick bags under his eyes and fingers twitching forward towards dean. "we'll be quiet. dean, i--"

dean never finds out what sam was going to say next. in fact, neither of them say anything for a while, a shirt stuffed in sam's mouth to keep him quiet and dean's own hand slapped tight over his own mouth to stifle the frankly humiliating noises he makes.

the whole thing is over embarrassingly quickly.

~~~

dean's eyes blink open. there are hushed voices in the hallway, and it takes a second for dean's sleepy brain to process them.

it's older him, in the hallway, and a few second later, older sam responds.

dean looks across the small aisle between his and his own sam's bed--2006 sam--but sammy is still asleep.

"look at them!" older dean hisses. "c'mon man! they're practically on top of each other!"

younger dean wakes up a bit more.

"it doesn't matter, dean," older sammy says, exasperated, like this is a conversation they've had a million times. "they're not...what we are."

dean frowns.

"not yet." older sam amends.

"if they don't figure their shit out soon, i'm gonna die young."

"young?" sam repeats, laughing tone.

"shaddup." dean grumbles.

older them have to be talking about him. him and his sam. god, this whole thing is confusing.

what did his older self mean they were practically on top of each other? he looks over at his sam again. sam is sleeping on the side of his bed closest to dean's bed, and dean is on the side of his bed closest to sam. sure, dean's arm is resting in the empty space between their beds, but he got in the habit of doing that when sam starting having his visions. if sam's in pain, he wants to know. and it's easier for sam to get his attention this way if he needs him.

honeslty, dean has no idea how his older self can stand sleeping apart from older sammy. especially given sammy's nightmares...if it were him, he'd put up a cot in sam's room, and sam could deal. his older self is some kind of bastard for not doing that. frankly, it's a miracle his older self can even sleep without the sound of sammy's breaths in the room. dean knows he can't.

"we can't keep doing this, sammy." older dean says, quieter. and...softer. warmer. dean shifts on his bed, uncomfortable. "i can't keep doing this."

"we'll figure it out," older sam says, just as gentle, just as tired. "that's what we do."

their footsteps recede. dean shifts closer to sam, almost falling off of his bed, and watches his brother's face in his sleep. whatever they're doing...yeah. they always figure it out.

~~~

EEP i hope this was to your liking!!!! i hope that you are doing so well, and know that every time i saw this ask in our drafts, it made my day a little brighter! thank you for the ask! <3

-lizzy