#logging out again for sanity

[lorelune]

regency au jing yuan how you are haunting me.

(continued here!)

a retired general who at the ripe age of thirty five has never taken a wife. never showed any interest in procuring a spouse nor does he entertain any attempts by the mamas of the ton to throw their eligible children at him. he is a polite scoundrel, kind-hearted in a way that makes those with half a mind question how someone with his demeanor could ever be the famed general who's strategies downed Shuhu during the Abundance Upheaval. he doesn't seem to care for his legacy, as much as he has cultivated one. he doesn't mind gossip, but doesn't entertain it much either.

you only meet him due to fortunate circumstances.

lord Luocha, a successful travelling merchant, pledged patronage to you sometime ago. he keeps you in a little cottage on the grounds of his manor where you're allowed to mostly do as you please as long as there's a new painting hung on the lord's wall every few months or so. the lord likes when you play too. he brings back new instruments for you to try, though he never expects mastery. he has an air of mystery to him that, despite all of the time you spend near him, keeps you from understanding him fully. you aren't one to pry about it either.

lord luocha invites jing yuan over to partake in fancy spirits from a country and city you can't ever hope to visit, let alone find on a map. you bring lord luocha your newest work-- (a meticulously completed oil painting. something more abstract, suited to the odd lonely and isolation you feel in your little, cozy cottage, despite all of the comforts you are afforded)-- and happen upon the pair.

lord luocha examines your newest work with pride, and shortly after introduces you. 'his patron' he calls you, but offers jing yuan no title. you--

(do not have one. it was stripped from you a long time ago. you think being an artist suits you better, anyways.)

jing yuan offers you his name, though you already know it. you recognize him based on the prattling of the girls and boys at the market. they swoon over his stature, fawn over his good deeds, and make note of his identifiable red hair ribbon. he has the same soft, sun-colored eyes that you had heard the eligible young of the ton giggle about.

you bow to him politely.

you have no reason to linger, but luocha calls you to anyways. perhaps he is lonely. perhaps you want him to be lonely, so it gives you a reason to stick closer to his side in the rare moments he is home for more than a day or two. the proximity is shared with jing yuan, who regards you with keen eyes and a lazy smile. the attention upon you feels weighted, important, like you're something special.

you savor it, however fleeting.

perhaps, however, you misunderstood jing yuan. or lord luocha's intentions.

because as jing yuan rises to take his leave and you bow once more, he catches your hand, brings it to his lips, and presses a kiss into the soft skin. you're sure you smell of linseed and yarrow oil. he lingers there for a moment before meeting your gaze. there's a light of mischief in them that sends your heart fluttering. your breath catches.

when jing yuan is out of the manor, lord luocha pats your shoulder gently, "quite the man, isn't he?"

"i suppose... he is."

"you may speak freely."

"i am," you mince, and shake your head. you must be careful, entertaining such fanciful thoughts. "he is... kind."

"and handsome."

"lord luocha," you barely keep yourself from whining. "please, do not tease me. or the poor man. from what i hear, he has enough to deal with."

"the mamas do chase after him like foxes to a hen," lord luocha chuckles and studies your painting once more with a curious tilt of his head. "he'll ask to see you again, i'm certain."

"and why do you say that?"

"general jing yuan has never taken the hand of a potential suitor."

your heart feels heavy and warm in your chest, burning. "my lord, you cannot possibly think that this single action indicates that the general will... call upon me? that is highly unorthodox and i don't believe that's... quite allowed."

"jing yuan has never cared for the dances of decorum." lord luocha guides you into your gardens. the peonies are in bloom, full and lush in the humidity of late spring. "and, for the record, i don't believe he'll simply call upon you. court, properly, certainly."

"you're bluffing."

"what reason do i have to lie?"

"to tease me, as you so enjoy doing," you huff.

lord luocha simply hums and pauses near a bush of lilacs. they're fragrant, at the peak of their season. the scent rolls over you.

"if i truly intended to tease you, i simply would abstain from telling you of jing yuan's interest and allow you to be terribly surprised when he arrives and formally asks for you and your time. consider this a warning. i'll walk you to the modiste tomorrow, hm?"

you want to squawk at him. your linen dresses and tunics are fine (albeit smeared and stained with paints and oils over the years. you rarely bother replacing them.)

you want to protest and pry more, but lord luocha strikes you silent when he breaks off a cluster of lilac and tucks it behind your ear. he leaves you with your thoughts, however tortuous. and, perhaps horribly, you find yourself believing him. perhaps the warm-eyed general really was charmed. perhaps, your dresses needed replacing and you should contact your perfumer friend for a fresh vial or two.

perhaps perhaps perhaps, you can still feel where his lips lingered on your skin, like a brand. you never thought you could ache for burning, but in the gardens, you find yourself clutching your hand to your chest, craving the lick of the his sun's heat once more.

[temeryte]

archived. like this and i'll follow you on a new blog!

[tavukwings]

DISCORD USER KÖNIG

𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝓊𝓉𝓎

(König x Reader — Discord Friends, Slow Burn, Soft, Eventual Smut)

You weren’t expecting to make friends on Discord.

The SHADOW OPS server was meant to be a place to blow off steam after work. Get a few wins in Warzone, complain about loadouts, and maybe not lose your sanity in randoms.

But then you noticed a particular user.

StillerJäger

No profile picture. No custom status. Just a tiny Austrian flag emoji in his bio and a link to his Twitch that had no videos, no schedule, no banner—nothing.

Mysterious.

You first heard his voice by accident.

[Voice Chat Log: 23:18 | VC #3 | Trio Queue]

You:

“Ugh, sniped again. Hey, Jäger, you got eyes on—”

StillerJäger:

“…Scheiße.”

You:

“Bless you.”

StillerJäger:

“…Was?”

“Ah—n-nein. I didn’t sneeze. It means… like… damn it.”

Pause.

“Sorry.”

You:

“That was the most apologetic cuss I’ve ever heard.”

“You okay over there?”

StillerJäger:

“Ja. I am… fine. Just… got surprised.”

Another pause.

“You are funny.”

You:

“Thank you, that’s why they keep me around. That, and I don’t steal killstreaks.”

StillerJäger:

Low chuckle. “You lie. I saw that UAV.”

You:

“…You weren’t supposed to see that.”

From that night on, you noticed he started joining your VCs more often.

Always with a soft mic click.

Always after everyone else had already settled in.

He never used camera. Never joined game nights that involved anything too social. But whenever it was Warzone or DMZ? He was there. Quiet. Watching. Deadly.

And slowly… talking more.

[Private Messages: 01:07 | Direct Chat]

StillerJäger:

“You play well. You’re… calm.”

You:

“Thanks! You’re like a sniper grandma. Always lurking in a window and silently handing out cash.”

StillerJäger:

”…Sniper grandma?”

You:

“It’s a compliment.”

StillerJäger:

”…Okay.”

”…Can I be a tall grandma?”

You:

“You’re like 6’10, König. You’re the Grandma of the Gods.”

”…Wait. Can I call you König? That’s what people say in chat sometimes.”

StillerJäger:

“Ja. That is… okay. My callsign.”

You:

“Cool. I’ll make you a Discord role. ‘Grandma König.’ Purple name. Elite tier.”

StillerJäger:

”…Please don’t.”

You started playing duos regularly.

And König, for all his muscle and military training, played like an anxious support character half the time.

“Stay behind me,” he’d mutter.

“Don’t push the door yet.”

“You will get shot, bitte, I will clear it—”

You: “König, we’re in a Buy Station menu.”

König: “…Still dangerous.”

Sometimes he’d mutter in German when he was focused, and you started picking it up. Just small things.

“Warte.”

“Links.”

“Lautlos.”

“Schieß nicht, ich mach das.”

Once you repeated one back to him mid-match and he went completely quiet for ten seconds.

König: “You… understood that?”

You: “Kinda. I assumed it meant ‘don’t touch my kill’ or something.”

König: “It means… ‘Don’t shoot, I’ll do it.’”

“But… yours is also accurate.”

[Private Messages: 22:44 | Direct Chat]

You:

“Be honest, how many push-ups can you do in a row?”

König:

”…Without stopping?”

You:

“Yes.”

König:

“I don’t want to brag.”

You:

”…That’s a lot, isn’t it.”

König:

”…You will think I am weird.”

You:

“König. You wear a hood and whisper murder in German during casual matches. I already think you’re weird.”

König:

”…Fair.”

”…183.”

You:

“Bro.”

König:

”…Bro?”

Sometimes, after a game, he’d stay in VC just to chat. It was always small things at first.

What weather was like where he was.

How awful the food was on base.

That he’d been issued a new uniform and it “fit like a tent.”

“You’re huge, König,” you laughed once.

“They’d have to sew two uniforms together.”

“They did,” he replied deadpan.

“They used parachute material.”

You choked on your drink laughing.

He got quiet for a second.

“…That was funny?” he asked, hopeful.

“Yes. Very. Tell me more.”

He did.

Over the months, König became your teammate. Your late-night chat partner. Your quiet comfort.

Still shy. Still distant sometimes.

But warmer. Less stiff. Easier.

He never said anything bold. Never crossed any lines. Never hinted at more.

But sometimes, his voice got softer when he said your name.

And once—just once—he ended a message with:

“I sleep better after talking to you.”

“Bitte… stay safe.”

You stared at the screen for a long time.

And smiled.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It started like any other night.

A “yo” pinged in from you.

A cautious “Hallo” from him a few minutes later.

The two of you loaded into duos while your drinks warmed slowly beside your keyboards—his probably black coffee at some ungodly military hour, yours a half-melted energy drink.

But König sounded… off tonight.

Quieter than usual.

Slower in the lobbies.

A full minute passed between his “ready up” and his actual click.

You: “You okay? You sound like you just ran a marathon with your soul.”

König: “Nein… Just… long day.”

He didn’t elaborate. But the exhaustion was clear in his voice.

You landed hot at Observatory, and within minutes, he was in full protector mode again.

“Behind you.”

“Let me breach first.”

“Drop that vest, you need better.”

Even mid-fight, he moved like a wall between you and the bullets. Not controlling—just naturally built to shield.

You: “You know you’re kind of like a very muscly Roomba, right?”

König: “Roomba?”

You: “Yeah. You clean up enemies and follow me around and make weird mechanical noises when you’re cornered.”

Beat.

König: “…I do not make noises.”

You: “You absolutely do. You growled at a guy in the hallway last match.”

König: “That was—tactical. Psychological warfare.”

You: “Whatever helps you sleep, Grandma König.”

Tiny pause.

König: “…Scheiße… I’ll never live that name down.”

The match ended in a quiet win—he clutched the last guy with a heartbeat sensor, two stuns, and what looked like pure spite.

Back in the lobby, you leaned back, smiling.

You: “König, I swear, if I ever meet you in real life, I’m going to make you carry all the groceries. You’ve got human forklift energy.”

König: “I… already do that.”

You: “Not surprised. You probably open jars just by looking at them.”

Pause.

König: “That’s… not true. But sometimes the cap breaks.”

You: “God, that’s hot.”

Silence.

Long silence.

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d said it out loud. That one slipped through the mental filter.

König: “…Was?”

You froze, staring at your screen.

You: “I mean—uh. You know. Like, hot. Funny. Not like—hot hot. Unless you want it to be, I mean—no wait. I didn’t mean it like—like that.”

König: “…Mein Gott.”

You swore you could hear the fluster in his breath. Like he’d leaned away from the mic.

König: “You think jar-breaking is… hot?”

You: “I mean. Kind of? In a terrifying muscle-guy way? Yes?”

Another long pause. Then, softly:

König: “…You are… teasing me.”

You: “Absolutely.”

König: “…You are mean.”

But he was laughing. Quietly. Like he couldn’t stop smiling.

You heard the tiniest breath of a laugh through his mic—one of those real ones, all nose and joy and no filter.

You: “Are you blushing under that mask?”

König: “…It doesn’t matter. You can’t see me.”

You: “That means yes.”

König: “…Nein.”

You: “You hesitated.”

König: “…Scheiße.”

For the rest of the night, he kept dropping items at your feet with suspicious speed and never said a word about it.

You caught him staring too long on the minimap.

He pinged everything three times in a row.

At one point, you coughed and he said “Bless you” even though you definitely didn’t sneeze.

And later, as you logged off, you saw a message pop up:

[Private Messages: 02:18 | Direct Chat]

König:

“You are very dangerous, you know.”

You:

“What, because I flirted with you once?”

König:

“Because you make me want to say things.”

“Soft things. Nice things.”

“I don’t say those often.”

You:

“You can say them here.”

König:

“Maybe next time.”

“If you don’t tease me again first.”

You closed your laptop that night with your heart beating way too fast for a “just friends” moment.

But it was still just that.

For now.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It was past midnight when you noticed König wasn’t replying to your pings.

Weird. He always answered, even if it was just a little:

“1 min”

“coffee”

“charging headset”

But tonight?

Nothing.

You hovered over his name in Discord, thumb tapping your mic button, debating.

You: “König? You dead?”

No answer.

You rolled your eyes and hit Call.

The ringing went for four solid seconds before he picked up—and you were met not with a greeting…

…but heavy breathing.

Panting.

“H-Hallo,” he gasped, low and hoarse.

You: “Whoa. What’s going on? Did I catch you mid-battle? Are you escaping a war crime right now?”

“…Workout,” he grunted, breathless.

“Push-ups. And crunches.”

You: “Liar. You play games all day. You’re built like a fridge but somehow I don’t believe you work out at all.”

A pause. Something shuffled. A low hum through his mic.

“You don’t… believe me?”

You: “Not a chance, grandma.”

And then you got it.

The ping.

A Discord notification. From him.

A direct message with an attachment.

You opened it—and immediately choked on the water you had just sipped.

The image was blurry, like he’d taken it quickly and from an awkward angle—but it hit like a truck.

Just under the chin. No face.

His black T-shirt clung to his massive chest, soaked with sweat and hugging every line of his thick, sculpted muscle.

Shoulders like stone. Collarbone defined.

Grey sweatpants, low-slung, loose.

The shirt was damp enough to be nearly painted on.

You were not ready.

You swallowed too hard and hacked into the mic.

You: “Jesus Christ—König—what the hell was that??”

He laughed softly—nervous, maybe a little smug.

“Proof. You didn’t believe me.”

You: “I was joking! I didn’t think you’d drop a thirst trap in 0.2 seconds!”

Silence. Then:

“…Thirst trap?”

“I thought that meant… posing.”

You: “You are posing! Your muscles are doing the talking.”

Soft breath of laughter through his mic.

You: “I—okay wait. Serious question.”

He hummed, cautious.

“Ja?”

You: “Can I squeeze your tits?”

Silence.

Not even a breath.

Then—

“…Mein Gott.”

You: “No but like. Just a little honk. You can charge me.”

“You are evil.” His voice cracked, flustered and low. “You can’t say that—when I’m—sweating—!”

You: “You started it!”

“I was working out!”

A second later, your phone buzzed again.

Another photo. Slightly clearer. This time of his forearm, bent just enough to flex as he wiped sweat from his neck. Veins. Muscles. The rolled sleeve of his black tee. The hint of a scar.

You blinked at it for a second too long.

You: “…Do you model part-time or is that included in your killstreak bonus?”

“You said you didn’t believe me,” he replied, smug now. “Now you do.”

You decided to return fire.

Ten minutes later, still laughing from your flustered choking incident, you took a shower selfie—just your face, hair covered in shampoo, styled into ridiculous little horns.

You sent it with no context.

You: “Battle mode. Ready to breach.”

He didn’t answer for a second.

Then—

“Oh mein Gott.”

“You look like a soap demon.”

“This is terrifying.”

You: “Bet my biceps are bigger than yours.”

“Lüge.” (Lie.)

“Show me proof.”

You responded with a classic flex pose in the mirror—dramatic lighting, serious face.

He sent back a close-up of his bicep that looked like it could crush your skull.

You both burst out laughing in VC.

Soon, it became a game.

He’d send blurry mirror selfies with captions like:

“Threat level: low. Protein bar defeated.”

You’d send silly ones like:

“Just woke up. Please ignore the hair, the face, and my soul.”

Sometimes you’d send a photo of your feet up on your desk with a can of soda next to them and label it “combat ready.”

He once sent a photo of just his hoodie-covered knees, sitting on the floor with the caption:

“Overheating. Send help. Or ice.”

You replied with a photo of your hand holding five ice cubes and a single message:

“Incoming airstrike.”

But through it all, even in the laughter and the flirty jokes…

He never crossed a line.

Never asked for more.

Never made it weird.

Just… stayed close. Steady. Gentle.

And you could feel it in the way his voice softened when he said your name.

“Danke… for calling me tonight.”

“It helped.”

You: “Anytime, König.”

“You’re my favorite roided-out grandma.”

He groaned.

“You are going to regret that when I flex you through a wall.”

You: “No I won’t.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

König:

“Spielst du mit mir?”

(Will you play with me?)

You smiled at your screen, curled up in bed with your book open and a warm cup of tea next to you. The way König asked things sometimes made it sound so gentle, so hopeful—like a puppy tapping at the door.

You:

“Not tonight. Reading.”

König:

“Reading…? Hah. Lüge.”

(Lie.)

You:

“Excuse me?? You think I don’t have the braincells to read?”

König:

“I think you lie to avoid my bullets.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, then decided to prove it. You held up the book in one hand, angled your phone, and snapped a quick photo. Just enough of the book cover, the blanket, your hand, the soft light…

…and you didn’t think much else of it.

You hit send.

A beat passed.

Two.

Then—

König is typing…

You waited. Still typing.

Still typing.

Then:

König:

“Ah… you are really reading.”

König:

“I—uh… didn’t know you… slept like that.”

You blinked.

Wait.

You clicked your own photo.

Then your stomach dropped and your face burned.

Oh.

Your hair was messy, a soft halo of sleep-tangled strands.

Your lips still a little puffy from chewing them while reading.

The tank top—black, old, soft—clinging a little too well. No bra.

Your pale stomach visible above your loose sweats. Cozy. Sleepy.

Maybe… a little too cozy.

You:

“…oh my god I didn’t mean to send you a thirst trap.”

König:

“Ist… ist okay. I… I liked the book.”

You:

“The book?? König, what color was the cover?”

König:

“…uhm…”

You:

“Exactly.”

König:

“I am very respectful.”

You:

“You looked at my tits.”

König:

“Not directly!”

“They just… entered the field of vision.”

“Unavoidable. Like a sniper scope.”

You burst out laughing.

You:

“My tits are sniper scope–level distractions?? That’s new.”

König:

“I mean—! Nein! Wait—ugh!”

“Forget I said anything.”

You:

“Too late. I’m changing my Discord status to that.”

König:

“Bitte.”

“I am going to die.”

You:

“So dramatic. It’s just a sleepy photo.”

König:

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

You smiled down at your phone, heart doing little flips.

He wasn’t being creepy. Just… flustered. Respectful.

But real. And honest. And sweet.

And he was trying very, very hard not to imagine anything he shouldn’t.

You:

“Hey, König?”

König:

“Ja?”

You:

“You’re cute when you panic.”

Another long pause.

König:

“You are going to kill me.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It started with a few harmless drinks.

A movie night alone.

Some wine. Maybe too much.

Your phone buzzed on your bed beside you.

König:

“You alive? Haven’t seen you in a few days. Did you get eaten by your book?”

You stared at the screen, buzzed enough that your heart skipped.

König. Sweet, shy König who hadn’t messaged too much—probably worried he was bothering you.

You didn’t even think.

You hit call.

He picked up faster than usual.

König (voice):

“Hallo?”

“You okay?”

You flopped back against your pillows.

You (slurred):

“Hi, König.”

He paused.

König:

“…You sound different.”

You:

“Do I sound sexy?”

A beat of silence.

König (quiet):

“…You sound… drunk.”

You giggled.

You:

“Only a little. Enough to be honest, though. That’s the fun part.”

König:

“Honest?”

You:

“Yeah… like how I think about your arms way more than I should.”

Another long pause.

König:

“My… arms?”

You:

“Your biceps. The picture you sent me weeks ago, and I swear to god, König—”

You sat up dramatically, spilling a little wine on your blanket. “I almost passed out. Like. Who looks like that? Who has arms like that?? It should be illegal. You made me soaked, you bastard.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

And then König coughed violently.

König:

“Scheiße—what—what do you mean?!”

You:

“I mean soaked. Like, ruined-my-panties kind of soaked.”

König:

“Mein Gott—!”

You kept talking. Rambling. Words tumbling out of your mouth like you were possessed by every drunk thought you’d ever had.

How his voice made your spine tingle.

How you imagined laying your head against his chest.

How curious you were about the scar on his bicep.

How the thought of him holding you in those big arms made your knees weak.

How badly you wanted to run your fingers up the line of his jaw under that mask.

König (barely whispering):

“You should go to sleep.”

You (giggling):

“You gonna tuck me in, big guy?”

König:

“…If I were there, maybe.”

You froze.

So did he.

Both of you aware that that wasn’t something he normally would’ve said.

You:

“…You’re dangerous when you flirt back.”

König:

“I am not flirting. I am… malfunctioning.”

You laughed again. Then yawned.

You:

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up before I say something worse. Like how your accent makes my thighs—”

Click.

You hung up.

The next morning?

Mortification.

You didn’t open Discord.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Or the next.

Every time you saw a new message notification, your stomach dropped.

And König? He didn’t spam. He sent one message:

König:

“Just checking. Are you okay?”

But still, you didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Not yet.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You avoided Discord like it owed you money.

Every time you opened your laptop, your finger hovered over the icon—only to veer away at the last second like a coward. Three days had passed. Three whole days since you drunk-called König and poured your unfiltered thoughts into his ear like some kind of wine-soaked, thirst-trapping poet.

You’d told him his biceps made you soaked.

And now you wanted to disappear.

He hadn’t spammed your DMs. He hadn’t been weird. No cringey follow-ups. Just one simple message:

König:

“Just checking. Are you okay?”

The man was respectful even when he could’ve made things awkward.

Your guilt tripled.

You grabbed your phone and opened Discord at last. Heart pounding. You stared at his name—still online, still “playing Warzone,” still probably thinking you ghosted him out of regret.

You hesitated… then typed:

You:

“I’m alive. Sorry I went MIA.”

He responded instantly.

König:

“Gott sei Dank.”

“I was about to send a search party.”

You smiled.

You:

“You’d have to kick my door down.”

König:

“6’10. Military. Wouldn’t be hard.”

You:

“Fair.”

There was a pause.

Then—

König:

“Did I… make you uncomfortable?”

You swallowed hard.

God, he really was the sweetest. Shy and careful. A walking tank with a heart like warm bread.

You:

“No. Not at all. I made myself uncomfortable. I was drunk and said too much.”

König:

“It was… a lot.”

“But not bad. Not unwanted.”

Your breath hitched.

König:

“I mean—I’m not good at… that stuff. Flirting. Or hearing it.”

“You are very… expressive. And beautiful. And loud when tipsy.”

You laughed out loud at that one.

You:

“Loud? I didn’t yell at you!”

König:

“Not with volume. With words. You said… things I’ll never forget.”

You facepalmed.

You:

“God. I need to change my name and flee the country.”

König:

“No! Don’t go. I’d miss you too much.”

That shut you up.

You stared at the message. Then reread it.

You:

“You missed me?”

König:

“Of course I did. I play worse when you’re not online.”

“No one bullies me on VC the same way.”

You smiled, heart flipping.

You:

“So… you forgive me for being a drunk idiot?”

König:

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“But if you’re sober now… maybe you want to play?”

You hesitated.

Then reached for your headset.

You:

“Invite me, tank boy.”

Voice Chat: Connected

König:

“Hallo…”

You:

“Hi.”

His voice was softer than usual. Almost shy.

König:

“Still reading your book? Or… still thinking about my arms?”

You choked on your tea.

You:

“Did you just flirt with me?”

König:

“…Maybe. Little bit.”

You (laughing):

“Well, I guess I deserve that.”

König:

“Ja. You do.”

You sat back, smiling, cheeks warm—but no longer from embarrassment.

This wasn’t the end of something awkward.

It was the beginning of something new.

Something soft. Honest. Slow.

You were still just friends.

But maybe…

Not for long.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

-Part 2

[jo-com]

──★ ｡𖦹°‧⭑ Love Triangle, Monaco Edition

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Arthur Leclerc

୨ৎ Summary: Two brothers. One girl. And a chaotic comment section

୨ৎ Genre: SMAU

୨ৎ Notes: Some grammatical error and google translated french, hope you enjoy guys!

୨ৎ Fc: Beabadoobee & Random Pinterest Girlies

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Missgirl_

❤️ 105k 💬 15k

Liked by Charles_Leclerc, Lilymhe, Arthur_Leclerc and others

Missgirl_ Tea anyone?

View all comments

Username What’s 4 + 4?

Username ATEE🔥 ❤️ by the Author

Username the only tea i need is of you and the brothers👀

Username no cuz same😔🤚🏻

Charles_Leclerc belle comme toujours🥰

Missgirl_ tu es plutôt beau toi-même😉 ❤️ by Charles_Leclerc

Username SOMEONE PLEASE TRANSALE THIS!!

Iamrebeccad on my knees rn as we speak

Missgirl_ I DO ALREADY🤭

Carlossainz55 ???

Lando what no drama?

Username SAME GIRL SAME

Username “I am just a girl” vibes

Username he’s a girls girls fr😮‍💨

Username girl you’re not giving. you’re snatching lives.

Username this is the kind of energy you get after emotionally destroying two leclercs and sleeping fine after 💅

…

…

Arthur_Leclerc and Charles Leclerc Posted a story!

Replies:

Y/N → Charles

Always second?? you woke up and chose violence huh 💀

Only because he had to hear it 😌
But for you? I’ll always be first in line.

Lando → Charles

Bro. It’s always the poetic ones you come for 😭 Let him have his sunset, damn.

George → Arthur

I support emotional vulnerability. But maybe next time, sunset without the subtext?

Alex → Charles

Bro. He posted vibes. You posted a hit.

Oscar → Arthur

Next time just post the sun and log off man 😭 Charles came in SWINGING.

Yuki → Arthur

You should’ve just captioned it ‘nice view’ and walked away 💀

Y/N → Arthur

Very poetic of you, Arthur. Is this a sunset or a love confession? 👀

Depends. Did it work? 👀😏
If not, I’ve got more metaphors and all night.

…

Username someone get them a ref before it turns into WWE.

Lando this is better than the Netflix series tbh

Username WHY R U EVEN HERE MAN😭

Lando For the drama duh🙄🍿

Username Charles waking up and choosing violence before breakfast✊🏻✊🏻

Username Arthur blink twice if your ego’s okay rn 😭

Username this whole exchange was not FIA sanctioned

Username and here I was just tryna enjoy a sunset 🫠

Username Y/N checking her phone like it’s Hunger Games out here.

Username Y’all, it was just a sunset. A SUNSET 😭😭😭

…

Missgirl_

❤️ 1.5M 💬 178k

Missgirl_ Sibling peace treaty signed under my supervision 🕊️✨

Tagged; @Charles_Leclerc and @Arthur_Leclerc

View all comments

lando What did it cost you… mentally?

Missgirl_ sanity, patience, and 2 espresso shots before 9am 😩

Username this is what F1 Drive to Survive WISHES it could capture

Username they’re literally just waiting for you to turn around so they can start again 💀

Username Fr giving those vibes😭

Username THE WAY SHES ON THE MIDDLE PIC IS WILD

Carlossainz55 Please tell me there was a team principal supervising

Missgirl_ you’re looking at her. it’s me. hi.

Carlossainz55 🤦🏻🤦🏻🤦🏻

Pierregasly They look like they’re planning who gets to post you on IG next

Missgirl_ joke’s on them — I’m posting me ✨

Username Ferrari garage turning into family therapy

Username The real Ferrari team principal: Y/N L/N

Missgirl_ I don’t get paid enough for this sht🙄

Username the fact that you had to fix Leclerc family affairs is wild

[timesadored]

please I'm begging anyone to write this

WARNING: Suicide/self-harm, death, murder(?), idk lol

Lately I got hyper-fixated on a MLP grimdark called Diary of a Time-Looper -- (here's the link to it if y'all wanna read it lol)

NOW HEAR ME OUT

Imagine Batfam x neglected! time-looper reader

the angst it would give omg

All of it would probably play out just like the grimdark with the only differences being that

They're human

Reader would probably find a way to use a laptop as a digital diary instead of an physical diary

Lastly, Reader would also have gotten out of the loop

BACK TO MY IDEA

Reader gets stuck in a time loop, forced to wake up and deal with the same day over and over and over and over and over

It resets and no matter what changes she makes- no one remembers it nor does it stay. just completely resetting once it hits midnight

She would probably accidentally find out a way to keep a digital diary that doesn't reset with the day and logs everything to help keep her sanity

She doesn't know why this started and she has no idea how to end it- Completely and utterly stuck to this day

She would slowly fall into despair- her mind breaking with every reset

Her desperation cause her to try and convince anyone- anything that shes stuck in a time loop

ofc they don't believe her -- I mean you're stuck in a timeloop? Don't make me laugh we would've noticed if we were in one

The Batfam wouldn't notice her sudden change, I mean, they barely know her. shes just the normal one. Alfred might notice but he's busy and she must've been tired or something

The worse part is that this day was quiet, no villains, barely any crime

its just boring

if there was a villain attack maybe she could have stopped it, after all its the same script with the only changes being caused by her

To help herself keep sane, she just does whatever and anything

Using Bruce's money to buy anything

hell at this point she might as well as do drugs, maybe they'll help they don't

Eventually, probably around the 10 year mark of being stuck, an accident would occur

She swears she didn't mean to but she was just over his damn taunting

Something just snapped, she just snapped

It was amazing how easy it was to kill him with him being trained as an assassin guess Ra's Al Ghul and Talia Al Ghul didn't train him that good-

He's alive the next loop, of course

She wasn't surprised, yet she couldn't help the guilt

She hugged him, sobbing apologies and such- how weird it was to Damian

A few loops later she did the same thing, not to Damian, no it was Jason

She almost expected him to stand up again after she shot him

Loop after loop, she accidentally kills each family member

She couldn't help the excuses that left her, after all she never meant to hurt any of them but she's just so done with the same damn script and the same fucking day

Then she just stops leaving her room, after all she couldn't hurt them if she didn't leave

Her desperation of finding a way out carved her inside out

Slicing its name into every fiber in her being

So of course she decides to finally end this loop at the cost of her life

Staring down at the camera while apologizing and explaining why she made this choice its been a year and a half in this loop

She wakes up, same day, same script

So she tries again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and-

Shes completely stuck in this hell

Its almost funny

She now understood the Joker in a way

She understood his insanity

His craze that broke others

Maybe she should try it

just one loop

or two loops

She hates this mansion and she hates these people

She just can't stand them

Its been years in this prison

How unfair

She's killed and destroyed everyone and everything at one point-

She's died in almost every way she could think of

Not because she was suicidal but because she was desperate to end the loop

Her hope with every death that one would eventually take her out for good slowly goes away

So she locks herself in her room, doing nothing because there was nothing at this point

Its a different date

Its actually a different day

So why is it a different day? Why isn't she stuck in a loop?

Why didn't it feel different? It's a different day now

She's free so why doesn't she feel like it

She's free after 20 years of the same day

When she looks in a mirror she doesn't recognize herself

Those wild and crazy eyes, they almost mimic the joker's if he was even more insane

She doesn't know what to do

She doesn't remember how to be sane anymore

She lost herself years ago in that cursed loop

She tries to fix herself, try to act how she thought she would've acted

No one says anything at breakfast yet they noticed how different she was

In their mind she was fine two days ago, so what could've happened when she locked herself in her room yesterday?

She kinda reminds them of the Joker-- Only with those eyes

So the Batfam does what they normally do

Investigate

Tim found it easily, the digital diary

How horrified they were to watch the entries

How with every loop, she changed worse and worse

Actively watching her lose her sanity

Watching her desperation grow more and more just as guilt ate at her

Horrified as she explained to the camera- herself really- how she killed them

How she killed herself

The videos progressing from sobbing apologies to an blank expression

One video catching their eye of her manic giggles and laughs as she describes how she understands the Joker now

Anyways that's all I have so if anyone would like inspo or smth please take it

I'll love to read it

also I will not write this into an actual story as everyone will be out of character cause I suck at personalities lolol

be prepared to see me enter dms, requesting this btw

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐑 ! ❞

⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. gaku x reader .

⋆.˚ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. for once he isn’t staying up late for his video games but instead for you.

⋆.˚ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. ~1.5k .

⋆.˚ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. fluff. f!reader. noceur - (n.) one who stays up late. mix of canon and self made. spoiler - free . safe for minors! crappy writing. gaku may seem ooc .

　"PLEASE, please, please, please! Can you pick me up?"

As a matter of fact, you never would've thought about you begging for anyone or anything. But here you are, about to break into tears while begging, because your dear friend wouldn't give in to pick you up from school. It wasn't even that much work, considering he was near your school. And the fact you two haven't seen each other for a while — a while means two years.

God who knows what Gaku was doing in those years. You have no idea where that guy was even disappearing with his supposed family! They don't even look an ounce similiar beside their silverly-white hair and those good-looks. Who cares now though? You're in a situation in which you can't waste a second since it was hard as hell to convince someone as lazy as him to do something for you.

"Look, if you told your friends a lie and land into a stupid situation, you gotta get out by yourself." his tired voice was on the speaker, "I ain't getting your ass outta that."

"But we haven't seen each other for so long! Didn't you miss me?! We can play roblox together again." you cried out as quiet as you can, sitting on the damned school toilette.

"I don't know where you live but we can play that without meeting each other." you could only hear him sigh at the other end of the mic.

"That's it, I'm burning your house down in adopt me! I'm stealing your neon pets too, lazy monkey!"

"Yeah, yeah. Good luck."

With those last words the call ended, not in your favor. You slammed your fist against the wall of the cabin and stood up from the toilette seat, not caring if someone else heard you. You roughly put your phone into your pocket of your skirt while storming out of the girls' restroom and returning to your friends, mind sunken deep into furious thoughts.

How could he be so mean? After all the time you've spent together playing shitty video games to cure his boredom! You only thought about him whenever he invited you to play with him. Yeah that summarized up how much you like him, enough to watch him speedrun some games and sticking by his side like glue. "He's such a bitch." you cursed, your rushing turned into walking.

Calmly, you pat down your skirt to remove any wrinkles before sliding the door to the side with a tight smile. "Sorry, guys. My boyfriend is a little tired after returning to japan. I mean he was away for a long time and of course, he also needs some time to get used to here. So he can't pick me up today." the lie slipped out of your lips as if it was second nature as you sat down on your seat again.

"Naw, not even on valentine's day?!" one of your friend exclaimed. "Would've loved to met that dude you're crushing about the whole time."

"Must be hard to führen a long-distance relationship."

"So actually, what if he isn't real? Guys, what if [name] lost her sanity and made up a guy. Or what if he's an online boyfriend and [name] is being an e-kitten 'cause she needs money." you twitched as your friend joked.

"I mean there is a chance. After all, they met on the internet!"

That wasn't a lie though. You did meet Gaku through an underrated game — it wasn't a popular game at all, barely hundred log-in's per day and everyone knew each other. He joined, you two became good friends, traded numbers and after a good amount of time you two met in real life. Mind you, you two were fourteen at that time, dumb enough to trust strangers you met online.

Okay maybe you were the dumb one for blindly trusting him. But if you didn't, you wouldn't have been good friends like today! Four years later. And you crushed so hard on him, you could literally walk the path of shame when you thought about your obsession era. It's fine now! The crush phase calmed down while he was away somewhere. You still can't believe he doesn't trust you enough to tell you where.

"You all are fake as heck." you huffed. "Skipping club today."

"Guys, stop. [name] is already heartbroken enough. No need to add more weight and now she's even skipping club!"

"Thank you, mamacita."

"Stop."

"No way."

　You groaned in annoyance, burrying your head deep into your pillow. You're so stupid. "Maybe it was a little wishful on my part for hoping that he would pick me up! I mean, he probably is really tired." you muttered under your breath. "But it's not like he is never tired! That stupid duck only stays up for his stupid games! Curse them, curse them all! He only thinks about this shit."

Sigh.

"Can't believe I'm crushing on someone like him. Bet he reeks. He should touch grass. Green aura with dead flies." you turned so you could lay on your side, eyes wandering to the chocolate bag on your table. "You simp."

It's already midnight. Hours past valentine's day. And you didn't even get to give him the chocolate yourself. "Stop worrying about that [name]." you told yourself as you closed your eyes for a second. "He's right. It's my own fault for telling my friends he's my boyfriend just because everyone had someone they loved and bragged about."

With that, you covered your face in shame and little embarrassment. "Shit... I'm lucky I didn't ruin our friendship over something as silly as this." what you called silly was actually your feelings. If you didn't act because of your feelings, you wouldn't be so disappointed. You really should start thinking before acting.

"I..." you covered your face with the pillow and grabbed your phone from the nightstand, now laying on your stomach, "really wanted to give him this box."

As soon as you looked up from the soft cushion, the light that was emitted by your phone blinded you for a moment before your eyes got used to it.

× The Love Of My Life (1) missed call

[05:34pm]

"Oh." you let out in surprise. Your eyes widened. "Oh."

"Ah... I should call back." you coughed, about to press the call button. "Wait, it's super late though. He probably isn't awake. Or he is awake and playing some video games like always. But he would've called me though— He did call me. The call was a while ago though. Too early for his usual all-nighters play through."

Calling The Love Of My Life . . .

"Uh... seems like it was the inevitable." you sat up from your bed, eyes looking out of the window. Suddenly, you felt nervous. Yet you did the get much time to prepare because after two rings, the call got accepted.

"Finally called back huh? Were you ignoring me or something?" his voice was on the speaker again.

"Yeah of course..." you awkwardly trailed off and tried to play it off coolly, "and? What'cha doing?"

"Nothing. Chilling on the swing." weird.

"Huh, not even playing your usual midnight games?" you asked curiously.

"Surprisingly not. I was waiting."

"Waiting for what? For my call or what? Is that why you stayed up so late till midnight?" you teased him jokingly.

"Actually yes. I was waiting for you."

You blinked at that before chuckling, confused. "Eh?"

"I was waiting for you at the gate. Skipped club today, didn't you?"

"I..." you gazed to the box on your desk, "stay there. You're at the park, right?"

"Guessed right."

Without wasting another second, you ended the call and stumbled out of the bed, rushing past your desk while grabbing onto the box. "I'm out for a sec'!" you whispered-shouted, not caring to change your pyjama as you got your jacket.

　Panting heavily, you finally reached your destination to the park and frantically looked around to search a certain white-headed guy. 'Chilling on the swing, he said chilling on the swing.' your gaze went to the swing. There he was, comfortably sitting on it without any worries and seemingly enjoying the night sky.

"[name], you're here." he spoke up, eyes following your slow figure. His gaze was glued to you. Even after noticing the little box in your hand. "I've been waiting."

"You're at this specific park since it's near my park, aren't you?" you questioned and already figured him out, your heavy breathing calming down ever so slightly. "Here."

Now he allowed himself to take a look at the box you were holding onto. "Happy late Valentine's day, Gaku." you whispered, taking his hand so he would accept those chocolate. "Make sure to pay me back tenfold." you turned your back to him, cheeks completely red while thinking that you made yourself look like some kind of fool. "Or else I will be very mad at you."

"Happy late Valentine's day. I didn't expect such half-assed confession." you froze at the spot, your head back to the guy whose expression was unclear. "Stayed up for you and this, you know?

WHERE'S THE ›I LOVE YOU‹?"

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

a/n's note — what the skibidi did I write

[delirious-donna]

Don’t Touch [Nanami Kento]

an: a rework of a shorter piece I wrote a looooong time ago for the handsome ex-salaryman. He’s on my mind so we must all suffer.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: sensory deprivation kinda (touch), teasing, fully NSFW

Masterlist

What had started as a fun experiment, quickly devolved into a form of torture designed specifically to turn your darling husband into a snarling monster.

You thought you had been so smart; offering an offhand remark that you didn’t think he could last more than ten minutes without touching you, in an intimate moment, you elaborated with a barely stifled chuckle.

Kento’s answering arched eyebrow spoke of his confidence at proving you entirely wrong. How hard could it possibly be?

Well, at eight minutes in, he was losing his grip on sanity. Kento had never appreciated how much he relied on touch to feel close to you, and having it taken away was akin to literally chopping off his hands. Of course, he knew that being able to reach out and feel you next to him was important, but not that taking away that one sense would break him so wholly.

How could he be expected to gaze at your beautiful naked breasts and not want to cup them and feel their weight in his rough palms? How was he to remain rational when your sweet nipples pebbled without wanting to thumb at them until you strained further into his touch?

“Ken,” you whined pitifully, your grip tight against his powerful biceps as you tried to keep your seated composure. His hips had been restless these past few minutes and he had almost unseated you from your straddled position several times by jerking you upwards without warning.

Strands of his normally tame hair fell into hazel eyes now clouded with a feral lust, the lick of crackling flames leaping from popping logs evident when you lowered your face to capture his pouting lips.

“You said you’d play nice, no fair.” You nipped at his bottom lip in a poor form of punishment, not knowing that this whole scenario was slowly killing him.

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull, the sharp curve of his jaw tightening almost painfully when you traced a fingertip around his nipple. Kento groaned, the sound low in his throat and rumbling through his chest. It made you circle your hips in retaliation. Eyelashes fluttering low whilst your bare pussy, slick with thick arousal, stroked the length of his aching cock.

How much agony could one man endure? His angry cock tipped with a deep red blush lay pressed flush to his taut stomach as you slid it through your soaked cunt again and again, rutting against him with a moan each time his blunt tip passed over your sensitive clit to snag at your hood.

The hands resting above his head convulsed with the desire to reach out and grasp your hips, your soft stomach, everywhere and anywhere. You noticed the twitch of his fingers, coyly hiding your smile behind your palm.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, voice gravelly. “If I can’t touch you, then please have a little mercy and sit on my fucking dick!”

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, knowing that if you even dared to smirk—let alone laugh—it would all be over. Your handsome man rarely cursed, and the fact you’d coaxed it out of him so easily filled your chest with humorous satisfaction.

“Oh, Kento, you’re such a good boy saying please so sweetly,” you teased, ignoring his tone and the cursing. “Let me take care of you.”

Kento hissed through clenched teeth when you finally gripped him in your tight little fist, guiding him to your sopping entrance and inching down agonisingly slowly.

The overwhelmingly pleasant feeling of fullness stole the air from your lungs, his cock bottoming out with an exalted grunt of relief. He might not be able to touch you still, but at least, he could feel you in other ways.

“You’ve made it ten minutes, darling, think you could go another ten?”

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ Last One Standing

Part 1: Silence in Room 4

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: Sam and Dean are gone. Just—gone. No trace, no evidence, no memory of them in anyone’s minds but yours. As the world shifts around you, you begin to question your sanity...

Warning: Nothing really just angst

Age: 20-24

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

There was nothing but crickets when you woke up this morning in the motel room and it freaked you out. Mostly Dean would wake you open by throwing a pillow at you while Sam was yelling at him to leave you alone. There was none of that though.

You sit up. The bed next to yours is made. Too neat. Like no one ever slept in it.

“Dean?” Your voice cracks. “Sam?”

No answer.

You toss the blanket aside, grab your phone from the nightstand. No new texts. No calls. You scroll through your contacts: Sam, Dean, Castiel, Bobby, even Charlie. You try Sam first.

The number you have dialed is not in service.

You try Dean. Same result. You try everyone.

Same.

It’s like their numbers were never real.

Your chest tightens as you pull on your jacket, gun still tucked into the inner pocket. You step outside. The Impala isn’t there. It’s just your rental - a beige Ford that Dean refused to let you drive last week.

Except... you don’t remember renting it.

You slam the motel door shut and march into the office.

The clerk looks up from his crossword. “Morning. Need something?”

“I’m looking for my brothers. Joey and James Page. We checked in two nights ago. Room 4.”

He frowns. “You checked in alone. Just you.”

“No no, that’s not right,” you say, heart racing. “James’ tall, shaggy hair, always looks like he’s about to scold someone. Joey’s the smartass with the car. The black Impala?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Don’t know any Page's. You came in solo. Quiet type.”

You just stare at him.

You check your phone again. Scroll to the photos.

There is a photo. You, Sam, and Dean - sitting in a diner booth, Sam mid-eye roll, Dean mid-sip of beer.

But their faces are... wrong.

Blurry. Like fogged-out glass. Like someone smudged their thumb over the image.

You can’t breathe.

You run outside, past the room, across the street to where the Impala should’ve been parked. But there’s nothing but wet pavement and a puddle reflecting the grey sky.

You whisper their names like a prayer.

“Sam… Dean…”

Nothing answers.

Only silence.

⛧

You drive.

No real destination, just motion. Your hands are tight on the steering wheel. Every few minutes, you glance in the rearview, half-expecting to see Dean’s annoyed scowl or Sam’s worried frown.

Nothing. Just the back seat. Empty.

You head for the one place that’s always felt solid. The Bunker.

You find the entrance like muscle memory. No part of you doubts it’s still there. You twist the handle, push open the heavy door, and descend into the dark.

It smells right. Dust. Old books. Gun oil.

But the lights flicker like no one’s been here in months.

“Dean?” you call into the echo. “Sam?”

Only your voice comes back.

You move through the war room, the library, the kitchen. Everything looks right - but something’s wrong. Photos are missing from the pin boards. The weapons case is half-empty. Their rooms are cold and bare. Dean’s leather jacket is gone. Sam’s bookshelf - his research notes - all blank.

You go to the command center and boot up the computer. Log in with Dean’s old password. “Metallica1969.”

It unlocks.

You open the case files. Some are there - hunts you know you did together. But the names are wrong. Where it should say “Winchester, Dean,” it just says “Unknown.” Over and over.

You lean back in the chair and run your fingers through your hair, heart hammering.

"What is happening?"

You haven’t forgotten them. You know every scar on Dean’s knuckles. You know Sam’s laugh, rare as it was. You remember being ten years old, Dean sneaking you a piece of candy and telling you not to rat him out.

You remember.

So why doesn’t the world?

[youthereader]

Echoes in the Dark part 4.

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.7k words. Every morning you wake up and remember two things. Firstly, that your son is dead, and secondly, that Joel Miller is your patient. A fix-it fic. Reader is Joel’s carer as he recovers from Abby’s attempt on his life.

RATING: E. blowjob and vaginal fingering. age gap (reader is in their 30s, Joel is in his 60s). heavy angst, grief and loss of a child, graphic violence.

A/N: Sexy interlude. Or, porn with a sprinkle of plot. I didn't intend to write yet another filthy chapter, but it just HAPPENED. Help.

PART 3.

The memories of last night take a couple minutes to come back to you when you wake the next morning. You flush, rolling over in bed, stretching. You remember the gasps, the groans and moans that came from him. You remember the taste of his come on your tongue as you make your first coffee of the day. 

Instead of going indoors the second you reach Joel’s place, you go to the wood chopping spot out the front. Each slam of the axe calms you as you build a small pile. You kick aside another piece when the front door opens wide, revealing Joel fully dressed, hands on his wheels. The front door thunks against the wall and you pause, before reaching for another log to cut.

“Morning,” he says, and you feel his voice go straight through you. 

You take a deep breath, then slam the axe down, splitting the log in two. 

“Morning,” you reply. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you smirk, looking away. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Wonder why,” you tease. 

Your eyes meet again, and his gaze dips distinctly at your body. As he drinks you in, you kick aside the wood, slamming the axe down on the chopping block a beat later. You scoop up some firewood and walk up the steps. 

He doesn’t move, blocking the doorway. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, and he could be talking about anything, until you realize he means the wood, not the handjob.

“Sure I did,” you murmur. “Can I put these down?”

He wordlessly moves back, watching you as you slip past him and walk to the fireplace inside, kneeling to place the wood next to it. You feed the embers from last night, blowing on them to build a flame. You settle back on your heels, Joel remaining at the doorway.

“I got word the foal came,” he says, and you smile. 

“What’s it’s name?”

“Clover,” he replies. He looks down at his hands for a second, something ticking over. “Do you wanna go see it?”

“Sure,” you say. 

The walk to the stables is quiet, but not awkward. You don’t talk about last night, and you decide you don’t have to. There’s not much to say, you’re not going to ask him what you are now. He’s still a guy you’re looking after, and you’re still more than happy to it, as long as he is. 

He doesn’t give the impression that he has any regrets by how he doesn’t shrink away from you, and openly smiles when he says your name to Tommy.

“Yeah, I remember her,” his brother says. He looks at you. “At least you’ve still got him in the chair. The less he moves the better for your sanity.”

“Of course,” you retort. 

Several people are already visiting the stables that morning, including Tommy and Maria. You wonder how obvious it is to other people that you and Joel are closer than this time yesterday. Maria is quieter than the last time you saw her, distracted. 

“Things are fine,” you add, somewhat pointed. “He’s behaving.”

You, on the other hand, are definitely not. You and Joel have already shared secret glances that morning, and at one point he grabbed the cuff of your jacket, just to hold it between his fingers. This secret, however small, feels tender to you, almost precious. You know wholeheartedly that you don’t ever want to go back to the way things were before.

Clover resembles her mother, a deep mahogany with a white stripe down her nose. You move on, feeling Maria’s eyes on yours. Walking back to Joel’s street, he brings it up in a diplomatic way. 

“She hasn’t always been my biggest fan.”

“I think she’s seen how picking me has kinda backfired,” you add. “She’s nice enough, but…”

“You’re not super friendly with her, though,” he says.

You snort, dropping your face close to his head as you still push him. “Pot, kettle… black…”

When you reach the front door, his hand slips into yours and he hoists himself up with a grunt. 

“I’m the expert when it comes to keeping folks away,” he says. “Or, I used to be. So I know what I’m talking about, is what I’m saying.”

You nod, knowing he’s watching your reactions. You being touch-starved is partly why last night was so thrilling, and being alone has only served you well over the last few years. Joel complicates this, holds a mirror to you. 

“She doesn’t have to worry about my character,” you say, walking him into his living room. 

He settles on the couch and you walk back to get the wheelchair. He doesn’t speak until you’re by his side again, your feet beside his as you stand over him.

“I know she doesn’t,” he murmurs. “You’re loyal, which is rare in this world. And kind.”

“I’m not that-”

You’re about to brush him off but he reaches for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours. He squeezes, brow lifting. 

“You are.”

Ordinarily, when people like Maria or other fellow Jackson residents praise you, it feels inherently false. None of these people knew you before, and so you know their impression of you is shallow at best. Hearing Joel say this feels different. You know he doesn’t appear this way to others that often. 

“Okay,” is all you can say, and he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

His touch warms you all over, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. His hand slips up to your arm, and then your elbow. He pulls you in, and you land on your knees between his, your hands settling on his thighs. 

“We never actually kissed,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. He takes hold of your face with both hands. “It’s a fucking shame.”

You shuffle forward and he kisses you. He is molten and thorough, lingering and torturous. It’s the best kiss of your life and you moan into his open mouth, his tongue meeting yours. His head tilts and your nails dig into him, while you take everything. You could do this for hours, until you’re dizzy and overwhelmed, until your numb… He pulls back, a wet smack of lips, and kisses your cheek, your eyelid, the tip of your nose. 

There’s that intimacy again, the tenderness that refuses to leave you. You slide your hands further down to meet his hips, and he hisses against the side of your face.

“How hard are you right now for me?” you whisper, and he attacks your throat, hands roaming your back, your waist, down to your ass. 

If he could, he’d put you in his lap, you know this by how he almost bucks into you, kisses landing wherever he can reach skin. Your jacket is shoved away and he pulls down your shirt to your elbows. You shiver, nipples pebbling as his huge palms slip into your bra to cup your breasts. You gasp into his mouth, hips rocking. 

If he’s hard, you’re soaking through your underwear, you swear your life on this. You rock together, a mindlessness to it, tongues tangling. Your hands scramble to his waistband. 

“I want to taste you again,” you whisper to him, and he moans, mouth missing yours for the first time. “Please?”

You pull him out, his hands slipping away from you, and he allows you to dive down, taking him in your mouth. He gasps like you did, hand immediately going to the back of your head, your hair tangling in his grip.

“Fuck me,” he says, a little louder than you expect. “Shitshitshit…”

He tastes of soap, and precome, and you pull off him to the sensitive tip, circling it with your tongue. For an older guy, he’s got no issues getting hard fast. You plunge back down, taking him to the root, coughing at the strain. He’s at the back of your throat and you want him to bruise, to leave you something to remember him by. Another secret thing you can treasure when you’re alone once more.

“God, you’re perfect…”

He sounds drunk. He’s delirious because you’re giving him head. You double your efforts, losing air over him, twisting him on the downstroke. He lasts only a few minutes until he’s trying to pull away, but you shake your head, pulling off. You stroke him with a slick fist, eyes meeting his. 

“Come in my mouth.”

He stares at you, then begins to nod. His fingers tighten on your scalp and you clench on nothing. He starts to come, quietly and then louder, groaning. It’s warm down your throat, like a comfort, like a reward. You lick it away, as he pants, sweat on his hairline. You give a yelp as he pulls you up by your elbows, shoving you into the seat beside him. 

“You’ve given me two now, how is that fair?” he whispers, and you remember your tits still being out when he cups one, nipping at the swell of the other. 

You give a helpless little sound, and though it’s a tricky manouver given he can’t move his lower half that well, he manages to half turn and undo your jeans. 

“Can I fuck you like this?” he whispers, and you nod.

God, yes. Anything. Fucking anything. 

He looks surprised when his hand reaches inside your underwear, his fingers brushing your soaked folds. Then he smiles up at you, and he’s blushing. 

“Jesus.”

He kisses you again, softer, and you rock, wanting more. He slips one finger and then another inside you with ease. Your cunt makes an almost mortifying sucking sound as he begins to move. You’ve never been more turned on in your life. You know you’re not long for this world when his thumb presses against your clit. 

“If it weren’t for my leg, I’d have you bent over this couch,” he whispers. 

“Good motivation for you to get better, then,” you pant, clenching on his fingers. 

His hand speeds up, your toes beginning to curl. Your hand falls down between you and you grip his wrist. 

“Joel,” you pant. You chant his name over and over, until it becomes all you know, your hips lifting–

You come hard, back bowing, Joel’s head bending down for his mouth to latch onto your neck. He claims you then, pinning you to the couch, drenching him down to his wrist. 

The world spins and for a little while, it’s all you know, it’s all there is. 

And you’re at peace.

I truly cannot get enough of this old man. Seriously, I think it's diagnosable at this point. Anyhoooooo, let me know what you think!

tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld

PART 5

[elliespassagerprincess]

oooo how would professor ellie be and helping reader deal with baby brain??

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie immediately noticed the baby brain getting worse after Arnold’s birth—when you tried to warm up formula in the freezer.

☆ She didn’t laugh. She just kissed your forehead and said, “Okay, we’re labeling the appliances now.”

☆ She actually made laminated, color-coded labels for everything in the kitchen, even labeling the fridge "cold mama box."

☆ Ellie started carrying around a mini notepad just for you—so whenever you said “remind me to…” she’d jot it down, rip it out, and stick it to the fridge later.

☆ She downloaded four different baby apps on her phone and synced them to yours “just in case you forget the login.”

☆ Ellie started doing all the grocery shopping herself. She says it’s because she “doesn’t trust you not to come home with twelve cucumbers and no wipes.”

☆ She leaves sticky notes in the most random places—on your hairbrush, your favorite mug, your side of the mirror—saying things like:

“Brush hair, drink water, kiss your genius wife.”

☆ If you forget what day it is, she’ll tease you with, “It’s Monday, babe. I teach. You nurse. Aurora bosses everyone around. Classic schedule.”

☆ Ellie took over organizing Aurora’s school things and Arnold’s paediatric appointments without telling you—just quietly made herself the admin on everything.

☆ She keeps emergency snacks in her desk drawer for you. They’re labelled: “Reader’s sanity bites.”

☆ When you forgot your phone at home for the third time in a week, Ellie drove back from campus during her break just to give it to you—with a protein bar and a coffee.

☆ She never scolds or sighs—she just wraps you in her arms and says, “We made a whole human. You’re allowed to forget what the stove is.”

☆ Ellie started handwriting a “day summary” in a little journal next to your bed. Just a few lines like:

��Aurora told her class you invented apples. Arnold tried to poop on me. I love you.”

☆ She began calling reminders out loud like an AI assistant. “Hey babe! You were going to fold the laundry! Or…was that past-you’s mistake?”

☆ Ellie bought you matching necklaces engraved with the kids’ initials—"A & A"—because she knew you’d keep misplacing the baby bag.

☆ When you cried over losing your car keys (which were in your hand), she cradled your face and whispered, “I’d forget my own name if you weren’t around to moan it.”

☆ She started calling baby brain “Mama PhD syndrome”—so it felt less like a flaw and more like some grand cosmic achievement.

☆ Ellie writes little affirmations in your notebooks like:

“You made Aurora. You made Arnold. You are literal magic. I’ll remember everything else for us.”

☆ She never lets you apologize for being forgetful. “You pushed out a kid and made milk. My brain would have exploded.”

☆ Ellie sometimes wears a pin on her cardigan that says: “Ask me about my sleep-deprived wife.”

☆ She draws stick figure comics of your day—like the time you put a diaper on backwards—just to make you laugh.

☆ She once caught you putting a bottle in the dryer and quietly walked over, replaced it with laundry, and kissed your cheek like it was completely normal.

☆ Ellie created a shared “baby survival” spreadsheet. Color-coded. With tabs like “Did I eat today?” and “Arnold’s poop log.”

☆ When you forget to eat, she sits you down on her lap, feeds you bites of toast like she’s the professor of nourishment.

☆ Ellie calls you “mama genius” ironically when you do silly things like put your keys in the fridge—always with a teasing grin and a soft kiss.

☆ She puts tiny hearts next to your to-do list items, especially the ones you keep forgetting. “Drink water, mama. For me.”

☆ Ellie started carrying a spare pacifier in her jacket pocket “just in case you forget his again—no shade.”

☆ She lets Aurora scold you gently. “Mama, you put Daddy’s lunch in the diaper pail again.” Ellie’s behind her, trying not to laugh.

☆ When you space out during a conversation, she touches your wrist gently and says, “Hey, come back to me, space cadet.”

☆ Ellie plays memory games with you—not to fix anything, but just to be close to you. “Okay, five things you touched in the last ten minutes. Go.”

☆ She started organizing your makeup by use frequency and labeled the drawers: “Stuff for when you care,” “Stuff for five-minute glam,” and “You’re hot no matter what.”

☆ Ellie bought you memory supplements and stuck them inside a chocolate bar wrapper so you’d actually take them.

☆ She made a “baby brain emergency” bag with chapstick, mints, cash, wipes, and a picture of the kids. It’s in her office.

☆ When you forgot where you parked, Ellie just quietly activated her phone tracker on your location and found you without judgment.

☆ Ellie installed a key tracker app and pretends it’s because she loses things too. (She doesn’t.)

☆ When you forgot to pack a bottle and panicked, Ellie offered you her office coffee mug. “It’s clean. It’s desperate times.”

☆ She started a bedtime routine where she lists all the things you did remember today. Even if it’s just: “You kissed Arnold. You said ‘I love you.’ You were patient.”

☆ Ellie kisses the inside of your wrist when you say “I’m sorry, I’m just so dumb lately.” She says, “You’re exhausted, not dumb. You’re brilliant. You’re mine.”

☆ She taught Aurora to give you a kiss when you look overwhelmed. “Kiss Mama’s forehead. That’s the reboot button.”

☆ Ellie wrote a journal titled “Things Reader Forgot That Made Me Love Her More.”

☆ When you forgot your coffee on top of the car and drove off, Ellie bought you a spill-proof cup and wrote “Reader’s Lifeline” on it in Sharpie.

☆ She sets gentle alarms on your phone named “You deserve a break” or “Stretch & hydrate, my love.”

☆ Ellie started doing baby signs with Arnold early so he could "help remind Mama" when he's hungry or needs a change.

☆ She learned how to tie your shoes one-handed for when you were holding Arnold and couldn’t bend down.

☆ Ellie whispers soft reminders into your neck when hugging you:

“Keys in your purse. Phone’s on the charger. You’re not alone in this.”

☆ She makes “proud of you” playlists for when you make it through the day without crying or forgetting Aurora’s lunch.

☆ Ellie sets the GPS for you automatically, even if it’s just to the grocery store. “Not because you can’t, but so you don’t have to.”

☆ She bakes your favorite muffins with little paper flags stuck in them that say things like: “Hot mom fuel” or “Memory boost: unlocked.”

☆ When you forgot your name at the pediatrician (true story), Ellie just smirked and said, “This is my wife. She's magic, just momentarily unplugged.”

☆ She always rubs your back in the kitchen when you’re staring at nothing. “Baby brain’s a bitch, huh? Good thing I’m here.”

☆ Ellie added an extra whiteboard in the hallway just for “Mama Notes” where she writes reminders, love notes, and cute drawings.

☆ She refuses to let you feel embarrassed around her. “You can forget everything but I’ll always remember who you are to me.”

☆ Ellie got Aurora to memorize your morning routine so she can bossily direct you through it. “Mama, brush your teeth. No, your toothbrush.”

☆ She bought you a necklace with Arnold’s birthstone and said, “Now you don’t have to remember. It’s always with you.”

☆ When you forgot to change out of your pajama top before going out, she just handed you a hoodie and winked. “Still hot.”

☆ Ellie created a memory jar labeled “Things You Did Right This Week.” She puts in notes when you’re asleep.

☆ She holds your hand tighter when she feels you spiraling. “One thing at a time, babe. Just one.”

☆ Ellie started sending you gentle check-in texts:

“Hey, love. Did you eat? Hydrate? Breathe?”

☆ She gives you small tasks, like folding a single onesie, and celebrates like you just aced an exam. “Ten outta ten, Professor Mama.”

☆ Ellie learned how to braid your hair so she can do it for you when you forget or don’t have the energy.

☆ When you accidentally called Aurora “Ellie,” she just laughed and said, “We’re both obsessed with you, so it tracks.”

☆ She bought you new glasses because she said, “You keep misplacing your brain, let’s at least help your eyes.”

☆ Ellie whispers “I got you” into your temple when you’re lost in a fog, grounding you like it’s instinct.

☆ She bought a wall calendar just to put gold stars on it for every good day you had. Even if it’s just “didn’t cry before 10am.”

☆ Ellie encourages you to nap and will lie beside you, watching over you like you’re the rarest research specimen she’s ever found.

☆ She plays memory-based games with Aurora and invites you to join, saying, “Let’s all forget things together.”

☆ When you forgot your name again, she just kissed your hand and said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine.”

☆ Ellie started carrying around a mini photo album of you and the kids and hands it to you when you feel overwhelmed. “Proof you’re doing it. All of it.”

☆ She gives you forehead kisses more often than usual—because she says it helps "charge your RAM."

☆ Most of all, Ellie never makes you feel like your forgetfulness is a burden. She makes it feel like just another part of loving and learning each other—just another thing she remembers how to hold, so you don’t have to.

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - aemond targaryen

Chapter 16: Every Little Thing

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 4.3k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ Death's hand extends towards the unwilling.

You carefully put on an intricate gown made for you. As you were back at the capital, you had worn their elvish clothes for the first time since you left on the trip. The journey to Lake Rosemange was spent in your more modest human clothes. You had thought it was a welcome feeling, but it did not hold a candle to the feeling you had wearing the soft and luxurious elvish fabrics. Amara had chosen the gown as you broke your fast with them in your room. It had been a while since you could speak to them and was refreshing. 

“Imagine her surprise when he returned with another’s undergarment in his pocket!” Liriel had spoken. The two had been catching you up on courtly gossip. As much as you wanted to not partake in such gossip to maintain a more elevated persona, you could not help but revel in it. The scandals all lured you in. It was far more entertaining than any town square shows put on where you had lived. 

As Amara tied the laces on the back of your dress, your gaze swept up to your bed. Within the pillowcases lay the scouting record and book found in Cole’s room. Thinking of it made your throat close and muscles tighten. When Amara stepped back and went to join her wife on the settee, you sucked in a breath. 

“I think I’ll choose my jewellery for the day.” The underlying meaning behind your words was not lost on the two elves. You wished for a moment of solitary peace. They got up from their seats and bid you a quick goodbye. 

When they had left, you made your way to the vanity. While scanning over your options, your eyes kept moving toward where the scouting log and Cole’s book were kept. Your fingers brushed over the cool metal of a necklace you found particularly pleasing and knew it would compliment the expanse of the bare neck that was exposed from the dress. You put it on and then walked to your bed. 

The items were calling to you. You shakily pulled them both out from under the pillows and laid them on the plush blanket of your bed. You dragged your finger across the black cover and ruminated on the information Aegon had gathered. The whole night was spent drifting in and out of sleep. You were reeling from the information. Cole was one being you knew was not trustworthy. He was slimy and vile, but was there really enough hate in him to be a purveyor of the dark arts? 

You were caught between multiple points. You wished to mourn; for your father, Lyra, and everyone else who had perished from the taint. Yet your body was pulled towards your duty as a healer and passion as a researcher to find a cure no matter the cost, regardless of your health and sanity. Then, more recently, another point had driven itself into your chest. It was a matter of a single blue eye that threatened to swallow you each time you gazed into it. The point, driven like an anchor, pushed you overboard and into murky waters; pulling you down from all those other cares to think of nothing but him alone. 

The gods had been cruel, exceptionally so, to test your patience by sending such a siren call in the form of Aemond.

You once again scanned the items in front of you. There was something there. There is some underlying meaning behind the discovery of this information. It was a trickery. The scout's log showed Cole’s presence in the area and the book was damning that he was capable of some kind of evil – or at the very least an untrustworthy interest in darker things. The main cause of your distress was Aemond’s possible part to play in all of it. He and Cole were nearly inseparable, always talking to one another. There was a strong bond, one which would naturally lead to sharing information between one another. 

During your thinking, a knock on the door jolted you out of it. While you normally would have made haste to hide the items, your brain had been working overtime as of late. It led to you not caring much at all anymore. You looked over your shoulder to see Aemond walking into your room. You turned your head to the bed, keeping your back facing him. You could not look at him. 

Cole likely played a part in hurting – nay killing – your father; to which Aemond could have known about it.

It would suit Aemond not to tell you. The taint was a burden on both kingdoms. He could use you for your talents, recognizing that they may have made a mistake in killing your father before he could find a solution. He planned to have you make the cure, or at least get close, and then dispense you. Your kingdom would be none the wiser of such misdeeds and a conflict would be avoided. The elf kingdom could use the cure on themselves only and sit back as your people died out. 

That was the ultimate goal of the Great War so many centuries ago – at least what had been taught to you. 

You steeled yourself and crossed your arms to soften your emotions, “What can I do for you, your grace?” You wanted him to leave before you broke down – before you confessed all that you discovered and demanded an answer. Though you knew, it was far too late to go back. His presence alone weakened you. You were beholden to Aemond and thus unable to keep anything from him.

“I was coming to check on how you were settling back in,” Aemond answered. You wanted to scoff at his possible fake care, but at the same time fall into his arms. The supposed dichotomy between the two mocked you with similarity. 

“Everything is good, my things have been unpacked.” You responded as you looked out the large windows of your room and towards the garden. 

“I did not mean your things,” His footsteps sounded closer as he walked further into your room, “I meant, how are you handling everything? With Lyra…” 

You sucked in a breath and held back the tears that threatened to spill. Your lungs shuddered, but you remained steadfast in your bubbling malcontent. You could sense him standing at the bottom of the three steps that led up to the loft area of your room where your bed and personal study were. 

“I’m still mourning,” You then turned to face him and looked down upon his form. Seeing him, the unadulterated care in his eyes and softened face made you question your knowledge. Surely, this could not have been all a ruse? Surely he is not such a good actor as to make you fall for these falsities.  

“Of course, I–” Aemond had begun, but you cut him off. 

“But I’m mourning my father as well,” Aemond gave you a questionable look, as the last conversation with your father ended on the mutual understanding that he could still be alive, “I know he’s dead.” 

“Why would you say such a thing?” Aemond placed one of his feet on the steps as if to walk up to you, but saw you take a step back. Your flinch looked as though it slapped him, for he took his foot off the step and moved his hands behind his back to show he was not a threat. His eye seemed to flit about your room with nervousness. 

“You told me there were no reports of humans in that area in the last century and I was stupid to believe it.” Your voice was just above a whisper and cracked by the end. It was not fair to accuse him of what you were thinking, but in your grief, you made stupid decisions. 

“I told you the truth of it. What would I gain by lying to you?” Aemond responded. 

“A victory. My father murdered by Cole then another human to use for a cure and then dispose of when the time comes. Once done, you can protect the elven kingdom and watch mine burn, as some kind of late victory from the Great War.” It was wrong to throw that at him, so terribly wrong; especially how he had poured his heart out to you on why such a war started. However, your mind was clouded with mismatched pieces of evidence that you struggled to string together coherently. 

A shift was made in Aemond’s continence, “You think this is some plot to destroy your kingdom? You accuse my good friend and ally of murder?”

“That day in the forest, when you saved me, you told me that every little thing is out to kill.” It felt so long since that day, but truly only a month ago. The way his sword was aimed at your neck came back into your mind, vivid and clear. He had only spared you, just slightly, and you were supposed to be thankful for it. Like not killing you was a gift. Perhaps, he should have just done the job and been rid of you. Now, the same look you gave him after such a threat was directed at you; confusion, shock, and a little bit of fear from Aemond. 

“There were plenty of times in which I could have killed you, but I didn’t. Now I know you are angry and confused but…” He paused and backed up, his eye darting around to not look at you, “I revealed parts of myself to you that…” His voice got caught in his throat.

“Words said in heat are often more destructive than battles.” It was a whisper, as if he was recalling it from a deep memory from his past. His hands tightened into fists and he leaned on the balls of his feet, “I have told you the truth as you are my friend. Let us not fight when tensions are high. We shall talk later.” 

You wanted to scream at him, to lug one of the pillows on your bed directly at his head. How could he be so reasonable? Gods, why was he so reasonable? You wanted confrontation. With it, you could get answers. However, all Aemond did was look at you. His face held traces of grief but still had pieces of reverence. It was heavy, the way he gazed upon you with such fondness and an equal amount of intense emotional pain.

Aemond nodded before swiftly turning to exit your room. His hair swerved with him. The sound of the door closing, bordering on a slam, was what broke you. Tears escaped your eyes and you had to hold up your body on the bed from collapsing. 

Clarity instantly washed over you in one giant wave. Aemond had been nothing but forthright with you – especially since he revealed the origin of his scar. He was rude at first, but there was a perfectly clear reason why. Yet, you had taken that and thrown it in his face. The wave of clarity that washed over you swept back into the ocean of your emotions, leaving behind a shell in the sand of your mind. 

The shell shined and held a simple truth within it. The answer to the one burning question that was always piqued when Aemond would look or talk to you. It always bugged you, that you could not find a reason why your heart would beat quicker and heat would wash over your face. 

You were falling in love. 

It was not what you expected. All your life, a simple path had been laid in your mind. Meet someone, gradually come to like them, and then eventually build the foundations of love. It would be calm and come slowly. There would be time to adjust to it. The motions of the ocean would gently lick at your feet as the tide rose over time. 

Yet, Aemond came and built up a storm; water eroding rock and pummeling the sand. While violent, his storm would never harm you, but you had just harmed him. You could not say you were in love, but there was no denying that it had begun to wrap you in its embrace. 

You shoved the items back under your pillow haphazardly and then moved quickly down the steps and toward your door. You needed to get out of that room – to get away from what just happened. You shakily walked down the dark stone hallways of the castle and towards the laboratory.

Here, you could think clearly and devise a plan to apologize to Aemond. 

You walked to the main study desk and rested your hands against the worn wood. You looked out at all of the items and ingredients laid on the surface, including some of the recent samples you collected from Lake Rosemagne. 

While looking at the ingredients that composed all your recent experiments, including the one that successfully halted the taint, all you could think about was what the book found in Cole’s room and the scouting record. Images of the pages moved across your vision when you had flipped through it. The page you had stopped on with the mortua terra flower and a crude sketch of Lake Rosemagne settled in you. 

Your eyes squinted as you took in all the items in front of you. There was a scratching at the back of your brain; an itch that got worse and worse. It was there, like the forgotten phrase on the tip of one’s tongue. There was an answer clawing at you through a murky haze. Your gaze moved from the vials of lakewater that were collected, then moved to the mortua terra flower, and then it drifted towards another table in the laboratory. 

In a small vase was the elf azure flower. It had been your preferred perfume scent when you came to this kingdom. There was always a vase full of them in the lab, you had made sure of it. You had noticed them growing in the forest when you came back from a short trip out to your home with Aemond. His words came to mind when you glanced at the budding flowers. 

Giēñagon syt se gīs.

Cure for the soul.

That was the elf superstition. Yet, wisdom oft comes from superstitious knowledge that had been passed down for longer than earth's memory. Like a shot arrow, an idea hit you like never before in your life. 

Of course.

Of course, it makes so much sense.

You had been correct in assuming that a cure would need two big components that cancel one another out. At first, it was the poison against poison, which only lasted for a few seconds. Then you tried using dark magic against itself, which halted the spread of the taint in both plant and body but was not a definite cure. What if you used another arena to fight in? Instead of using the infected host as a fighting ground for the potion to act against, would it not be worth it to have the fight be in the potion itself? 

The mortua terra plant against the elf azure flower. The mortua terra was a symbol of death, but the elf azure meant light. 

In Cole’s book, you saw a drawing of what looked like the outline of Lake Rosemagne with the mortua terra flower and a myriad of weird symbols and sketches. If you used the lake water as a base – for it is believed to have balancing powers – it would have to make some form of an impact as they were on opposite sides of the magic spectrum.

This was truly a new frontier for you, but you were determined to follow it through. You wasted no time in expertly assembling all of the ingredients you would need. Your hand grabbed a nearby stick to transfer the flame from one of the torches on the wall. You lit up the bottom portion of a holder for one of the empty cauldrons. Then you took a sample of water from Lake Rosemange and brought it to a calm simmer. 

You followed out with the rest of the ingredients that made the complete base for your last experiments that had been tweaked by Daeron to be stronger. The whole time, your hands had been shaking slightly and you had to take a few breaks to calm down. This morning and the day prior had been a whirlwind of emotions. They compounded in you, but you swallowed it all down to do your work. This was not a brew you wanted to mess up. 

The last step was the two flowers. You put on gloves to handle the mortua terra and plucked a few of the petals off of it, which gleaned a light purple in the dull torchlight.

Just as you were going to place them in the brew, the door to the laboratory opened. Your back was to it, but you could tell that this time in the mourning was around when Daeron would start his day and assumed he had come in.

“I’ve just had the biggest epiphany. It was all wrong, well, it was all correct as well. It's hard to explain, but I think using the water from Lake Rosemagne in combination with mortua terra and elf azure has the possibility of making real change,” You received no response, but truly it did not bother you. So much of your attention and energy was going into this. 

When the silence dragged on, you continued, “This just might work, Daeron. Gods, what if it does?” You plopped the dark petals in the water and went to reach for the azure. After, you would need to cut your hand. 

“I did not think you would figure it out so quickly.” It was not Daeron’s voice, but a deeper, more venomous one. You halted in your ministrations and turned around. There Cole stood with a look of wroth in his eyes. In his hands was his tome and a copy of the scouting papers. He had been in your room and you could not help but wonder just how often he had done that before.

He held up the items, “You think I'm stupid enough to not notice these went missing?” 

You swallowed hard and backed against the desk. There was no other means of escape for you except the other door on the other side of the room that led to the sick hall. However, its distance was just far enough that if Cole were to run he would get you before you could even call for help. 

“You said it, not I.” You spoke. There were a million scenarios that came into your head. Ways he would kill you, possibly knock you out to take you away and torture you. There was no happy ending – not even a tame one. His actions confirmed an underlying suspicion of yours. He not only was dabbling in the dark arts but had something to do with the taint. 

“You think you’re funny?” He stepped forward. 

“From time to time, I do have some good quips. What the hell were you doing in my room?” You confronted. On the inside, you were quaking like a leaf, but you could not show it. Cole would not see your fear. 

“I could ask you the same thing. This book was in my room.” Cole responded. You could not out Aegon as your accomplice, you could not stomach putting him at risk any more than he was for helping you. This was your burden, not his. He was only being a good friend. 

“What are you doing with a personal journal on dark magic?” You hit him back with that one. His gaze darkened and he dropped his held-up arm with the items still clutched feverishly. 

“I’ve told you before, humans should stop trifling in matters that do not concern them. Bad things can befall such… unsuspecting souls.” You could not tell what it was, but there was some underlying meaning beneath his words; a sick joke embedded in his malcontent. 

You were in danger. You could feel the imminent dread claw its way through your body. In the corner of your eye, there was a wooden box on the table that held a bunch of loose-leaf pieces of parchment, ink bottles, and quills. You and Daeron shared similar scattered minds and often needed to quickly jot things down and could not wait to find your journals lest the idea slipped from your mind. 

If you could grab that and throw it at him, it may give you enough time to run to the door and get away or at the very least scream for help in an area that may be heard. He seemed to catch on to your wandering eye and clue together what you were thinking.

In a split second, he dropped the items to run to you, but by then you had grabbed the box and thrown it at his face. The ink and flying parchment temporarily blinded him and you made for the door to the sick hall. 

After just a step, searing pain hit your side. You stumbled and stopped running, the air in your lungs having been knocked out by the force. You felt a weird mix of pain and numbness. Looking down, you could see the hilt of a dagger poking out from your side. Your shaking hands reached down to feel the escaping blood. You looked back up to see Cole with a curled sneer as he observed you.

Cole moved forward. You barely stumbled back by the time he used one hand to grip your throat and hold you in place while the other went to grasp the knife’s handle. 

“Your kind lives for so little, yet take so much.” He drove the knife further into you which caused you to cough violently at the intense anguish. Cole released his hold and you dropped to the ground among the strewn-out mess you made. All you could do was sob out, every ability to move your body had stopped.

He kneeled to be in your vision, “You will bleed out, just like your father.” 

Ice washed over you. He not only played a part in the creation of the taint, but he had murdered your father. Likely because he had been near Lake Rosemagne – one of the vital ingredients in the cure. It made you feel sick that he died simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

A genius who strived to make a difference by helping people had been killed by a coward. 

“You fucking bastard,” You coughed out. You made a futile attempt to move towards him, possibly hitting him, but it was difficult to even move. 

“Ah, but at least I’ll live. As an added benefit, it's laced with the taint.” Cole taunted. As if stabbing you was not enough, he had put some of the taint on it to be sure you would die. There was no limit nor measure of hate this elf would not cross. 

Another thought came to you. Aemond had been telling the truth and had no clue about your father's murder. Most of all, he had no inkling to Cole’s misdeeds. The closest member of his council was seeking to kill the world for reasons unknown to you. 

He will never know, you thought. This was it. You were dying. Cole pulled out the knife that had been stopping most of the blood flow. He then stood up and made his way to the exit, giving you no more words. 

The fucking coward could not even see it through before leaving the scene. 

You needed to warn Aemond and everyone else. You needed to pass on the idea for the cure. As much as you wanted to get Cole for what he had done to your father, that held little importance when compared to the rest of the realm. Your hand waved around the floor to find a quill. You scrambled for some parchment and dragged the tip of the quill through a blot of spilled ink. Your hands could not still, but you wrote with a frantic nature as you bled out on the ground. There would be no time to write out a step-by-step guide, but some hints would do. 

Mother’s flower, 

Lake water, 

Every little thing, 

You hoped it would be understood by Aemond. You could not risk outright writing that Cole was a traitor for fear that he would see it and immediately hide the evidence. With this, at least there was a chance. The flower that Aemond’s mother adored, the azure, in combination with the lake water was the key additives to the previous experiment. The final line was more personalized, hinting at the words of advice he had given you – aimed at exposing Cole. Your vision became darker as spots clouded it.

He would piece it together, you knew he would. 

You turned around to lay on your back and stretched out your arms. The parchment you had written in was clutched in your hand. You closed your eyes and waited. This was not how you ever thought you would go out. Like many, you had hoped it would happen at the end of a long and satisfying life in which you went to sleep and never woke up. 

You were too young for this, but alas, Lyra was also young and your father was too kind for the deaths they faced. 

Nothing was ever fair. You took in one last breath; a slow inhale where you could smell the floral scent of the azure flowers that filled the room. Shortly after, you exhaled your last breath. With it, your consciousness fled.

Chapter 17: The Winds of War Preview

Again, that was not unusual. However, when he knocked again with a little more force to make sure he was heard, Aemond was surprised by the slow creaking it made as it opened. It was ajar, which was unusual. His fingers gripped the handle and he pushed it open. His gaze was lowered and noticed the strewn about papers at first. His brow furrowed as he scanned the area further until… 

Gods no… 

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[deuxadeux-if]

heyyyyyyyy

hi omg. sorry i have been literally radio silent eeeerk. first and foremost thank all of you who messaged me to let me know about dashingdon shutting down. i haven’t logged in here in a hot minute, and it surprised me how many of you reached out. thank you :,)

bullet points on ray’s life:

graduated college! i now have a bachelor’s degree.

work is going fine! i am a full-time bartender. it’s fine, not a permanent fit for me probably but it’s okay for now.

i miss writing, but i don’t have much time to commit to it. i haven’t written anything in two (maybe even three?) months. this is partially because i’m trying to take a break to do other creative things, and partly because i love writing full-time. i’m not sure how to move forward writing in spare moments—the thought of doing that makes me a little sad. as such, i am avoiding it for the moment. lol.

my birthday is in a little less than 2 months. i will be 23! it is weird. i still feel like a teenager sometimes. sometimes even younger.

since i’m not writing at the moment, i spend my free time drawing, reading, and listening to albums. i also go on walks in the woods with my boyfriend when we’re both off work.

now about dashingdon. i thought about it quite a bit for the past week or two, and i don’t think i will be returning to deux à deux for the foreseeable future. i haven’t deleted any of my files, so it’s all there if i want to return to it at any point—but i think it will be a while before i even consider picking it back up again. a few reasons for this:

i need a much, much more concrete outline for the rest of the story, and as of right now, i don’t know what that would look like.

i don’t have much free time, and i have very little money. it feels best for me, at least right now, to fill my spare minutes with hobbies that are private to keep my sanity intact lol.

i want to spend 2025 thinking about writing more than actually writing. i have done a lot of speed-writing, just putting words to the page and blazing through—it feels like a good time to practice other skills. like sitting…thinking…stewing. i think this will help in the long run.

deux à deux needs to be consolidated. i think there only need to be 4 love interests, max, and i need to solidify exactly what parts of MC are set in stone (personality? gender? age? etc.)*

this is embarrassing but it’s fine. i need a better backbone when it comes to making stuff. i tend to accept all critique as essential. this is one way to go about creating things, but i don’t think it’s how i want to. i would prefer to make stuff that i just like, exactly how i want to make it. whatever response it garners is just how it is. i need to cultivate that vibe before putting deux à deux out there again.

*i doubt i would ever make MC genderlocked for deux à deux, though. not really my vibe.

so! since i’m not going to be writing deux à deux for i-don’t-know-how-long, i will not be transferring it over to the other site (i forget what it’s called) that is replacing dashingdon. i’m sorry if this is horrible news—i was pretty committed, initially, to writing all of deux à deux within the year once i started. then i graduated college and realized that (unfortunately) money was real and i had literally none of it and no real income. so, for now, real work it is—writing will happen when it’s a good time, but i’m not rushing it.

sorry again for the unfortunate update, but i figured it would be better to be straightforward. thanks again to all of you who reached out, it was really sweet to see all of your messages :,)

hope to see you all again soon.

— ray

[enigmatist17]

I am sick besties :( ergo a blorbo must suffer

This blorbo is part of the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon which one can find here

My parts so far 1 2 3

---

Prowl...did not panic. He was a mech equipped with the best battle computer known to Cybertronian kind, able to run probabilities and statistics faster than his emotions could register. Little surprised him, and up until recently, nothing had ever made his emotions supersede his battle computer.

Save for the scene before him, his servos trembling slightly as he holds the person who had captured his spark.

Jazz had not shown up for their morning refueling a few breems ago, and at first, Prowl had not minded, figuring Jazz was busy with something else. It's not until well into his duty shift that the concern starts, Ironhide popping into his office to ask after the organic, who had failed to show up for some sparring. His unanswered comms is what really makes his spark pulse with worry, various mechs clearing the halls as he heads to his (their) quarters, the door opening at his ping to show Jazz's mecha was still in its corner. Jazz is still in his berth, Wheeljack having created a smaller version that could be anchored just about anywhere on a magnetic surface if needed, the man groaning in discomfort. It's when Prowl gets closer that he registers the abnormal heat readings radiating off of the human, the ordinarily smooth intake and venting Jazz had stuttered and littered with the occasional cough as he struggled to get comfortable.

"Jazz?" Bleary brown optics flutter open at his name, Prowl's doorwings flaring up at the glassy look. "Jazz?"

"H...hey...hey Prowler..." Jazz's entire frame spasms when a loud series of coughs interrupts him, groaning softly when they finally stop. "Ow..."

"Your body heat has exceeded the temperature you told us was acceptable, is there any way I can help lower it?" A clawed digit gently rests against Jazz's cheek, and the human lets out a little whimper as he curls into the metal.

"Cold...feels good..." Prowl didn't dare to move as he sent Ratchet a worried comm, noting the sheen of sweat covering Jazz's face, his clothing damp from even more of it. Despite the heat reading not changing, Jazz pushed himself away from Prowl's servo a few minutes later, annoyance crossing his face as he burrowed under the thick fabric he called a comforter. "Too cold.."

"My body temperature has not changed, little shadow." Prowl softly trilled as he leaned closer, bleary eyes focusing on him after Jazz cycled his optics a few times.

"'S kay...fevers aren't fun..." Doorwings flutter at the familiar beat of Jazz reassuring him, despite clearly being exhausted with whatever was attacking his frame. "Could use water..."

"I shall get you some soon, I wish for Ratchet to look over you first." Jazz grumbled something as he moved to kick his blanket off. Prowl carefully logged the action, and Jazz weakly motioned him close. "Are you feeling warm again?"

"Mhm..can you hold me...so hot." Jazz whined as Prowl carefully slipped his digits underneath the warm human, cradling him carefully as Jazz went limp against his palm. "Mhm..."

"Rest, I will take good care of you." Prowl grabs the comforter with his free servo before going to hunt Ratchet down, surprising himself when he nearly snarled at a few Constructicons who got between him and the medical bay he sought. Jazz was cocooned within his comforter again when he was set down on a berth in front of the medic, Ratchet clearly at a bit of a loss but scanning the human anyways, if not for anyone but Prowl and his sanity.

"I don't know what you expect of me, but he clearly has some sort of errant programming running its course." Jazz had given Ratchet what he could about human health, but without being a medical professional (and royally fucked in ways he didn't feel like explaining to a bunch of alien mecha's), it was rudimentary at best.

"'S called the flu...can happen in space apparently.." Jazz mumbled from his little nest, hair matted and sticking up in all sorts of directions. "Just need rest...an' water.."

"That I can do something about." Ratchet left to go fetch some water from a small dispensary he kept for potential emergencies just like this, Jazz spilling some of it on himself in his desperation to drink the cool liquid. "Is there anything that might help within your mecha frame? Any sort of medication patch?"

"A wha?" The human seemed to struggle with the question, just staring at Ratchet before relaxing back against his blanket in exhaustion. "No...?"

"Do not worry sweetspark, we will do what we can to aid you." The medic had to fight a roll of his optics as Prowl carefully scooped Jazz back onto his servos, his tense stance from when he initially entered slightly relaxed as Jazz appeared not to be on death's berth.

"You're off-duty until he's recovered from this...flu, you'll need to keep him properly hydrated. I'll see if we can get his food synthesizer to make something easy on the tanks, he'll need it."

"Very well, thank you, Ratchet." Prowl left when Ratchet motioned for him to go with a grumble, Jazz finally in recharge once he had settled to be half-covered with his comforter, face pressed against his palm as he lightly snored. It had made his spark squeeze in distress to realize just how different he was from Jazz, unable to help his beloved from something that he had to battle within his own frame, far away from whatever medical aid his people could offer for such an illness. Prowl wanted nothing more than to drive this "flu" out and far away, but had to settle for cleaning up Jazz's berth one-servoed, cradling his sleeping partner in case he was needed.

He would be here until Jazz was back on his pedes with that bright grin of his, guardian to one that needed it most right now.

[atopvisenyashill]

Harwin being sent by his liege lord on what was always meant to be a quick if difficult task, just stop the Mountain from reaving on the King's justice, that turns into this nightmare of a life where he spends years away from home, away from civilization, away from safety and stability and sanity, to watch everyone die around him, to watch magic he barely understands bring the man he's sworn to serve back to life again and again, because there's nothing else to do but keep fighting and hope you're making a difference and not fucking everything up and making it worse-

and then Arya shows up and she's just as precocious and wild and underfoot as she's always been, and she's alive and mostly safe and traumatized sure but she's in one piece, she's fared not that badly compared to some of the little girls he's seen, and I imagine it felt like a small miracle to have her there, just for a moment, proof that he can do what he was tasked with and keep people safe BUT

then Arya escapes and barely any time later, he's coming across Catelyn's naked, water logged body on the Trident and there's a direwolf guarding the body so it's not nibbled on that leaves the moment it hears them coming, and he's begging Thoros to bring her back, bring his liege's lady back, bring Arya's poor mother back, but all he can do is cry and watch as Beric kneels besides her, kisses her awake like something out of a fairy tale, then falls to the side, dead at last, as something much worse that wears Catelyn's face rises in his place. What can Harwin do?

He continues to serve.

[ducktoo]

Syncing Dream [Aespa x M!Reader]

33. Renov-log

Note: Jeez, we’re close to the end now…

Masterlist here

After months of touring, recording, and relentless promotion, the girls of aespa finally had some downtime. Considering that Whiplash would be their last release of this year and their world tour success, they managed to snag a good break.

To be exact, 2 weeks.

Naturally, they decided it was time for a major change:

Renovating their dorm.

Of course, Y/n, who had barely recovered from the last leg of their tour, suddenly found himself roped into this mess once again. Because despite having muscles on their own, they just want to hang out with him more.

-

It all started innocently enough. The girls were gathered in the living room, flipping through catalogs, each with vastly different ideas on what their “new space” should look like. Y/n sat at the head of the table, already feeling a headache forming.

“Are we seriously doing this?” Y/n asked, glancing from one girl to the next, noting their determined expressions.

“Yup,” Karina said, not even looking up as she circled a bright red couch in a magazine. “We’re over this old setup. It’s time for something new.”

Winter chimed in with a deadpan tone, her face buried behind her phone. “I’ve been staring at that peeling wallpaper for two years. It’s haunting my dreams at this point.”

“Ok, you should’ve told me that earlier, Jeong.” Y/n sighed.

Ningning grinned, bouncing in her seat. “We need more colour. And a karaoke machine!”

Y/n blinked at that last part. “A karaoke machine? Why?”

“Yep,” Giselle said, casually pointing at the list in front of him. “Right next to the beanbags and mini-fridge. Oh, and let’s not forget, we want a cozy reading nook by the window.”

Y/n rubbed his temples. “This is getting out of hand…I don’t study architecture here.”

Winter strolled in, looking like she’d just had the most brilliant idea. “We should film a vlog about the whole renovation process. You know, a ‘Day in the Life’ kind of thing. It’ll be hilarious watching Y/n try to maintain some level of sanity.”

Y/n’s head snapped up. “Wait, what now?”

Karina and Ningning shared a glance, their mischievous grins widening.

“We’re doing it,” Winter declared. “Vlog day tomorrow.”

-

The next day, the real madness began. Furniture deliveries were scheduled, paint samples were splattered across walls, and half the dorm was covered in dust as the renovation began. But to make things worse, Giselle, true to her word, pulled out her camera, ready to document the entire thing for their channel.

“Alright guys, welcome to today's 'Reno-vlog'!’” Giselle announced with far too much enthusiasm. “We’re going to make this place look brand new, with the help of our lovely manager, Y/n!”

Y/n appeared in the background, balancing a stack of paint cans. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he grumbled, before nearly tripping over an extension cord.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” Karina laughed, zooming the camera in on his frazzled expression.

“I’m fine,” Y/n muttered, but the slight panic in his eyes said otherwise. “Just… someone please move the cables.”

As the girls split up into teams, the dorm turned into a scene straight out of a comedy show. Giselle and Ningning took charge of painting the living room, while Karina and Winter were busy assembling furniture. Y/n? Well, he was stuck in the middle of it all, trying his best to keep everything under control.

“Giselle! That’s not the right shade of blue!” Y/n yelled from across the room as he glanced at the paint sample. “You picked ‘Ocean Breeze,’ but that looks like ‘Misty Sky!’”

Giselle shrugged, completely unfazed. “Eh, blue is blue. It’ll look fine once it dries.”

“Right… because drying magically changes the colour.” Y/n sighed, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Karina and Winter struggled with an IKEA bookshelf in the corner.

“I’m telling you, this part goes here,” Winter said, holding a screw in one hand and a wooden panel in the other.

Karina looked equally as confused. “Are you sure? It looks upside down.”

“It’s not upside down,” Winter huffed, trying to force the pieces together. “I’ve done this before.”

Y/n watched from the doorway, shaking his head. “I give it five minutes before that thing collapses.”

Sure enough, the bookshelf stood triumphantly for about three minutes before one of the sides gave out, sending the entire structure crashing to the floor. Karina and Winter just stared at it, shocked into silence.

“Told you so.” Y/n deadpanned.

Ningning, however, was quick to pounce. “I got that on camera!” she cackled, pointing her phone at the wreckage.

“Thanks for the moral support, idiot,” Winter grumbled, crossing her arms.

Y/n raised his hands defensively. “Ya, you’re the ones who refused to look at the manual.”

Karina smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s right, Minjeong. We should’ve listened to the professional.”

Winter rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fine, fine. Y/n wins this round.”

“Of course, one of my various W” The victorious manager patted his shoulder.

-

The painting was no better. The girls had chosen a variety of bright colors, each with a specific vision in mind. But when Ningning knocked over an entire can of ocean-blue paint onto the living room floor, Y/n nearly lost it.

“Yizhuo!” Y/n yelled, staring at the growing puddle of paint. “That was oil-based!”

Ningning winced, backing away. “Oops?”

Y/n sighed, already calculating how many hours it would take to clean that up. “I’m going to need a mop... and therapy after this.”

Giselle, ever the opportunist, swung the camera towards him. “And here we have Y/n, reaching the breaking point of this renovation project.”

The girls snickered, their laughter only growing louder as Y/n tried—and failed—to clean the paint with a completely inadequate rag.

“You know,” Winter teased as she filmed the scene with her phone, “this would make for some quality blackmail footage.”

"Another one?!" Y/n looked up from the floor, narrowing his eyes. “If that video ever sees the light of day, I’m throwing all of your new furniture out the window.”

Winter just shrugged, a sly grin on her face. “Tsk, whatever. But I’m still keeping the footage.”

-

Despite the setbacks, the renovation eventually started to come together. The walls were painted (after several attempts), the furniture was somewhat assembled, and the dorm slowly began to resemble a place they could all live in. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs.

Karina gestured to the new couches proudly. “See, Y/n? I told you it would look good.”

Y/n nodded, admiring the final product. “It actually does. You guys did well.”

Ningning, of course, couldn’t let him off the hook that easily. “Don’t forget, we captured your meltdown on camera for the vlog.”

“Yeah, Y/n, you were like this close to pulling your hair out,” Giselle added, laughing.

Y/n rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Great. I’m sure that’ll be the highlight AND the thumbnail of the video.”

-

Later that evening, after the chaos had died down and the renovation halted for the day, Y/n found himself in the kitchen, trying to salvage a snack from the fridge. As he fumbled around, Winter quietly walked in, leaning against the counter with a playful smile.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked, her voice soft but teasing.

"Just... trying to find something edible," Y/n replied, pulling out a carton of milk and sniffing it cautiously. "I'm about to get triggered out there."

Winter chuckled, watching him with an amused expression. "You know, you didn’t do too bad today. Kept your cool, mostly."

Y/n grinned, shaking his head. "Mostly, huh?"

There was a beat of silence between them, and Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. Ever since the "smooch prank," and his permission approved by the other girls, his feelings toward Winter had been... complicated.

He wasn’t sure where they stood or if it even meant anything to her. But he found himself increasingly flustered whenever she was around, her presence lingering in his thoughts.

Winter seemed to pick up on his awkwardness, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in slightly. “What’s with that look? You’re not still mad about the prank, are you?”

Y/n stammered, suddenly unable to find his words. “Uh, no. Not mad. Just... thinking.”

"Thinking about what?" Winter asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

Y/n nearly choked on his words. “Uh... nothing important.”

Winter smirked knowingly. “Sure, nothing important. You’re such a bad liar, Y/n. Just say that you like my kiss.”

…"I-I"

Before Y/n could respond, Karina popped into the kitchen, breaking the tension. “What’s going on in here? Are you two conspiring without us?”

“You want me to?,” Y/n said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying his nerves.

Karina raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Uh-huh. Well, just make sure we don’t find out you’re plotting a new prank on us, Minjeong.”

Winter flashed an innocent smile. “Who, me? Never.”

Y/n cleared his throat, desperately trying to change the subject. “So, uh, how’s the vlog going?”

Ningning entered the kitchen just in time to answer that. “It’s gold. The fans are going to love it. Especially the part where you nearly passed out from stress.”

-

As the night wore on, and the chaos of the day finally began to settle, Y/n found himself back in the living room, alone for a moment of peace. He sat on one of the new couches, admiring the final result of their hard work.

The dorm wasn’t perfect—far from it—but it had character. And despite the hiccups, it had been fun, even if he wouldn’t admit it to the girls.

Winter suddenly appeared in the doorway, her hair slightly tousled from the day’s work. “Mind if I sit?”

“Of course,” Y/n said, scooting over to make room for her on the couch.

She plopped down beside him, pulling her legs up underneath her. “You look deep in thought.”

Y/n chuckled. “Just thinking about how close I was to explode in front of you all.”

“Aish, your exaggerated too much,” Winter groaned, but with a soft smile on her lips. “But it was fun. I mean, look at what we did.”

Y/n glanced around the room, nodding. “It does look great…surprisingly.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Winter spoke again, her voice quieter this time. “You know, you’ve been pretty amazing through all this, idiot. I don’t think we say it enough.”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. “Mhm…I’m just doing my job.”

“Still,” Winter said, her eyes meeting his. “We’re lucky to have you.”

Y/n felt his heart skip a beat, unsure of how to respond. Before he could muster a response, Winter flashed him a soft, genuine smile that made his heart skip another beat. Her sincerity was something he wasn’t used to handling, especially after all the teasing and chaos the group usually stirred up.

“..Since when you look so womanly…,” he finally said, scratching the back of his neck nervously before ruffling her hair.

"Yaaaa" Winter groaned.

“I’m lucky to have you guys too. Especially you, Jeong."

Winter’s smile grew, but the moment quickly turned awkward when Ningning’s voice echoed from down the hallway. “Hey, Y/n-oppa! Jeong-unnie! You better not be do some funny behaviour in there!”

Y/n groaned inwardly, thankful for the interruption but also wishing for just a little more time to figure out how he was feeling. Winter, on the other hand, chuckled softly, standing up from the couch.

“I guess that’s my cue,” she said with a light laugh, giving Y/n one last glance before heading toward the hallway.

“Goodnight, idiot.”

“Goodnight, crybaby” Y/n replied, his mind still whirling with the events of the day.

-

The next morning, the group wasted no time getting back into their usual antics. After the emotional (and slightly awkward) moment between Y/n and Winter, everything seemed to return to normal — well, as normal as life with aespa could be.

Ningning had already started editing the footage from the day before, giggling every time she came across a particularly chaotic scene.

“Y/n, you look like you’re about to combust,” she teased, playing a clip where Y/n was holding a mop, surrounded by spilled paint and half-assembled furniture.

“I WAS about to combust,” Y/n grumbled, sipping his coffee while trying to avoid looking at the screen. “That paint was everywhere.”

Giselle leaned over Ningning’s shoulder, pointing at the screen. “Oh man, this part’s gold. The bookshelf disaster. I still can’t believe Winter and Karina thought they could build that thing without instructions.”

Karina, who had just walked into the room, waved them off. “It was a learning experience.”

Winter, following behind Karina, raised an eyebrow. “A learning experience in failure, maybe.”

The banter continued as they all sat down for breakfast, but Y/n couldn’t help but steal glances at Winter. There was something about the way she carried herself, so casual yet so sincere, that kept him thinking about the night before. And the prank. And the way she had told him they were lucky to have him.

It wasn’t the first time Winter had caught him off guard with her softer side, but it was the first time he’d felt… different about it.

-

After breakfast, they got back to work on the final touches of the dorm renovation. Y/n found himself in the corner of the living room, trying to assemble a coffee table that had more screws than should be legally allowed.

Winter joined him, kneeling beside him as she attempted to help with the assembly. “Need some backup?”

Y/n chuckled. “As long as you’re reading the instruction, sure.”

Winter gave him a playful nudge, grinning. “Ya, I’m a quick learner, trust me.”

They worked in relative silence, but every now and then, their hands brushed as they both reached for the same tool. Y/n could feel the tension building, the air between them thick with the unsaid.

“So,” Winter said suddenly, breaking the silence, “you’ve been a little quiet lately. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Y/n hesitated. He wasn’t ready to lay everything on the table, not yet. “Just...wondering what’s after Whiplash and stuff.”

Winter didn’t seem satisfied with his answer but didn’t push further. “Well, we will be alright, but everything is fun now that you’re with us.”

“You said it all the time now.”

“Aish, can’t a lady show her appreciation?” Winter glared, but a giggle followed after.

Y/n’s stomach flipped again. There it was, that sincerity that always caught him off guard. “Thanks, Jeong.”

-

With the renovations nearly complete, the group decided it was time to finish up their “day in the life” vlog. Ningning, as always, took charge of the camera, while the rest of the girls threw themselves into creating as much chaos as possible.

Karina and Giselle staged a fake argument over who got the better new bedroom setup, complete with exaggerated yelling and finger-pointing. Ningning, cackling behind the camera, zoomed in on Y/n’s exasperated face as he tried to mediate the “fight.”

“I’m not a therapist,” Y/n groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can’t we just focus on finishing this?”

Karina crossed her arms, playing up the drama. “No, Y/n! Giselle needs to know I deserve the bigger closet!”

Giselle gasped in mock offense. “Oh, please! I have way more shoes than you do!”

Y/n sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I feel like this is going to be the entire vlog?”

Winter, who had been standing off to the side, caught his eye and gave him a small, knowing smile. Despite the chaos, she seemed to find the situation just as amusing as he did.

-

Later that day, after the cameras were off and the renovation was finally—mostly—done, Y/n found himself back in the kitchen, once again trying to find something to eat. Winter quietly entered the room, as she often did, leaning against the counter.

“You're stealing my snack zone at this point” she teased lightly.

Y/n chuckled, pulling out a box of cereal. “Damn right. This is my domain.”

Winter smiled softly, watching him for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been handling everything really well, you know. The renovations, the vlog, the constant chaos.”

Y/n shrugged, trying to play it off. “I’m surprised my hair is still here.”

Winter’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she pushed off the counter and stood a little closer to him. “Ya, You’re doing great, Y/n. You’re... important to us.”

Y/n froze, his heart doing somersaults in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded, suddenly very interested in pouring cereal into his bowl.

Winter didn’t push further, but as she walked past him to leave the kitchen, her hand brushed his arm, sending a spark of warmth through him. He couldn’t help but watch her retreating figure, his mind racing with thoughts he wasn’t quite ready to confront.

-

That evening, the girls gathered in the living room, excitedly presenting Y/n with a small box wrapped in colorful paper. They had been out earlier that day, under the guise of running errands, but it seemed they had been plotting something else entirely.

“…What’s this?” Y/n asked, holding the box carefully as the girls watched him with expectant smiles.

“A gift,” Karina said, grinning. “For all the hard work you’ve done. Also it’s a bit over 1 year anniversary since you became our manager.”

“Oh.” Y/n widened his eyes. With all the tour planning and nonsense, it slipped his mind that it would’ve been a bit over a year since he first started as Aespa’s manager. Or maybe it was because it wasn’t work but rather just reuniting with his childhood friend and have a fun and inseparable (yet annoying) group.

“I didn’t even realise it has been a year already.” Y/n was awestruck.

“I mean…you did went through a lot. It makes sense you didn’t notice, oppa” Ningning chimed in.

"…I'm not getting fired, am I?"

"Of course not, open it!" Giselle groaned.

Y/n glanced around at them, suspicious but touched. He carefully unwrapped the box, revealing a sleek new watch. It was simple, elegant, and exactly his style.

“Oh sht damn,” Y/n breathed, genuinely surprised. “This is... amazing. Thank you, guys.”

Ningning grinned. “We figured you needed something fancy after all the chaos we put you through this year.”

Winter, who had been standing quietly to the side, stepped forward, her eyes locking onto Y/n’s. “And just so you know, this wasn’t a prank,” she said softly, her voice laced with sincerity. “You really deserve it.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered at her words, and for a moment, he forgot all about the chaos of the day. He was just... happy.

"Just gonna say it…" Giselle smirked. "Minjeong suggested it."

"Aeri-unnie!!!!"

[rhonuscorner]

SO, ABOUT THAT ART GIVE AWAY I'M HOSTING

I'm very sorry to say I have to cancel it due to circumstances beyond my control.

The main reason for this is that my PC, on which I do 99% of my art, broke down a few weeks ago and it's gonna be probably at least another month before I get it back. Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll be sooner than that but I'm not holding out any hope, I've been having nothing but bad luck lately lmao.

Longer description of what's been going on is under the cut (which I'm also going to use as an excuse to rant about it because I've been very frustrated lmao) but yeah.

I've been using my old laptop since and I still have my old art tablet, but I've been holding off on doing art on it. Motivation issues aside, I don't really enjoy doing art on it (my PC spoiled me lol) and I also don't have access to my usual art resources, like Clip Studio Paint (I know I can swap devices but I'm not going to). I haven't been able to work on any of the MerMay stuff I had planned, I have a huge back log of AU art I wanna do and I have to prepare for Art Fight... and now I don't know if I'm gonna have enough time for that either so I'll postpone that to next year. Sucks because I've never participated in Art Fight before and I was really looking forward to joining, but it is what it is (I swear this has become the motto I live by lately).

I was going to draw give-away winners in a week, but I'm at a point where adding planned art onto what I already have and want to do is just causing me stress, especially because it concerns art for other people. So for the sake of my sanity and what little motivation I still have, I have to cancel the give-away. :(

I'm really sorry to everyone who signed up to participate, and massive thanks to those who did sign up. Maybe I'll re-run it in the future.

So my PC broke down on the 21st of April. It worked perfectly fine the day before but that morning it kept hanging on the same screen during start-up and I couldn't figure out why. I can solve simple problems like the rare blue-screen but I'm not tech-savvy enough to deal with hardware and messing with the BIOS is way beyond my comfort zone.

So I called my brother, who is very tech-savvy and he came to my place to take a look where he spent the next 3 hours trying to locate the issue. No matter what we did, we could not even get the PC to boot from a USB to run a repair, the BIOS wouldn't save changes we made, it was a mess.

He ended up taking my PC over to his place where he had the proper tools to figure it all out. At the time we thought it was a processor issue, since all the signs pointed to that being the culprit.

Turns out it was one of my hard drives 🙄 If only we had thought to just remove those one by one while the PC was still at my place, because it booted up just fine once we removed the dead one. Didn't occur to us at the time, yes we were dumb. And yes, I lost a whole bunch of stuff (we tried to recover data but to no avail) but that's the least of my concerns. Anyway, he ran some tests, checked out all my other hardware and drives and everything got a clean bill of health but we figured, since my PC was already at his place anyway, he might as well run a full systems check too, stabilization tests, all that good stuff. Some good ol TLC for my beloved hard working PC. He also needed to put in a new SSD and order new thermal paste because he'd taken off the processor.

Due to annoying circumstances, that order took a while to arrive.

He then messaged me last monday that for some reason, even with the new thermal paste applied, my processor was running really hot and he couldn't figure out why. So he was going to immediately order a new, bigger tube and try again.

My hope was that by the end of this week I'd be able to pick my PC up, back in perfect working order.

My brother messaged me again yesterday when I came home in the evening to tell me he fucked up. Even with all of his experience and skill, he's not immune to making a mistake. He told me some of the thermal paste got into the port on the motherboard the processor connects onto (or something to that effect) and while he was able to clean it with isopropyl, two of the little pins there accidentally broke off. That's not something he can fix. My motherboard is completely borked now.

I'm not mad at him or anything, accidents happen (he's already mad enough at himself), but it sucks big time.

The motherboard has to be replaced which is not something he's comfortable doing right now (understandable), so my PC will have to go back to where it was built... which causes a whole slew of new problems relating to transport which I don't care to get into right now (lets just say, bad previous experiences), plus the fact that my warranty ended in February.

I don't know what the costs are gonna be at this moment and while yes, my brother offered to cover everything since he's the one who broke it, I told him we'll split it. He's already done so much for me, gifted me the new SSD and made other costs he won't let me pay for (like the thermal paste and the thingemabob he ordered to recover data from dead drives). I have the best bro ❤️

So yeah. I'm gonna be stressing about this big time until my PC is safely back home, fully functional.

Until then, ugh :')