#benefits of green tea at night

[todaynewsonline]

Benefits of Green Tea: how to make green tea

Benefits of Green Tea: how to make green tea

The Benefits of Green Tea:- Green tea is a popular beverage that has been enjoyed for centuries. It is made from the leaves of the Camellia sinensis plant and is known for its health benefits. In this article, we will explore the benefits of green tea and how it can improve your overall health and well-being. Introduction: Benefits of Green Tea: how to make green tea Green tea has gained…

[hashtagblogfan]

Types of Tea That Help With Weight Loss

Types of Tea That Help With Weight Loss, Drinking tea alone is unlikely to result in significant weight loss. While some teas, such as green tea, have mild weight loss benefits, it is not enough to result in substantial weight loss on their own. To achieve and maintain a healthy weight, it is important to adopt a balanced and calorie-controlled diet, along with the regular physical…

[moonstruckme]

id love to request spencer reid with a shy!reader🙈🙈 i love him sm and your work even more!! if this doesn't appeal to you thats all cool i hope you have a great day!!!

Love you <3

Spencer Reid x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

Spencer peers over the top of his cubicle as you type up your report, the mug of coffee he’d brought you still full and no longer steaming. He’s got a hypothesis. 

On Tuesday, he’d brought you a coffee at your desk. It had gone over like most interactions with you; you’d gone a bit red in the face, thanked him profusely, and cradled the mug in your hands like it was the most precious thing in your possession. But when he’d left that night, Spencer had seen the mug sitting on your desk, still full to the brim with dark, cold coffee. He’d brought you another today to see if those results would repeat. He feels a bit guilty for not just talking to you about it, but he’s got a theory and he knows you’d deny it if he asked. So instead, he’s sneaking furtive glances over the top of his cubicle, waiting until enough time has passed to call it. 

“What’re you peeping at?” 

He swivels his chair and Morgan’s leaning his hand on Spencer’s desk all suave-like. Spencer makes a face indicating he should be quiet, but you look up with a quiet “Hm?” and there’s nothing Morgan loves more than exposing him for his schemes. 

“Pretty boy here keeps looking over at your desk,” Morgan says. Spencer turns again, and your cheeks are already getting pinkish. Another thing Morgan loves: bringing attention to you, even though it’s your own personal circle of hell. “I just want to know why.” 

“I’m testing a theory,” Spencer admits. 

Unabashed interest gleams in Morgan’s eye. He quirks an eyebrow. “And what’s that?” 

Spencer tries to convey some apology in his look, and by the wariness in your features you read it. “You don’t actually drink coffee, do you?” 

The response is clear even before you open your mouth. Your eyes drop to the full mug on your desk, shoulders hunching inward sheepishly and face taking on a fire engine-esque hue. 

“I don’t,” you say quietly. And if there wasn’t already enough apology in your tone, you tack on a quick, “Sorry.” 

“No, don’t be sorry,” he says quickly while Morgan looks between you two and the coffee curiously. “That’s what I thought.” 

“Hold up.” Morgan’s eyebrows go up, and you shrink further. “I brought you coffee just the other day. You’re telling me you’re not drinking it?” 

“No,” you murmur. You look as though you fully expect to be shunned for your answer. 

“Then why not say something?” 

Spencer thinks that’s fairly obvious, but he’s not going to answer for you. 

“I just…” You’ve got your hands in your lap now, probably fiddling with something under your desk in that nervous way of yours. Spencer wishes you’d warm up to them. You’re new and green and always so certain you’re doing something wrong, but he wishes he could pull your hands from beneath the desk and soothe them—soothe you—until you were comfortable. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate it.” 

He can see Morgan ready to dissent, so Spencer cuts in. 

“Do you just not like coffee?” he asks, trying to stay as far from interrogative as he can for your benefit.

You do seem to relax a bit, pulling your stare from Morgan’s eagerly. “I just can’t do caffeine,” you admit. “It makes me too jumpy.” 

Spencer can’t really imagine you much more skittish than you already are on a daily basis, so he agrees that’s for the best. 

“I have seen you drink it, though.” Morgan’s voice is bemused. “In the break room. You had a cup just the other day.” 

“It was decaf,” you tell him softly. 

“We have decaf?”

“Have you looked on the top shelf of the cabinet?” Spencer asks. “There’s a surprising amount of variety. We have decaf, teas, hot chocolate mix—sometimes even apple cider mix.” 

You nod, starting to look less fidgety. Spencer likes to get you like this when he can. It’s an ongoing project of his. Maybe it’s just that it’s easier to relax when the people around you are relaxed too, but there’s something about setting you at ease in particular that makes his chest feel warm and full. That might be something else to look into. When he has time. 

“Yeah, yeah, the wonders of the top cabinet.” Morgan waves this off, as if he’s ever heard of it before (he hasn’t, Spencer can tell). “All I’m hearing is that you let us bring you coffee for weeks just because you were worried we’d bite your head off if you said something.” 

You grimace, but there’s a bit less tension in you now as you look up at Morgan, thoroughly chastened. “Sorry,” you all but whisper. 

“Fine,” he rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “I forgive you. Decaf only from now on, got it.” 

“Thanks,” you squeak as he turns around, sauntering back to his own desk. Your eyes find Spencer, meeting his for a fraction of a second before dropping to his chin. “Sorry I didn’t drink your coffee.” 

“It’s really fine,” he almost laughs, and the humor in his voice gives you the confidence to lift your eyes to his again. He’s glad for it. “I don’t care, I was just curious why you didn’t like it. And for the record,” he leans closer to the short wall dividing your desks, speaking low, “if there’s anything else like that, you can tell me. I won’t bite your head off the way he does.” He cuts a glance towards Morgan’s desk. You push your lips together, tamping down a smile. Spencer grins too, partly to encourage you and partly because he wants to. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is quiet, a new teasing edge to it that he likes the sound of. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up.” 

“Great.” He reaches over, taking the mug from your desk. “I’m going to go pour this down the drain. Do you want me to grab you a decaf?” You can’t seem to decide between thanks so much and really, you don’t have to, so Spencer brings you one anyway.

[heartseungs-archive]

between platforms | l.dh

genre ➳  1930s historical au, fluff, angst, strangers to friends to lovers pairings ➳ private investigator!donghyuck x dancer!reader  word count ➳  5.3k warnings ➳ mentions of anxiety, gets a little suggestive at the end info ➳  the route and setting are inspired by the orient express!

It’s unpleasant to start the night off with crime.

Donghyuck would also argue that it’s unpleasant to start off anything in general with breaking the law, but private investigators don’t often get the best pick of the bunch.

The furnishings of the first-class cabin are satisfactory at least, velvet drapes dragging along the marble floor. His tea sits on the small table, wisps of smoke occasionally drifting up and dissipating into nothing as he flips through the newspaper clippings.

He’s always preferred clients with deep pockets, because of the benefits allowed. However, they’re infuriating in their own way - he has much better things to be doing than looking for a lost diamond necklace worth a few million dollars. He doubts it could be a third-class passenger, for the sole fact that they barely have access to the carriage. Even a second-class passenger would stick out like a sore thumb, their good clothes nowhere near the ornate finery that members of the nobility lived in.

To his knowledge, there’s only one other passenger sharing this carriage with him.

Donghyuck stands up abruptly and pushes the door, hard enough for the hinges to creak unstably. At the other end is an identical one, and he hesitates slightly, even though the captain’s given him full permission to investigate. It seems money and title will open most doors, metaphorically and literally.

He’s never been one to back down from a challenge, however, and few first-class passengers are worthy adversaries. Donghyuck’s good at making people feel important, something that many of them heavily appreciate.

When the door opens, he sees a little boy who barely reaches up to his shoulder. “Oh. Hello,” he greets, eyes widened in shock.

This is most definitely not his target, and it seems strange that a child would be left alone in a cabin.

Until there’s a disembodied voice from behind, clear as day.

“Sungjin, is that the porter? Let him in.”

Donghyuck clears his throat, stepping in before the boy can reply. “Unfortunately, no. I’m Lee Donghyuck,” he says, watching as your expression remains blank. It’s obvious that you’re no older than him, the elaborate coif of your hair betraying your wealth.

Still, your face doesn’t ring any bells, and considering Donghyuck’s familiar with most of the nobility, it’s suspicious. Especially considering the fact that you have a child with you, whose name is also not one he recognises.

“Well, Lee Donghyuck, can you help me move the table to the other side of the room?” Your arms are crossed now, staring down the intruder who has interrupted your afternoon.

“I’m a private investigator. And I’m here to take your statement-”

“Help me move the table, and then we can talk,” you cut him off without a second thought, and Donghyuck’s momentarily taken aback, before he relents. He has a feeling that if he doesn’t help, you might just kick him out of the cabin forcefully.

When he’s standing opposite you, Donghyuck takes the chance to observe, his eyes pausing on your gloves. They’re pale green silk, tapering delicately at the fingers. Despite that, you don’t hesitate to grab onto the other end of the table. “Where do you want it?” He asks, and you tilt your chin towards the window. “Just there.”

The moment that’s done, however, you extend a hand out, expression looking slightly friendlier. “Y/N. A pleasure to meet you, Donghyuck.” Your grip is firm when you shake his hand, and there’s a mixture of doubt and confusion swirling in him from the first-name basis that you’ve established.

“It would be good if I could speak to you alone, without your son,” he mutters, watching as your features morph from surprise to amusement. The way you let out a laugh makes Donghyuck feel as if there’s a secret only he’s not privy to.

“Sungjin’s my younger brother, not my son. Do I really look that old?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice as you look at him, and Donghyuck shakes his head vehemently. Embarrassment prickles painfully at the back of his neck, and you smile slightly.

“Sungjin, go to the bedroom for a bit. I need to talk to him,” you instruct, and Donghyuck watches as the young boy listens obediently, disappearing past another door. Once he’s gone, you turn around, settling on the chaise. “I heard about your investigation from the other passengers. So, how can I help you? ”

“I need to know where you were in the evening two days ago, and it would be good if someone could provide an alibi.” You hum at that, rubbing your fingers over the material of your gloves.

“I was with Sungjin the entire time. We had dinner in the main saloon, and then spent the rest of the night playing chess,” you recount, and Donghyuck slots that information away. “If I may ask-” he swallows nervously, before continuing, “-where are your parents?”

Your eyes turn harder at that, back stiffening slightly. “There are no parents in the picture. It’s just me and Sungjin,” you bite out, and Donghyuck’s eyebrows furrow.

How the hell are you paying for this cabin, then? Two first-class tickets, one for a child, no less.

“I’m a performer, if you have to know. The trip is being paid for by a client,” you explain, and that puts together some of the puzzle pieces for him, but not all. Donghyuck wants to ask more, but the questions he has would derail from the case itself.

No wonder he didn’t recognise you.

But what client would pay hundreds for a performer and her brother? Unless there were other aspects of your job that you had to fulfil. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of that.

You seem to understand the questions swirling in his mind, taking it upon yourself to answer them.

“I’m on contract, and I’ll be working in Venice for a year,” you continue, fingers drumming against the smooth hardwood of the armrest. Donghyuck nods reflexively, realising that any further questions would be aimless and purely to satisfy his own curiosity. You’re likely not the culprit, even if you look perfectly capable of charming most people into believing you.

“You should come to one of my shows. I’ll save a table for you if you write in advance.” The tilt of your smile holds a promise, one that causes heat to prickle at the back of his neck.

Even if Donghyuck doesn’t think you’re guilty, he definitely doesn’t trust you. He wipes his hands against the linen of his pants, before standing up.

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.” He’s definitely never going to see you again.

You don’t respond, but your gaze follows as Donghyuck nods in farewell, and even as he slides the cabin door behind him. There’s a tense knot in his throat, and Donghyuck’s not entirely sure why he’s so on edge. Maybe it’s you, with your sharp eyes that unsettle and fascinate him in equal measure.

The next time Donghyuck sees you, the train has passed Lausanne, and his notebook is filled with information on each of the first-class passengers. You included, and he had asked around out of curiosity. Y/N L/N, age unknown (though definitely younger than twenty-five), and a dancer bound for stardom. Still, your family history or lack thereof is the least of Donghyuck’s considerations.

He hates the uncertainty that gnaws at him, the multiple questions that lead to nowhere. Quite frankly, it’s bizarre, and he’s never met a case where he doesn’t even have a lead to follow.

Donghyuck’s pacing holes into the carpet when there’s a sharp knock on the door, and it swings open to reveal you with your hair down and a robe hastily thrown over your sleeping attire.

It’s modest, passably so, but having you in front of him like this makes Donghyuck’s heart speed up imperceptibly. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with the higher echelons of society, too used to their measured decorum and standards.

You’re not even wearing shoes, eyes frantic as you go into his room without a second thought.

“You’re a private investigator, aren’t you? Does that mean-” you swallow thickly, fists clenched before you continue “-you can find people?”

Your question quickly draws Donghyuck’s attention, and he feels his brow crease. “Depends. But yes.”

In the poor light, it looks like you might have been crying.

“It’s Sungjin. He said he wanted to play with the kids, so I let him go to the other carriage, but it’s been hours and no…no one’s seen him since lunch.” Your breathing is ragged, indicative of the panic that’s been clawing at you for a while. Donghyuck may not know you well, but he rushes over anyways, placing his hands on your shoulders in an attempt for comfort.

“Calm down. Listen to me. Do you know if he got off the train?” His mind goes to the worst case scenario, that Sungjin may have been left in Lausanne. You shake your head, rubbing away at the tears brimming. “He’s a smart boy. Unless-” you look up at Donghyuck in alarm. “What if someone took him?”

It’s not impossible. Donghyuck’s heard of it, kidnappers who target first-class passengers for ransom. Children are easy to convince, especially with the right motivation. But he’s not sure how you might react, so he bites his tongue. “He might just have gotten lost. This train is big,” he assures.

But that’s also a problem in itself. Hundreds of passengers and over thirty different cabins - even if your brother is perfectly safe, it’ll take a good while to locate him.

Still, Donghyuck can’t shake the image of the young, doe-eyed boy who pulled the door open for him. He guides you to the chair, placing a call for hot tea before settling down opposite you. You’ve fallen silent, staring off into nothingness.

“You last saw him during lunch. Do you know which kids he was with?”

“Some of the second-class passengers. He said the first-class kids are hard to get along with. I went to get him before the restaurant service started, but he wasn’t there,” you start, thumbs smoothing over your gloves.

Donghyuck hums, before standing up. You watch him, as if scared that he’ll leave. “I’ll go to the other carriages to ask around. It isn’t very safe for you to wander around like this.”

He may be a gentleman, but Donghyuck’s not exactly sure how much he trusts the rest of the people on this train. There’s no denying that you’re pretty, even for a performer.

“There’s already tea coming up, so rest for a bit. If I don’t find anything within the hour, I’ll come back,” he tells you, and you nod without further resistance. “Thank you,” you mumble, and Donghyuck tries to make his smile as assuring as possible.

“No problem.”

The moment he steps into the next carriage, Donghyuck weaves through the milling passengers, ignoring the eyes that observe him curiously.

”Have you seen a young kid about this tall? In corduroy trousers.”

With each shake of the head that he receives, Donghyuck only moves even faster. Until he reaches the second-last carriage, muttering a soft prayer that he’ll finally get a clue.

When he reaches the middle, however, there’s a tug on his suit jacket, and Donghyuck looks down to see a young girl, hair neatly braided into symmetrical halves. He kneels down to match her height, shifting unsurely as she continues peering at him, eyes unreadable.

She’s definitely no older than eight, but her voice is level when she speaks.

“If you’re looking for a boy, I saw him there,” she whispers, and Donghyuck follows her pointed finger to a shut door.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully, before going over. The door is wrenched shut with a simple lock from the inside, and a realization dawns upon him as he steps out onto the platform. Donghyuck lets out a breath of relief when he sees Sungjin sitting at the very corner, the wind whipping aggressively at the both of them.

Sungjin is frozen to the bone, but whole and alive. The boy’s able to walk with the help of Donghyuck, back to the first-class cabin, albeit shivering terribly. In between the non-stop chattering of his teeth, Donghyuck’s able to piece together bits and pieces of information.

It’s a while later when you’re able to tuck Sungjin into bed, a plaintive expression on your face as you fold the blanket over him. Donghyuck leans against the wall, watching the entire affair absentmindedly until you gesture for him to follow you to the sitting room.

“He said the children shut him outside because they thought he was being uppity,” Donghyuck explains, watching as you take in the information and nod. “Aren’t you angry?” He asks, feeling the ugly hints of indignation rise in him at your surprisingly blank expression.

“Children can be mean when they don’t want to. I don’t think they thought that he would be stuck outside in the cold for hours. I’m just glad he’s safe,” you admit softly, and the anger in Donghyuck abates a little.

However, your gaze still remains dim, and Donghyuck can tell there’s something on your mind. “You can talk about it, if you want. It’s been a long day,” he assures, and watches as you turn towards him hesitantly.

“I just- sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough as his sister. It’s already bad enough that Sungjin doesn’t get to grow up with parents, and then this happens too- I’m not sure what I can do to fix it,” you breathe out, the deep-set furrow in your eyes making you look older beyond your years.

Compared to Donghyuck, you’ve lived many more lives, evident from the weariness that resides in your gaze. When measured up against your worries, the things that keep him up at night seem painfully minuscule.

It’s also what convinces him to take your hands in his, watching as you glance up in mild surprise.

“You care for Sungjin. Anyone can see that. And trust me when I say most of the women- even most of the men I know couldn’t raise a child while earning enough to support themselves.” You let out a chuckle at that, and Donghyuck grins slightly.

“You’re doing your best, and sometimes it won’t feel like it’s enough, but-” Donghyuck’s voice turns lower now, more insistent. “- it’s more than enough. You just have to carry on,” he finishes, and you don’t pull your fingers away from his, instead leaning back to stare up at the mosaics on the ceiling.

Eventually, you turn to him, eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Thank you, Donghyuck. I needed that more than I thought I did.”

A certain naked vulnerability resides on your face as you say it, and Donghyuck finds it strange, the way he’s finding comfort in this situation as well. There’s not one friendly face on this train, and he supposes the both of you might be confidants in a way that two people who don’t belong in a place gravitate towards each other.

When Donghyuck wakes up, he’s starving.

The midday sun filters in through the one window in his bedroom, and he realises he’s slept in surprisingly late as he tugs on his jacket and goes down the corridor. The dining saloon is crowded at this time, most passengers still in the middle of their meals. He narrowly avoids bumping into a waiter juggling carafes of fresh juice, heading towards the queue.

Until he sidles up next to your familiar figure, nodding in greeting. “Good morning,” you say. Sungjin hides behind your dress, leaning out to take a peek at Donghyuck, and you nudge your brother to follow.

“How long have you been here?” Donghyuck asks, and you lift your shoulders in an effort to show nonchalance. “About an hour and a half,” you explain, causing him to frown. “And you’re still waiting?”

“Donghyuck, if one of your customers is a dancer with her younger brother who’s been waiting for an hour, and the other is a duke and his wife who came minutes ago, who would you give the table to?”

“You,” he replies without a second thought, and your face turns towards him, bemused. “That’s the wrong answer, unfortunately.”

He’s never had to face the problem of openly being ignored, but Donghyuck’s not stupid. The upper classes can be brutal in their treatment, and it’s something you have to endure, even if you paid the same price for the ticket that every other person did.

Until a mischievous smile appears on his face, and Donghyuck loops his arm through yours, dragging you to another queue. You look up at him, confused, but you still follow.

“Table for three, please,” he instructs, and the waiter nods, allowing the both of you to enter another section with Sungjin.

It’s only once you settle into the booth that you lean over. “Donghyuck, this is the queue for families,” you mutter, and he grins.

“Well, then we’ll just have to pretend, won’t we?”

There’s doubt on your face, but the moment you notice Sungjin eagerly flipping through the menu, you relent. Donghyuck watches, satisfied, as you tuck into the sweet rolls and bacon placed on the table. “Coffee?” he asks, and you shake your head. Your brother, however, gladly extends out his cup, and Donghyuck lets out a laugh of incredulity.

“How old are you?”

Sungjin smiles at him with his teeth. “Twelve.”

“He’s just using it as an excuse to take the sugar cubes,” you explain, but let Donghyuck give him the coffee anyways.

“Don’t drink too much, or you’ll get hyper,” you chide, and Sungjin nods, taking tentative sips.

It reminds Donghyuck of his family, the way the both of you interact.

Sungjin’s lucky to have you. Maybe if Donghyuck had an older sister, or brother even, to watch over him as carefully as you did Sungjin, he might have turned out differently.

You notice Donghyuck getting lost in thought, and use the sharing cutlery to place some food on his plate. “You should eat,” you say, smiling softly at him. He watches you go through the motions with the measured familiarity of someone used to watching out for others, not quite able to form words.

There’s a warmth that grips his heart as he looks down at the food on his plate, a feeling so unfamiliar that it knocks the breath out of his chest. Donghyuck knows that the three of you are simply sharing a booth, but something about it feels like you and Sungjin are letting him be part of your world, for just a little bit.

The coffee is bitter and the bun is cold by the time he takes a bite, but it might be one of the best meals he’s ever had.

“Oh. Regarding your investigation,” you sit up, as if suddenly recalling something. “I found something that might be of use.”

“Go on.”

“There’s a jewellery auction that happens in Milan once every five years. I bet you half of the people on this train are going there. Your culprit included,” you say, lowering your voice when a waiter strolls by.

“Seems kind of strange for someone to auction a stolen necklace, don’t you think? It’d be a call for getting arrested.”

“There’s a catch, Donghyuck. The people who provide the jewellery are allowed to remain anonymous, and so are the buyers. Most of the items auctioned aren’t exactly gained through legal means,” you continue, and your words sound plausible except for one part.

“How do you know about this?” He questions, gaze fixed on you. Your composure remains, however, as you take another sip of your tea. “The same client I told you about the first time I met you. They’re well-connected, to say the least.”

There’s an ugly feeling that rises in Donghyuck’s chest at the mention of your mystery patron, but he tamps it down. You’re helping him. Does it really matter to him what kind of people you’re entangled with?

He hates the answer that waits for him.

Still, Donghyuck knows that you have plenty of your own secrets, things that you’re definitely not going to share with a detective that you’ve known for less than a month. Even if he did save your brother, and the both of you have established a tentative sort of friendship over the few times that you sit in the reading room with him when sleep is difficult to find.

“The train stops at Milan in two days,” he muses, and you nod, before sliding over an embossed letter. “Here’s one invitation. It’s supposed to be for me, but you can have it,” you tell him, and Donghyuck inspects the velvety paper, before pocketing it.

“Thank you,”  he murmurs, and the corners of your mouth slant up slightly.

“Consider us even. For finding Sungjin.”

The weather’s gotten colder, and it becomes all the more obvious the moment Donghyuck steps into the station, traveling luggage in hand. He tries to bite back a shiver - at least it’s warmer than the bitter winters of Paris.

Donghyuck thinks he might like to move to a place where the sun always shines, where he can always feel the warmth on his back. He’s heard of places like that, even if they’re only in blurry pictures and vague news articles.

You’re standing next to him in an elegant woolen coat, the collar tugged high under your chin. It’s the first time Donghyuck’s seen you with your hair down since you barged into his cabin in the middle of the night, and he thinks you should leave it down more often. There’s a different kind of beauty to you, standing with your curls scattered haphazardly and your cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Well, I suppose this is it,” you say, and Donghyuck hopes that the sombreness of your voice is because you’re sad to see him go. Before he can tug off his glove to shake your hand, you pull him into a hug.

”Thank you for everything, Donghyuck. You’re a good friend.”

It’s wildly inappropriate, and likely enough to give any governess in the vicinity a heart attack, but Donghyuck could care less as he holds you close. Besides, he’s been quick to learn that you’re full of surprises.

Bizarre as it is, he’ll miss having a person who’s as full of life as he is. You’re like a spark that can’t be extinguished, eyes sparkling as you pull back to look at Donghyuck.

“If you become famous in Venice, I’ll tell people you’re an acquaintance of mine,” he says, causing you to let out a laugh. The sound is sharp but genuine as it settles into him. Until the train horn blares, and you turn towards it instinctively, expression clouding over with resignation.

“Until we meet again, then,” you promise, a gentle smile on your face.

Donghyuck remains silent. He’s not quite sure what he wants to say in this moment, but he lifts up his hand, waving, the moment you get on.

And then there’s a mighty, loud noise as the train pulls out of the station, coal billowing into the air. His eyes remain fixed on your figure until he’s left staring at empty train tracks and an endless expanse of bone-white snow. Even then, it takes a while for Donghyuck to get himself to turn around, and head in the direction of the city.

He wonders when he’ll see you again. If he does.

You’re breathless when you leave the stage, transitioning from a roaring audience to the chaos of the dressing room in full swing. The mirror greets you cheerily with the sight of yourself, dressed in a floor-length cocktail gown and silver eyeshadow.

However, it doesn’t point out the bags that reside under your eyes, or the dull ache from your heeled shoes. You’re quick to pull out the pins in your hair, sighing softly when the tightness on your head eases.

Despite the fatigue, however, you’re still mostly happy with the life you’re leading. Your home is a lovely apartment overlooking the river, Sungjin’s enrolled in a good academy, and you get to perform to a full house every week.

You’re not wealthy, but there’s sufficient to keep you and Sungjin afloat, and occasionally go for dinner at the trattoria a few streets away.

“There’s our star dancer.” Miya appears in the corner of your vision, smile stretching wide across her face. She’s been the manager of the cabaret for the past year that you’ve worked, and the only reason why you’re willing to stay. Miya takes care of the girls under her, much better than many of the others in the city.

“Today’s crowd felt different. The energy…it was thrilling,” you confess, watching as she nods in agreement. Perhaps it’s the excitement that comes with the last few months dawning upon the city.

“It’s been a good year for all of us. You should take a break from the cabaret. Bring Sungjin somewhere, maybe,” Miya suggests and you hum in appreciation at the thought of finally being able to rest.

“I’ll see what I can do. For now, though, I think it’s time for me to head home,” you reply, packing up what little belongings you have. She waves you off without a second thought, and you quickly find yourself on the smooth cobblestone pavements outside the hotel.

It’s on nights like these that you feel grateful for living in the central part of the city, where your apartment is only across the town square. Your eyes drift across each of the couples and families strolling, all out to enjoy the night air.

You think of Donghyuck, and wonder how he’s doing. If he’s back in Paris, or perhaps journeying around the rest of the world freely, the way only someone unbound can do.

“Y/N.”

You’re not even sure if you can recognise the sound of his voice accurately now. Until you jolt to a halt, shoes scrabbling against the stone. That voice sounded strangely real, and not something that you concocted with your overactive imagination.

Your heart floods with a mixture of hope and disbelief as you turn around slowly, too scared to see what’s behind you.

Donghyuck looks like a dream.

His hair is shorter now, the stiff vests and dress shirts exchanged for a looser blouse that reveals a hint of his collarbones. But the sun-kissed freckles that dot his cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose, his honeyed eyes - they’re exactly the same as you remember.

You’re experiencing a deluge of emotions as you blink hastily, not entirely believing that he isn’t a hallucination you’ve dreamed up. Maybe you’re too exhausted, maybe the stage lights were too bright-

“I watched your show, even though there wasn’t a table saved for me.”

The lump in your throat disappears immediately once you realise that Donghyuck is real and solid in front of you. He barely stumbles from the impact when you throw your arms around him, relishing in his warmth.

“I can’t believe you’re here. There were news articles about you solving each case. I read each of them, but last I heard you were in London,” you rush out, watching as his expression morphs from fondness to amusement.

“It’s nice to know that you’ve been thinking of me. But I suppose I have to thank you for being easy to find, considering your face is plastered on posters everywhere,” he replies, and you feel embarrassment creep up the back of your neck.

“A lot has happened since the last time I saw you.” Donghyuck nods in agreement at your words, before offering his arm to you.

“Well, it’s good that we have plenty of time, then.”

You’re not sure if this is an irrational decision. In fact, it might be one of the worst you’ve made.

And yet, you can’t stop as Donghyuck backs you up against the wall, kissing you until you’re dizzy. The empty bottle of wine sits on the table, and your lipstick’s still smudged on the rim, though more of it resides on Donghyuck’s mouth now, on his lips that feel like heaven against yours.

A month was definitely not enough for you to address the heady attraction that drew you to Donghyuck, to the sharply-dressed detective that made a space for himself in your heart and refused to leave.

And now that he’s in front of you, hands grabbing onto your waist, you never want this moment to end. The fact that Donghyuck wants you as much as you do him leaves you dazed, even as you lean back, his breath fluttering over your face.

There’s a cocky grin on his face now as he looks at you, and you’re quite sure you can hear your pulse thundering in your ears. He looks at you with so much passion, and you wonder if there’s as much pent-up emotion residing in his body as there is yours.

“I missed you,” Donghyuck confesses, and the space he takes up grows infinitesimally bigger. You missed him too. More than you wanted to admit.

Thirty days may not be enough to fall in love with someone, but a year most definitely is. You fell in love with the memory of Donghyuck, of laughing at his stories over breakfast and watching Sungjin treat him like the older brother he never had.

But Donghyuck no longer needs to be a memory, not when you have your hands tangled in his hair and his face inches away from yours. You swallow nervously now, even though you know you’re safe as ever.

“My contract ends in a month,” you start, and Donghyuck waits patiently for you to continue, causing the corners of your mouth to lift. “And after that, I’ll be free. To go wherever,” you mutter, and there’s a certain wistfulness that enters his gaze.

It feels like an eternity before Donghyuck intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb smoothing over your skin. He places a gentle kiss on your hand, before looking at you, eyes hooded.

“Then come with me,” he urges.

You’re teetering on the edge of something that feels beautiful and impossible, a future so bright that it isn’t something you dare to dream of. The adoring crowds, the glare of the spotlight - they fade to nothing when Donghyuck looks at you.

Joy shines plainly on your face when you nod in promise, winding your arms around Donghyuck’s neck and bringing him close.

[aphroditesmoon]

Replaceable [part 1]

jacaerys velaryon x reader

part 2

(no use of y/n, reader's house is not stated)

summary: After your twin sister decides to run away weeks from her wedding to the prince and heir to the throne, Jacaerys Velaryon, you are left with no choice but to step in her place.

A/N: English is not my first language + I've only watched hotd and not game of thrones so forgive me if my facts are wrong!

°°°

'Do not make the same mistake as your sister' those were the words constantly reminded to you by your mother 2 weeks from your sudden wedding ceremony.

Your twin sister have always preferred women, another thing you two have in difference besides your looks and contrasting personality.

You had expected her to rebel againts the wedding in some sort of way, perhaps by taking a lover behind everyone's back, but still doing her duty, but once again she has suprised everyone by making a decision so dishonorable to your house's name.

With the ongoing war againts the greens, putting the Queen Rhaenyra and her supporters on edge, they can't afford to lose the support of your father's troops, and your father too, refuse to give such support without any benefits on his side.

So here you were, to take your sister's place as the bride of prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

you are not that familiar with him if you are honest, your sister had the common courtesy to interact with him decently during their courting, but only out of respect and duty, and you were never one to force yourself to the company of others, preferring to hide in your twin's shadow, away from all the politicking and unnecessary drama.

Though you'd prefer to leave all's company, you were not a brat, you know it is your duty to make effort and clean up the mess left by your sister. So here you were with your respective parents, having dinner with the queen's family. You were seated next to the prince, though neither of you had acknowledge eachothers presence, not out of disrespectful but out of awkwardness.

"I would like to start off with acknowledging that while the circumstances of this betrothal has been quite a chaotic arrangements, I do not hold grudge against you, my Lord, or your daughters, I am sure lady [name] will be a fine wife and future queen to my son, and I could not hope for a more well mannered and lovely daughter in law", The queen Rhaenyra spoke as she stood up from her seat. you offer her a sweet smile and decided to offer her a low thank you.

You can see the Jace glancing at you from your side, only a minute before he turns back to his food completely silent to everyone.

Your father has offered his thanks to the Queen and the king consort and expressed his apologies again for your sister's behavior, quickly waved away from the queen, reassuring your family that no offense was taken and what matters is the next step to take.

The whole night, conversations around the dinner table was carried by the adults, the children all sat quietly, awkwardness filling in, not that you can blame any of them, especially Jace. You can't imagine the confusion and grief he must be feeling, from losing his brother a month ago, to being left by his betrothed, and of course the pressure of his family's life and throne being at risk.

If you can't give him the wife he wants, you'd at least give him a wife he could tolerate.

"...is more of [name]'s specialty more than mine" you were brought back to reality hearing your name mentioned by your mother in her conversation with the queen and king consort. "hm?" reflexively you responded.

"oh is that so? I am quite the admirer of old valyria history myself, I must have you quizzed on it over tea if I do say so" the queen teased offering a beautiful smile.

catching up on what was being discussed, you let out a shy laugh. "my mother boasts, my queen. I only know what I was taught by the septas, though I admit I am quite fascinated by the subject of history, my knowledge of it is not extraordinary of any sort" you're own easiness in the way you talked gave you a boost of confidence, as your parents too, you noted, as they gave you a proud smile.

The queen waved off your denial, "nonsense, you are being too humble I'm sure". you chuckle at the compliment not knowing how to respond, not used to them being thrown at you. "though it is good you favor history, Jace also prefers it over other things to learn, I'm sure that's something you could bond over!" she continued smiling and glancing encouragingly at her son who hasn't said a word the whole evening.

All eyes were on him, expecting some sort of answer. He let out a small cough and slowly nodded his head, as if only realizing he's still here. "ah- um, yes, that's right" he offered a small forced smile that barely lasted a second in your way and stared back down at the table.

you truly cannot tell if it's the nerves that is making so unsociable, his grief, or simply a strong sense of uninterest towards you. You would understand if it's the latter, though you can't deny it'd still wound you abit, if it were the case.

Feeling a bit bold from your early conversation with the queen, you decided to try your luck with him too. "oh is that so? I have also heard you are quite fluent in high valyrian, my prince, perhaps a lesson or two to offer my humble self, some time soon?" You ask with a smile.

He raised his eyebrows, "Fluent? oh now it seems it's my mother who boasts my lady, I am still in the learning of it, though I have improved much, and of course, if you wish, I would love nothing more than to teach you" his nerves seemed to calm down a bit as he smiles kindly at you.

You feel a sense of pride in your accomplishment of this small interaction, you can't exactly say you were good with people, but after years of observing your sister and he ways, you knew a thing or two you'd say.

You understand the circumstances of this betrothal was not the most convenient, but you would try to make the best of it, if not fit yourself than for the unfortunate prince.

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

Marauders and the hot beverages they like:

James: He doesn't like to drink anything hot. He doesn't have the patience. He is the chocolate milk and smoothie type of guy for his breakfast. He drinks tea only when there's a tea party or he's chatting with someone that enjoys tea. But he waits for it to get cold to drink it.

Sirius: He has always preferred coffee over tea. He loves the taste, the aesthetic of holding the cup and the way it slowly stimulates him and gives him energy. He usually chooses to drink black and very hot coffee. But what very few know is that he drinks it with like 4 or 5 sugar spoons.

Remus: Always tea. And always earl grey. Never changes it for anything. It is his father's favorite and he drinks it just like him: 1 milk, 2 sugars. He loves to enjoy it two times a day. Plus he can drink a cup while reading comfortably.

Peter: Likes better the taste of coffee but always with milk. He thinks the flavor of tea is not that strong with milk. That's why he enjoys cappuccinos, mocaccinos, and lattes. But when at home or Hogwarts, he puts instant coffee to the hot milk. He always adds cinnamon, or vanilla, or any other spice. He likes to experiment and try something knew.

Lily: Doesn't stand the taste of coffee, she only drinks it when she is hangover or had a bad night sleep. But making faces and gagging like with medicine. Usually she drinks tea. Her favorite is always Green Tea. And when there's no green tea, she drinks black tea. She doesn't add milk because she is lactose intolerant. But she likes her tea very sweet.

Marlene: Only drinks coffee in the morning to wake up and have energy for the day. She drinks it black with a bit of milk and only one spoon of sugar. She drinks one cup a day, nothing more. She doesn't need more. Plus she doesn't like tea in general.

Mary: Loves coffee only on coffee shops in shape of lattes and Frappuccinos (usually cold). But daily, she likes to taste all kind of tea flavors. There are times when she drinks digestive teas to keep her figure. Other times, drinks fruit teas, or anti age teas for physical benefits etc. She is always coming up with a benefit about the tea she is currently having. She likes to feel healthy.

Regulus: Coffee addict through and through. Drinks like 4 cups a day, and still doesn't have energy. But starts getting stressed if he hasn't had a cup in a long time. Drinks it black with very little to no sugar. The bitterer, the better. Drinks tea only when he has to.

Dorcas: She likes Black Tea in the morning, after lunch, and after dinner. She has a routine out of drinking it. This calms her down during the day. She drinks it black with no sugar. Doesn't like any other tea and worse coffee. She thinks coffee is very unhealthy and tea shouldn't be superior.

[romance-rambles]

modern alkaid | 319 roses and a date

Alkaid gets asked on a date by the girl he desperately wanted to ask out, at least before he found out who the flowers were for. You'd like to maintain that nothing you said was a lie.

2.8k, post-alkaid's florist ending [everything else happens the same way, except alkaid's first meeting with mc happens after godheim], misunderstandings + some angst, mc is reader, series: none

ALKAID STARES DOWN BLANKLY AT the bouquet of white roses in his hands. At some point during his stunned silence, he had unwittingly taken them off yours, just as you had hoped for.

All 319 of them, to be precise—which is a number that, put in a different context, can also refer to 3/19, the day of his birth. Even with the limited capacity he has at the moment to sort out the events that led up to this moment, he can't help the way his heart flutters at the knowledge that you remembered, even though so much time has passed.

"Alkaid?" A gentle tap against his shoulder robs the flowers of their spotlight. "Do you...not like the flowers?"

He looks up and sees you, still here—still dressed so beautifully he's once more in danger of succumbing to asphyxiation, with a fretful expression that makes him wonder if he's already there. When he does not respond, you close the remaining distance between them, obscuring all else from his vision.

It is a problem only because he has nowhere left to run.

"No," he croaks out finally, leaning back over the counter to accommodate you.

Obliviously, you move closer, leaving him with no choice but to avert his gaze once more. Alkaid can only hope you aren't offended—that you don't think he finds you unattractive, with how often he does so. It's only that your beaming smile reminds him of what it feels like to stare down the sun.

"They're lovely."

Satisfied with his answer, you pull back. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your ponytail sways slightly, once more retreating behind your shoulder. There's an adorable star-shaped pin fastened onto the strap of your cross-body bag.

He sighs discretely, relieved, and pulls the bouquet up to his face as casually as he can. The petals, he hopes, will be enough to cover up the deep scarlet staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad!" You clap your hands together. "I was worried they wouldn't be to your liking. Maybe I should've asked you what your favorite flower was before I tried asking you out."

A self-deprecating laugh slips out as you scratch your cheek. An intricate design spans the length of your nail now—shades of red and green shaped into what he can clearly recognize as halves of a rose hugging the edges—against a black background.

Alkaid bites his lip, converting the interrupted gasp into a quiet exhale.

"You guessed right. I like white roses," he says, hoping desperately that his words are nothing less than reassuring. "Though they share that spot with lilies as well."

"Lilies," you repeat, a determined gleam in your lovely eyes. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He bites his lip harder.

THE MORNING HE'S DUE TO hand off your flowers, Alkaid finds himself contemplating the benefits of coffee behind the register.

Though his favorite concealer and his usual color corrector have done much to brighten up his undereyes, they can do little for the grogginess that comes with staying awake the whole night (Why such a specific number? Who are they for? Do you remember him at all?). And, by the time the clock strikes nine, he's already downed three cups of strongly-brewed tea.

What pushes him to finally break away from his usual preferences is a simple headache.

The store is empty, and there remains more than half an hour before you're set to arrive. A sharp twinge of pain in the side of his head as he stands up to check on your flowers draws out a careful hiss. Alkaid, with some amount of lingering hesitance, flips the sign on his door to closed, with a note explaining the rough length of absence. Then he walks out the door, his destination the artsy cafe across the street—the one that makes him think of you whenever he walks in.

Allen, the normally deadpan barista on duty, seems to shut down when Alkaid corrects him on his order. Soon, the news spreads to the rest of the employees, who take turns staring at him as he leaves with a warm thermos of coffee in his hands.

But, in the end, it proves to be an unnecessary trip.

You're already in front of his flower shop when he returns, half-crouched and studying the sign the way someone might study a work of abstract art. Today, too, you have a large, dark blue backpack slung over both your shoulders, its surface decorated with various pins and stickers—mostly of a cat, your cat, but also of a popular manga that you seem to like.

In Passing, that is.

It's about a love triangle featuring a tyrant emperor and a well-liked leader of the rebellion. Even without the reviews praising it for subverting expectations, Alkaid would've picked it up anyway.

He's on the third volume right now, and—

Hmm? His eyebrows furrow. Where did I leave it? In my bag?

All of a sudden, the sleep that had been so insistent on dragging his eyelids down vanishes. Alkaid wracks his brain desperately for the answers, stomach churning at the thought of you finding out about his latest reading material.

Unfortunately, you choose that moment to turn around.

"Oh, Alkaid!"

Your confused expression soon melts away, leaving behind only a cheerful smile. Tightening his grip on his thermos, he exhales silently, before flashing you a gentle smile.

"You're here." Time stops as you begin to approach him, your keychains singing a short jingle to accompany you. Your expression softens, as does your voice. "You didn't forget about me, right?"

Alkaid can only sputter out a half-coherent apology.

The words get drowned out by the insistent, purposeful beating of his heart. It's as if it wants to claw itself out of his chest and entrust itself to your hands, as it is, with shattered bones sticking out of it.

You laugh prettily, as always. "It's okay. I'm just joking."

Then, like a moth to a flame, his gaze falls upon your lips. A soft red, with a glossy sheen, one that matches the color of your skirt. On a plain canvas, it's all the more striking. It leaves him wondering about things he, currently a stranger, shouldn't be fretting over.

He's not sure how long he stares for, with slightly parted lips and a series of half-realized thoughts chiding at him to stop—only that it's not long enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

Alkaid clears his throat, holding up his thermos (I should've bought her something too, he thinks) as an explanation. "I apologize for the wait. I went over to the cafe across the street."

"Coffee lover?" you guess, making room for him to open the door.

"I'm usually more of a tea person." As he slips inside the store, he can't help but chuckle self-consciously, remembering all the different ways he imagined this scene playing out. Naturally, his next words are nothing more than the most blatant lie he's ever told. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

"Is it a nice place?" Upon seeing the puzzled look he sends over his shoulder, you clarify, "The cafe. I've seen the reviews, but I think only experience can beat the testimony of someone you know."

He considers your question for a moment. "The staff is very friendly. I often stop by during lunch for their sandwiches."

"I see..." you murmur.

"I think you'd like it," Alkaid blurts out as he slips in behind the register, happy to note that his copy of Volume 3 is, in fact, in his bag. "The owner enjoys collecting art—there's a lot of different paintings all over the cafe. Um, since you're an art major."

"Well, now I have to try it out." You don't seem particularly startled that he knows about your major; instead, you take to drawing patterns across the wooden countertop. He thinks he sees the familiar curve of an A. "The cookies you recommended last time were really great too."

When he keeps his silence, the complete opposite of what the state of his mind currently is (she remembers?), you look up.

"Hmm?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your once smiling expression. "Do I have the wrong person? You're Alkaid, right? From that time in the snow mountains?"

He forces himself to nod, but that too is enough.

A shy smile blossoms on your lips, paired with both a brief flash of relief flitting through your gaze and the slight, almost imperceptible widening of your eyes. Placing your hands above your heart, you sigh exaggeratedly.

"You had me worried for a moment," you say. Your eyelashes cast a dark shadow on your undereyes. "I thought we'd never meet again."

For a moment, he wonders if there's more to your sorrow than you let on. Does it have anything to do with the way you disappeared? Somewhere so far away that no one could reach you at all?

Alkaid shakes off his thoughts.

"But we did," he responds carefully. I never thought we'd meet again either, he does not say instead. "Whether it was destiny, whether it was just a coincidence, we did. All we can do is make the most of it."

A tinge of sadness mars your lovely smile. "I think that sounds lovely."

SOON AFTER THEIR REUNION, DONE properly this time, down to exchanging numbers, Alkaid excuses himself to go fetch your flowers. When he returns, lovesick heart brimming with curiosity over the recipient's identity once more, he finds you've returned to doodling on the counter.

"Here they are, 319 white roses," he announces.

There's a blank expression on your face when you look up. Slowly, as recognition dawns upon you, it melts away to something bitter and rough. Its jagged edges dig into his his heart, leaving a paralyzing mix of sadness and longing to wash over him.

And then—

"Thank you," you say, and take the flowers off his hand.

His hand twitches, yearning for the camera he still keeps in his backpack, for the days where he feels like memorializing something instead. Lovely is the only word he has to describe you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and pull the bouquet close with a faint smile.

Then, you close your eyes, and you inhale deeply. Once more, you are somewhere else—somewhere far, somewhere he can't reach.

"Ah, sorry." You crack one eye open. Now, the bouquet is clutched against your chest, but your sadness remains. "I guess I'm a bit nervous. I don't know if he'll like the flowers."

He? From some far corner of his mind, he recalls the image of your guardian. A tall man, with long silver hair and a pleasant, but guarded expression. Cael, he thinks is the name.

"For your guardian?" Alkaid inquires.

Your smile drops entirely at the mention of your guardian. A complicated series of emotions flash in your gaze, soon averted to one of the potted plants at the display. Scratching your cheek, you offer him a polite laugh.

Today, only some of your nails are a plain black. The rest remain bare.

"No, it's not for Cael." You answer carefully. "Actually—"

Looking down at the flowers, you take a deep breath. When next you speak, your voice has reclaimed the softness it'd shown him earlier—your searching gaze as well. You leave him with the truth, imparting it onto him like a mischievous secret.

"There's someone I'd like to ask out."

His stomach drops, and you leave him with the memory of lovelorn smile, forever imprinted behind his eyelids.

"I hope he says yes."

[3:00 PM] you: Alkaid, do you have any plans tonight?

[3:17 PM] alkaid: No, I'm free

[3:21 PM] alkaid: Did something happen?

[3:22 PM] you:

[3:22 PM] you: I haven't asked him out yet. Gonna do it soon

[3:23 PM] you: All of my other friends are busy rn.

[3:24 PM] you: Is it okay if I stop by after you close up shop?

[3:24 PM] you: I'd want to talk to someone about it

[4:31 PM] alkaid: Of course

SOMEHOW, ALKAID MANAGES TO GET through the rest of the day.

His heart is held together haphazardly with duct tape and carefully-placed staples, though their efforts are thwarted constantly by a popular refrain (You hardly know him. Of course there's someone else.), and he's one stubbed toe away from being reduced to tears, but he manages. Somehow.

He swallows down his what-ifs and maybes and waits, watching the hands on his wristwatch inch ever closer to six in the evening. And eventually, the vaguely promised time arrives.

As he's stepping out from behind the register, a familiar chime echoes cuts through the silence. Alkaid looks up and sees you, dressed still in red and black, your turtleneck and skirt swapped out for a knee-length dress.

"Hi."

The bouquet of white roses—held in both hands, a stark contrast to the black leather jacket you're wearing—covers up its neckline. You smile sheepishly at him, pulling at the mesh of your bright red skirt to mimic a curtsy.

You're beautiful. Even the flowers surrounding them pale in comparison. Even the aurora they'd seen together pales in comparison. You rob him of his breath and leave gasping for a reprieve, but so long as he keeps his memory in even the smallest capacity, that's simply impossible.

The familiar knife called jealousy stabs into his heart, leaving him keenly aware of his longing. He averts his gaze, but the damage has already been done. You are beautiful, and he has waited years to see you.

"Hi." Alkaid swallows uncomfortably, as the sound of your footsteps draws closer. In a panic, his hands brace themselves against the edge of the counter. "Was something wrong with the flowers? I thought—"

A mysterious expression sits upon your features when you pull his gaze onto you, seemingly oblivious to your magnetic power.

With a deep breath, you thrust the flowers at him, knuckles brushing against his chest. You pull back for a moment, taking your flowers with you, and the soft coral of your blush makes it difficult to discern whether you find yourself a victim the of same scarlet blooming across his cheeks.

"That's—" You cough politely. There's a heart-shaped pendant dangling from your golden necklace. The dress is either strapless or your jacket has covered up the straps. "—what I'm here to find out."

Alkaid tilts his head. His confused gaze darts across his surroundings and stops at the glass window of the store's display, thinking perhaps that your mystery boy might be outside. But while the streets are not barren, there is no one outside his store.

You say his name in the same way you told him your secret. Like it's something precious. Like it's something you love. And the truth begins to settle into his bones with a finality that deafens the half-coherent puzzle pieces he's been trying to fit together—he is the only one you could possibly ask out in this empty store.

He has no choice but to look back. At you, and the bouquet you're offering him.

"Would you like to go to the movies with me?"

AND THAT IS HOW HE finds himself with the beginnings of a bruise forming on his lip. He doesn't mind, not when the sting he feels as he wets his lip reminds him that this is not, in fact, a dream (It feels like it though, he thinks), nor a fantasy.

"You...you don't have a girlfriend, do you? It's been a while since then..."

You rub your arm lightly, muttering about something he can't understand, and what else is Alkaid meant to do but take your hand? He squeezes it gently, tickled to find that he can return the favor for all the times you've stolen his breath away.

Your lips part slightly, but whatever you hoped to say does not leave the confines of your mysterious mind. Instead, you draw some of your hair from both sides over your flushed cheeks.

"Nothing like that," he reassures, smiling gently at you. "I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were talking about me."

"That's a reli—what." In a single moment, your voice goes from girlishly breathless to an irritated flat. Releasing your hair, you blink uncomprehendingly at him. "How?"

Watching you descend into another muttered ramble, Alkaid shrugs. "If you'd still like that date..."

You whip your head in his direction. "Then it's a date!"

The first time he met you, it was when you had fished out of the snow and offered him a warm drink to fight off the cold. They had talked about miscellaneous things, from your half-hearted desire to request a camera for your birthday to who could make the better model between them both.

And back then, he had thought to himself that there was no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

Almost four years after the fact, as he watches you giggle, Alkaid can confidently say his past self had the right idea. Such a specific title leaves him with room to declare your follow-up smile to be just as breathtaking.

[masterofdumb]

The Charlie Slimecicle Snacks, Diet, Skincare, Daily Supplements, And Workout RoutineTM

SNACKS

-IF BIG HUNGRY

- Get 1 and 1/2 pound of ground chicken -if still hungry, get another one- can put in low fat tortilla, add cheese, spinach, ect.

-IF SMALL HUNGRY

-Must be Greek yogurt, MAX three times a day, because one time you had too many and your tummy hurt and you kept doing it and your mom said you had to stop -can add fruit and chia seeds-if small hungry but you have already consumed 3 yogurts, then handful of nut -if still hungry, but not enough for ground chicken, enter post-yogurt, pre chicken gathering, aka squirrel mode- squirrel mode until you are hungry enough for big chicken

-EVERYTIME YOU NEED GAS FOR YOUR CAR

-Go into gas station, find refrigerator, find healthy section-Grab packet of two wet hard-boiled eggs, preferably with salt, if no salt, you can get packet of salt from the little table -If sad at gas station, get breakfast sandwich, look at eggs, 50% chance to get eggs, you will know if you want them or not, but even if not, look at them-Every second wednesday, when driving back from therapy, get muffin - not every wednesday get muffin, but always get eggs- look around to see if in sweet or salty mood, then go get the eggs-protein chips

-POST WORKOUT

-Once a week, after workout, treat time-usually a bagel- Asiago bagel, egg, bellpepper, ham, Chipotle mayo, and chedder cheese-can also be breakfast sandwich or muffin-rarely, can be a restaurant you haven't tried, go and get treat

-LATE NIGHTS, AKA YOURE HUNGRY BIT YOURE SUPPOSED TO HO TO BED

-after 9-10, past dinner, back in breakfast sphere- Eggs, turkey bacon, breakfast bites, fruits, ect-make eggs-either scrambled with spinach or cheese, can be with or without a wrap with meat - can also be an omlette- omlette is made with thyme and garlic pepper, NO SALT-can pair with turkey bacon, or finish with yogurt-can justify a 4th yogurt this late-tummy will hurt

-SKINCARE

-every morning and night-apply gentle foaming cleanser -must be specific to you, must work for your skin- once or twice a week, use exfoliating cleanser-for night specifically -apply retinol serum one every 2-3 days-apply 25 hrs peptide moisturizer, not too much, can cause breakout-use a Vaseline like substance on cracked or dry spots, including lips-for morning specifically -use vitamin c serum, paying extra attention to the space under your eyes and any discolored patches-after, use green tea face mask to release toxins, refreshing but unreliable and unsustainable

-DAILY SUPPLEMENTS-step one, two multi viramine gummies-Allegra, for anti inflammatory benefits and allegies-orange flavored vitamin c gummies-2 for 500 milligrams, 4, if on trip, for 1000 milligrams-difficult to overdose on vitamin c-take 1 fish oil pill to cognitive function and slipperyness-last one, a peach vitamin d gummy (best flavor)-if experiencing difficulties with nails and/or hair, or are without assessment to biotin shampoo, use biotin gummies for nails and hair-people will say that multivitamins and vitamins in general, are a scam unless you are vitamin deficit-scientifically, they are right, however, they taste gummy good

-WORKOUT ROUTINE-it is important to keep consistentcy in your workout routine plan-pick a 12 week routine - beginner if you're a beginner, intermediate if you're intermediate, and advanced if you have done other routines in the past-stick with it with for the duration before you make any hasty judgments on its impact-comes in 3 sets, A, B, and C, swithing every four weeks to make sure your body doesn't get used to any one specific movement or routine-Workout A of weeks 1-4-3x hip thrust-barbell, free if available, Smith machine if no other option-3 seated row-cable-three barbell full squat-3 bench press-barbell-reps dependant, 8 if high weight, 12 if lower weight -if you can do 12, move up weight and do 8-3 good morning-barbell-plank-plank-plank-dumbell side bend-band standing abduction-end workout-Workouts B 1-4, C 1-4, A 5-8, B 5-8, C 5-8, A 9-12, B 9-12, and C 9-12- you will become a glutial God-Open app store-install my fitness pal-find macros-need protein if building muscles, 1.5 to 2x body weight in protein grams every day-EAT 2X BODY WEIGHT PROTEIN. GET BIG, LIFT BIG.-EAT 50 EGGS A DAY. YOU WILL BE HAPPY. RIGHT AMOUNT OF PROTEIN IN 50 EGG -EAT 50 EGGS TO BE SAFE-400 GRAMS. IT WILL BE ENOUGH.-IF STILL HUNGRY, TRY YOGURT.

This took so long 😭😭 charlie I think you need help

[desigirldairies]

Reveal Your Bollywood Glow: Unveiling Celebrity-Inspired Skincare Secrets.

This blog is going to be all about Indian & bollywood inspired products and skincare tips. If you also want a blog separately about Indian natural and authentic skincare or hair care I'll surely make it. 🫶

Know Your Skin Type : Identify your skin type - whether it's oily, dry, combination, or sensitive - to tailor your skincare routine effectively.

Cleanse Like a Star : Use a gentle cleanser like Cetaphil or Neutrogena to remove dirt and makeup and a oil cleaner is a must if you wear makeup daily. Opt for micellar water for a quick and effective cleanse on busy days. (But I don't really recommend it).

Exfoliate for Radiance : Incorporate a mild exfoliator like St. Ives Apricot Scrub or The Body Shop's Vitamin C Glow-Revealing Liquid Peel to slough off dead skin cells and reveal glowing skin. And my personal favorite coffee scrub from The Bombay shaving company. Don't exfoliate more than twice a week.

Hydration Is Key : Use a hydrating toner such as Clinique Moisture Surge Face Spray for an instant boost of hydration or toner + mist from pilgrim works like magic (my fav 😭).

Targeted Treatments : Include a serum with ingredients like hyaluronic acid (for hydration) or vitamin C (for hyperpigmentation) if you are under 17 or 18 like me don't use vitamin c or if you want to use in very less %, I use 2% kojic acid for my uneven skin tone from pilgrim, it's very begniner friendly. (Always consult a dermatologist for your skincare don't go around seeing videos on insta and YouTube believing them). I recommend Minimalist if you want chemical bases serums.

If you are above 23 or 25 Incorporate a retinol-based cream like RoC Retinol Correxion Deep Wrinkle Night Cream for anti-aging benefits. (Got this tip from mumma for y'all 😭✨️)

Sun Protection Essentials : Always apply a broad-spectrum sunscreen with SPF 30 or higher, such as La Roche-Posay Anthelios Ultra Light Fluid, to protect your skin from harmful UV rays. More affordable and effective sunscreens from brands — dot and key, aqualogica, Dr. Seth and wish care.

Overnight Nourishment: Use a hydrating overnight mask like Laneige Water Sleeping Mask to replenish moisture while you sleep. Incorporate a facial oil like The Ordinary's Rose Hip Seed Oil for added nourishment and radiance.

DIY Treatments Inspired by Bollywood:

- Try a turmeric, gram flour and yogurt face mask inspired by Priyanka Chopra for glowing skin.

- Use aloe vera gel like Deepika Padukone for its soothing and hydrating properties. (MY fav bolly actress btw 😭❤️)

Lifestyle Tips for Healthy Skin : Stay hydrated by drinking plenty of water throughout the day people are not stupid that they are going around telling you to drink water, IT'S A MUST!. Incorporate antioxidant-rich foods like fruits, vegetables, and green tea into your diet for overall skin health.

Some of my fav brands (mostly available in india) : dot and key, Foxtale, pilgrim, minimalist, st. Botanica, organic harvest and aqualogica!

Fav brand released by a bollywood actress: Hyphen by Kriti Sanon, their lip balm can even beat Rhode's lip balm istg- and their sunscreen 🔛🔝.

Channel your inner Bollywood diva and achieve a radiant, flawless skin with these skincare tips and product recommendations. Let your skin glow like a star!

[kyonkyon69]

DRAMIONE FANFICS

[AO3/FANFICTION.NET/TUMBLR]

[BIG 3]

[1]Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

[2]His Little Bird Series by TheWanderersWanderingDaughter

[3]MANACLED by Senlinyu

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

>TheWanderersWanderingDaughter AO3 fics

>Senlinyu AO3 fics

>On the Nature of Daylight by ikorous

>& Obey, Till Death Do Us Part by LongtimeLurker1111

>A Good Prisoner by greenflowerpot

>Edge by phantonym

>Dramione fics [GOOGLE DRIVE]

>Dramione fics [GOOGLE DRIVE] Part.2

>The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy Series by speechwriter

> Rights and Wrongs Series by LovesBitca8

>The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon

>Clean Series by olivieblake

>The Fallout by everythursday

>Isolation by Bex-chan

>The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal Series by olivieblake

>Silencio Series by AkashaTheKitty

>Draco Malfoy, the Amazing Bouncing... Rat? by Maya Mistful

>Confessions Series by SaintDionysus

>Enemies with Benefits by DrusillaMaxima

>Wait and Hope Series by mightbewriting

>Aurelian by BittyBlueEyes

>We Learned the Sea by floorcoaster

>How to Win Friends and Influence People by olivieblake

>Chronos Historia by In Dreams

>The Oblivious Ones by diamonddaydream

>Love in the Time of Death Eaters by gnrkrystle

>Presque Toujours Pur by ShayaLonnie

>The Brightest Black by: Enigmaticrose4

>What the Room Requires by Alydia Rackham

>The Boy in the Hammock by galfoy

>Heavy Lies the Crown by: floorcoaster

>It's All Uncharted by: redhead414

>A Second Look Series by RiverWriter

>Simply Irresistible Series by Bookworm1993

>The Dragon's Bride by rizzlewrites

>What the Room Requires by Alydia Rackham

>The Green Girl by Colubrina

>Architecture of Life Series by EscapingArtist

>Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm

>Remain Nameless by HeyJude19

>Love and Other Historical Accidents by PacificRimbaud

>Apple Pies and Other Amends Universe by ToEatAPeach

>A Gentleman's Guide to Incandescence by olivieblake

>Lionheart by greenTeacup

>Scarlett Dragon by cleotheo

>Phoenix Potion Universe by FedonCiadale

>How Fair the Vine by thebrightcity

>Amateur Cartography by worksofstone

>Every Day, a Little Death by LovesBitca8

>Tea with Mrs. Granger by Guardian_Kysra

>Finding Granger Series by aCanadianMuggle

>The Politician's Wife by pir8fancier

>The Alkahest by shadukiam

>Love In A Time Of The Zombie Apocalypse Universe Series by rizzlewrites

>Crumple Series by MissiAmphetamine (Kaleidoscope)

>Osculum Annuum by MyDelphi

>These Selfish Vows by HeavenlyDew

>Some Bright and Last Thing by bionically

>Late Night Wandering by Snowblind12

>Never Odd or Even Series by ambpersand

>The Temptation of Miss Potter by Rumaan

>Tear The Moon by Maria81

>Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll

>Somewhere in Time Series by madrose_writing

>Wedding Bells by cleotheo

>The Phoenix Potion by FedonCiadale

>Green Light by SereneMusafir

>The Risk'verse Series by MissiAmphetamine (Kaleidoscope)

>Secrets and Masks by Emerald_Slytherin

>Bring Him to His Knees Series by Musyc

>Soft As It Began by rubber_soul02

>The Watergaw by ectoheart, smokybaltic

>The Token by mezy

>Truly Madly Deeply Fest [sequel--->

Truly Madly Deeply Spooky Flash Fest 2023]

>A Game of High Stakes by In_Dreams

>Hunted by Bex-chan

>The World of Wait and Hope Series by mightbewriting

>The Bracelet by AkashaTheKitty

>Lena Phoria FF fics

>Once Upon A Thyme by zensho

>Cruel And Beautiful World by Lena Phoria

>The Fires of Beltane by Arionrhod

>Don't Look Back by Onyx_and_Elm

>Here We Go Round The Prickly Pear Series by Hystaracal

>Measure Of A Man by inadaze22

ONESHOTS

>Draco Malfoy Runs a Marathon by PurpleSugarQuills

[harlowsbby]

Routines 💘

“Baby, come on baby I’m tired and I just wanna sleep already.” Jack pouted while you dragged him into the hotel bathroom.

The thing with you was you didn’t care what city or country you were in you were going to make sure you had a night time routine. With running around with Jack all day you needed a few minutes to just take care of yourself.

Jack on the other hand didn’t care for it all he needed was a quick shower and he was good but tonight you were forcing him to do your routine.

“It’ll be real quick Jack we just need to do some face care and drink some lemon water and we’ll be all set.” You told him but he wasn’t having it.

“Lemon water? What is lemon water going to do for me babe please enlighten me.” He stated as he sat on the edge of the bath tub watching as you took a few of your skincare products out your travel bag.

“Lemon water actually has a lot of benefits it gives you more hydration, clearer skin and better digestion.” You told him as you stood in front of him and started applying your green tea mask to his face.

“Is that right baby? Who would’ve thought my girl was a dermatologist now.” He joked and smacked your lips. “Stay still I need to apply this before it dries.” You scolded him softly but nonetheless he sat still and rested his hands on your waist and watched how you carefully and steadily applied the mask to his face.

Jack would never admit to but he loved moments like this with you at times he got busy and wasn’t able to give you all of his undivided attention but he had to admit doing this silly little night routine with you had his heart fluttering.

You stood back and smiled in approval at your work Jack stood up to inspect himself in the mirror. “I look like a bird shit on my face babe.” You chuckled at him. “Whatever but you won’t be saying all that when your got that glass skin now will you?”

“Glass skin? Baby can you start speaking English what is glass skin?” You sighed you weren’t sure how you ended up with a man as slow as Jack at times.

“Glass skin like your skin is going to look flawless with no imperfection or anything.” He stood there confused still not fully understanding.

“Let’s just go get some lemon water.” You took his hand and dragged him into the little living room era of the suite.

He looked at the bag of lemons on the table with a confused expression he wasn’t exactly sure how you got those but he knew better than to question it. You poured the two of you glasses of iced cold water before chopping up the lemons and squeezing them in the water.

“Here and make sure you drink it all.” You demanded. “Yes mother.” He stated sarcastically before drinking the water, his tongue immediately flew out his mouth and his face scrunched up.

“This shit is nasty baby I’m not drinking this.”

“Yes you are.” You told him. “No I’m not.” He argued back. “I already did the face mask and drank half of this so I’m good.” You rolled your eyes and finished up your drink.

“Let’s go wash off our mask.” After the two of you washed off your mask you made your way into bed. Jack laid down with your laying on his chest and touching his face.

“See your skin feels so much softer now.”

“So my skin wasn’t softer before?” He asked.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it Jack I saw you smiling when I was applying your mask.” His cheeks heated up a bit when he realized you caught him.

“It was nice, just don’t tell the guys alright? The last thing I need is for Urban and Sunni to be making jokes about it.”

Jack loved this friends he did but hated how they always called him a simp whenever it came to doing things with you, he knew for a fact you had him wrapped around your finger but he didn’t care because seeing you happy was the only thing that mattered.

“I promise I won’t.” You lied because when he wasn’t looking you snapped a quick picture and sent it to Urban who of course showed Sunni along with everyone else.

“Let’s get some sleep yeah? I’m tired.” He grumbled and turned off the light.

“I love you baby.” He tiredly mumbled and rested his head on-top of your head.

“I love you more Jack.” You stated and pressed a kiss to his bare chest before falling in a deep and peaceful sleep.

(Just something that came into my head 😭💘 I got more stuff coming soon)

[touchlikethesun]

coffee or tea??

tsukishima and yamaguchi are coffee drinkers, but tsukki puts more milk and sugar in it than is probably advisable (he carries a toothbrush with him that he thinks probably wards away cavities effectively enough). whereas yams takes his black normally. he picked up the habit in university for long nights studying, but has been trying to cut down and only have a few cups in the morning. their mug collection is starting to take over the kitchen because yamaguchi started unintentionally collecting them. he tends to cycle thru mainly the pokémon themed ones, but tsukki uses the same mug and washes it by hand every day so he can use it again (it’s big enough to hold all the milk sugar and coffee but still sits comfortable in his hand)

yachi and kageyama are tea drinkers. yachi mainly drinks herbal tea - lord knows she doesn’t need caffeine making her anxious - and she really likes rosehip tea and other sorts of nice floral teas. she has a really nice matching tea set for guests but she usually drinks out of the cartoon crow mug the boys got for her as a graduation present. kageyama is no where near as particular about his tea, he just has two types of generic tea bags, one green and one black, but he does drink a fair bit of it, and he leaves half drunk cups of tea all around the flat because he can’t stand when it gets cold. (ik about the boy’s milk obsession but i think that’s an out-and-about drink. at home he has tea.)

hinata doesn’t drink coffee or tea, he’ll have protein shakes for workouts, but otherwise he really only drinks water. winter mornings, he might heat it up and add lemon to it, but most of the time he’s more than happy to just have water. some people think it’s for the health benefits, and that’s a small part of it, but really he just… doesn’t really like coffee or tea.

[deanwritings]

FwB - Chapter 3: The Rule Book

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: FwB - Friends with Benefits.

After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

FwB - Master List

Word Count: 4,983

Warning: Smut (in case the title was not obvious) and 18+ themes and language.

Gif:

A/N: Wasn't planning on making this a long chapter, NOR was I planning this to be a smut chapter. But these things have a way of just happening.

Once you’re dressed, you quietly sneak back to your room. You had no idea where Sam was, and the last thing you needed was this blowing up in your face before it even began. 

Your heart was still pounding, and if this had been any other time, you would have curled up beside Dean and relaxed against him until you fell asleep.

But this wasn’t like any sex you had ever had, in many ways. 

It was absolutely mind-blowing. Hands down the best sex you ever had. And you didn’t know if it was him, or the excitement of getting to finally sleep with Dean. 

Maybe both. 

You had never wanted a man the way you had wanted Dean. The man was like something straight out of a movie; he was sultry and mysterious, yet deep down he had a heart of gold and was willing to do whatever it took to save the people around him. Wrap it up in the beautiful package of freckles, a broad silhouette, and the most stunning jawlines you had ever seen, Dean Winchester was the ultimate man-tasty. 

Even before you broke up with your last boyfriend, you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t say that you had been fighting feelings for Dean. You had been hoping that by dating a man who was actually interested in a relationship would help you forget about the green-eyed hunter who happened to ironically haunt your dreams, but it was no use. Not that it was the downfall of your relationship; Tom ended up being too much of an ass for your liking, but how could you have a real relationship with someone when you were busy pining for your roommate?

You had been attracted to him from the moment he stepped into your life with those strong shoulders, gleaming eyes, and panty-dropping smile.

And now that you knew just what Dean Winchester was capable of, there was no backing out now. Your body actually may revolt against you.

The man lived up to the myth and legend. 

So even if you weren’t into hookups, you were definitely into having sex with Dean. Hell, that was all you were ever going to get from him. It’s like they say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Unless you’re the Trojans that is. 

The man doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t do hand holding, or date nights, or cuddling. 

He was rough, tough, Rock'em Sock'em Dean Winchester. So if all he could offer you was sex, you weren’t about to say “no.” Especially not after what just happened in his bedroom. 

But as you climb into your own bed, you begin to think about the rules he asked you about. 

Dean said he would take your lead, so you really got to set the stage for this. 

Your biggest question - would you be exclusive?

As much as you would love to, it would probably defeat the purpose of your arrangement; if Dean wanted to exclusively have sex with you, he would date you. And that’s not what he proposed, which meant you would both be free to fuck whom you liked. 

Which really would tilt the scales in Dean’s favor seeing that one-night-stands weren’t really your cup of tea, but as much as you didn’t want to admit it, it would be unfair to lock Dean in like that. 

So Rule #2 - Protection. 

You weren’t dumb. Dean’s probably been around the block more than a career hooker. Okay, maybe not that much, but even in the short-ish time you’ve known Dean, the man got around. Besides the post-hunt hookups, he also had a local spot in town he would visit and wouldn’t return until the morning. You weren’t about to risk your health for some skin-to-skin action. The only way you would actually agree to that is if Dean first took a test then agreed to be exclusive so you wouldn’t have to worry since you’re on birth control. But see rule one for why that wouldn’t work. 

You nod to yourself. The first two rules came pretty easy. You were worried this was going to be tough, but like Dean said, it’s what you're comfortable with. 

Rule #3 - Always have the right to say “no.”

Okay, so this should be rule one, but you thought of it third. You weren’t entirely sure if Dean was into more chocolate sex. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. You grimace to yourself. You feel like you’re referring to anal. 

Was that the opposite of vanilla sex? 

Okay, scratch that. Not chocolate sex. Adventurous sex. You weren’t sure how imaginative he got in the bedroom. You were open, sure, but you never really ventured outside of more creative positions in the bedroom, so you wanted to make sure you would be comfortable with whatever Dean proposed, and know you could say “no” if something stretched outside of your comfort zone, and same for him. 

And outside of what kind of sex you were having, there shouldn’t be an expectation that you both would be on the same schedule. So if one of you wanted to and the other didn’t, the other had the right to say “no.” Not that you would ever expect or anticipate Dean to break or push against that rule, but it was a good one to have regardless. 

Okay, what else?

Rule 4…….Hmmmmm. 

You nibble on your lip, thinking. Then you snap as it comes to you.

Rule #4 - Either party can opt out at any time. 

Your heart hurt at this one, but this rule was for you. And Dean. But mostly you. 

You weren’t sure how long it would be before the lines of sex would blur for you. You would need an out when it eventually became too much. 

And as you mentioned, Dean wasn’t the relationship type. You were. 

As much as you held a candle to his flame, you knew there was nothing there for you. And you would want more. You would want the relationship, the late night talks, the chance at a life and a family outside of all this. 

Dean Winchester wasn’t that out for you.

Dean would be a distraction. An amusement ride until the real thing came along. So you were going to enjoy it while it lasted, knowing you had an “EJECT” button to use at any time.

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, your body relaxing into your pillow and mattress. 

This was a lot of thinking. A lot of thinking after some amazing and tiresome sex. 

Four rules was a good place to start. You hum and dig your body deeper into your sheets. 

You would figure the rest out tomorrow.

When morning rolls around, you pull yourself out of bed, enjoying the satisfied ache between your thighs before you sit down at your desk and write your rules on paper. 

At the bottom, you sign your name, and leave a space for Dean. 

Might as well make it official. 

You tuck the piece of paper into a drawer, not wanting it being found by curious eyes before you have a chance to grab Dean alone.

Once you’re sure it’s secure, you pull your hair into a ponytail, throw on a hoodie to protect yourself from the insulated chill that lingers in the bunker, and head out towards the kitchen.

As you shuffle in, Sam is already up, and unsurprisingly, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and his laptop open. 

“Morning, Sammy,” you shoot him a smile as you grab a mug and pour the already brewed coffee into your cup. 

“Hey Y/N,” he quickly gives you his attention before returning to his computer. 

Nerd. You snort and roll your eyes. 

Or maybe workaholic was a better descriptor. 

Either way, the boy couldn’t get his nose out of the internet or a book. 

You spend a few minutes making yourself a yogurt parfait before you slip onto the table’s bench across from him.

“Good night’s sleep?” Sam asks over a sip of coffee. You just hum with a spoonful of yogurt and granola in your month, and he nods. 

This was a typical routine for you two; Sam was usually the first of you three up, unless someone couldn't sleep. As a result, he was usually the one responsible for brewing the coffee, which you were silently grateful for. There was nothing better than waking up to a hot pot of coffee you didn’t have to bother to brew yourself.

You would usually wander in two or so hours after him, with Dean coming in the rear, anytime between 9am and noon, depending on when he finally passed out for the night. 

But it gave you quiet, alone time with Sam. Time you enjoyed. You weren’t much of a morning person, and even though Sam was, he had learned not to bother you too much when you first appeared, opting to let you wake up over coffee and breakfast before starting a conversation. But you appreciated having someone there with you. After a lifetime of dingy motels, sleeping in cars, and only ever relying on yourself, it was nice to have someone around you that you felt comfortable with and could trust, even in the quiet of the morning. 

After a few minutes, you're surprised to hear another set of footsteps pad down the hallway until they reach the communal kitchen. You and Sam both stare at Dean as he pours himself a cup of coffee, resting his back against the counter as he takes his first sip. 

You watch his lips as they wrap around the mug, thinking how they devoured your own just half a day ago. You swallow as his Adam’s apple bobs, remembering the look in his eyes when you told him “yes.”

“You’re up early,” Sam comments with a smirk and a furrowed brow. 

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and he hums as he keeps his face buried in his mug. 

“What can I say?” Dean mumbles over the ceramic, taking another sip. “Had a great night’s sleep.” Dean’s smirk is revealed as he lowers the cup from his face, but his eyes stay on his brother. 

Your breath catches in your chest at his brazen allusion. 

Sure, he didn’t say it was because he too had some great sex that knocked him out, but you knew exactly what he meant by it. 

And the comment was clearly meant for you, even if Dean refuses to meet your gaze. 

“Yeah about that, when you have a sec, I need to talk to you,” Sam turns back to his laptop and you drop your spoon into your bowl as Dean places his cup on the counter next to him.

“About what?” Dean frowns and respositions himself so that his arms are crossed against his chest. 

You watch Sam as his lips purse and his hands fall away from his keyboard.

“More of a private convo.” Sam raises his eyebrows, clearly trying to get Dean to drop the conversation. 

You pick up your coffee mug, both hands wrapping around it as you bring it to your lips. 

Can you say drama?

You look excitedly between Dean and Sam. Clearly the boys were having some sort of tiff, and you wanted the details. 

Outside of hunts, there wasn’t much entertainment in the bunker. But when Sam and Dean were pissy at each other, it was better than any reality tv. 

“I’m lost.” Dean grabs his coffee mug and pushes off the counter, wandering over to the kitchen table and plopping down on the bench next to you, his thigh resting against yours. There’s no way that was an accident. 

You shoot a glance towards Dean, and though his eyes are focused on his brother, there’s a ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

Yep, definitely not an accident. 

“Fine,” Sam’s face falls and his eyebrows shoot up as he takes a deep breath. That was his lecture face. You bring your mug to your lips, taking a sip. 

Here it comes…

”You really need to start using headphones if you’re going to watch porn that loud, dude.” Sam chides his older brother and the sip of coffee you had started catches in your throat, tightening your windpipe and causing you to cough the coffee back into your cup, the liquid splattering onto the table.

Dean and Sam’s eyes both whip to you, the same frown on both of their faces as you sputter.

Dean’s handle immediately finds your back, giving it a few rough pats, clearly the liquid from your throat as one of your hands falls to your chest and you give the boys a thumbs up as they watch you with concern. 

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you in private, Dean,” Sam shoots his older brother as you take a deep breath and right yourself up in your seat, clearing your throat from the last drops of coffee stuck there. 

“Could hear it all the way in the hallway,” Sam grumbles and ducks his head behind his laptop. 

Dean’s eyes shoot to yours, a smile growing on that stupid face of his. You shoot your elbow into his ribs, effectively killing his grin as his lips go tight, silently eating the blow as to not alert Sam. 

Shit. 

You couldn’t believe Sam heard you last night. You might as well just die of embarrassment right there at the kitchen table. 

Forget ghouls and demons; Sam hearing you fuck his brother was how you were going to go out. 

At least he didn’t know it was you. But you were clearly going to need to start being more mindful of your noise levels moving forward. 

With one last clear of your throat, you push yourself up from the table.

“Well that’s more information than I needed this morning. I’m off for a run.” You smile at the brothers, dropping your dishes in the sink before heading back to your room to change for your workout. 

After a forty-five minute run, followed by a much needed shower of the same length, you throw on some sweats and towel dry your hair.

The fresh air was just what you needed to rid yourself of the embarrassment of this morning, even if Sam was unaware of it. 

You had no idea how loud you had been, and as you ran down the dirt road from the bunker, you were reminded of Dean’s comment to you yesterday morning.

“So that was you last night.” 

What a wonton whore you were. Just moaning and groaning for everyone to hear.

You would need to reel it in the next time it happened. Make an active attempt to keep yourself quiet. 

Especially in the bunker. Everything echoed down those concrete walls. At least this time Dean could pass it off as a porn binge, but you doubted he would want to keep using that excuse if confronted again.

So an unofficial Y/N rule: Be mindful of your volume. 

Which reminds you; you open your drawer and pull out your “rule book”, folding it up tightly and tossing it into your pocket, along with your pen. 

You wanted to drop it off and talk it over with Dean before your next encounter. 

Once secure, you head out in search of said Winchester. 

You wander down the hallway to his bedroom, noticing his door cracked open. You quietly approach Room 11, resting against the doorframe as you peek inside. The bed is neatly made, a stark contrast to last night, and you smile.

But the room is empty, no sign of the man you were targeting, so you push yourself off the wall and continue your search. 

The kitchen is also empty, as well as the gun range – two of Dean’s favorite places in the bunker – so you navigate yourself to the war room, finding a lone Winchester sitting at the table, his feet kicked up as he flips through a magazine. 

“Where’s Sam?” Your voice bounces off the walls as you step into the concourse. 

Dean shifts his head over his shoulder, his eyes wandering over you before dropping his feet from the table and swiveling in his chair to face you. 

“Supply run.” 

You nod as you stroll towards the table, Dean’s eyes closely following your movements as you step up along next to him. Dean rotates his chair again, keeping his body aligned to yours as you lean on the edge alongside him, this time letting your leg rest against the armrest of his chair. 

You look down at him, perhaps the first time ever. Dean usually towered over you, almost a foot taller than yourself. This was the first, and maybe the only time you had a height advantage over him. His eyes were just as green, and his freckles just as amber, but his lashes appear thicker as he stares up at you, his smirk a little more upright at this angle. 

“Guess it’s a good time to chat then?” You smile down at him, your palms resting against the cool metal of the table.

“And what’s that you want to chat about, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is smooth as his hand comes to rest on your upper thigh, his thumb rubbing against the fabric of your sweats, immediately sending a shockwave to your core and causing the muscles between your legs to clench at his touch. 

It felt so intimate, yet so god damn hot. 

Your mouth drops open a bit, and Dean’s eyes follow the movement as his tongue darts over his lips, lingering on the plump skin for an extra moment. 

“I wanted to talk about rules,” you try to keep your focus as his fingers continue to caress your leg.

“Like sexy rules?” Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, his teeth flashing as his head ticks to the side.

You narrow your eyes at the maddening man beneath you. 

“Are you always this horny and I’ve just never noticed before?” Dean licks his lips again. 

What a sight.

“Or is it just me?” You smirk and Dean matches it.

“A bit of both,” his voice is low as his green eyes pierce into you and your right leg instinctually shifts against your left as the throb between them now begins to pulse.

There’s a question that’s been nagging you since last night, and maybe it’s the height advantage, but you feel confident enough to finally ask.

“Tell me, Dean,” you lean down, lowering yourself closer to his beautiful face, your Y/E/C capturing his gaze. 

“Have you always wanted to fuck me, or did walking in on me naked yesterday bring this on?” Your heart pounds against your chest with each word. This wasn’t like you. You usually weren’t so brazen, especially with a man you’ve been crushing on for several years. But Dean’s clear attraction towards you had you feeling like you sat on a golden throne at the top of the world. You felt like a queen. A goddess. And Dean, in the most shocking turn of events, was sitting in the palm of your hand. 

Dean swiftly stands from his chair, the seat away from behind him at the force of his motion. 

“Why don’t I show you.” 

He steps in between your legs, widening the space between them with his own.

You bite your lip as he presses against you, his hands coming to your hips as he pushes you further onto the table. 

You throw your arms around his shoulders, keeping him close to you as you move.

He keeps his gaze locked on you as one hand trails up your waist to your chest, his thumb grazing over your nipple. Back and forth, and back again. You close your eyes, your head falling back as you take a deep breath through your nostrils. 

You swivel your hips against him, feeling him almost fully ready for you already. 

Your heart begins to pound, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.  

But a voice rings out in your head.

Rule #2

Fuck. The last thing you wanted to do was stop, especially as Dean’s excitement rubbed against your thigh, but you had rules for a reason.

You straighten your neck and drop your hands and Dean’s eyes fall at the loss of contact.

“For the love of god, I need you to move as fast as you can and get a condom,” you order in almost a groan.

Dean’s mouth pops open as he stares at you.

“Preferably now.” You command a hint of annoyance at his delay.

“Condom, right.” He nods, stepping away from you, and your body bucks at the loss of contact, trying to find him again.

“Don’t move.” He points at you before turning on his heel and taking off down the hall.

You can hear his footsteps echo through the empty corridors, and you run a hand through your hair as you gyrate your hips against the table, not wanting to lose the momentum you had started to build. 

Seconds later, Dean reappears, his chest heaving and eyes bright, a silver packet in his hand. 

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” He takes in your needy state, having caught you grinding against the cool map beneath you.

“Just get over here.”

With three long strides, Dean is right back between your legs, and you scoot yourself forward as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into as you crash your lips against his. 

His fingers dig into your waist as he holds you close, your lips fervently playing against each other as Dean’s tongue slides his way into your mouth. You catch his tongue with yours as you drop your hands from around his neck, trailing them down his body until you find the waist of his jeans, and more specifically, his belt. 

With eager fingers, you begin to undo the leather from the loops as Dean’s hand tangles into your damp hair, tightening his grip as you pop the buckle open. 

He groans against you as you undo the button of his jeans, earning yourself a nip on the lip as you unlatch his zipper.  

With both hands, you shimmy his pants off his hips and down that round ass of his, hearing the buckle clank against the floor. 

You lean into Dean, your hands now free to cradle his jaw as you refuse to break the kiss. You can feel the skin around your mouth starting to dry out, but you don’t care. 

Dean’s hand leaves your hair, and both hands suddenly hook into the elastic of your sweats. You lift your ass as he matches your movements just a few seconds prior, letting the fabric pool around your ankles as his hands cusp your backside.

Dean’s fingers flex into the bare skin before he pulls away, finally breaking the kiss.

Your chest heaves as he looks down, his mouth open with a smirk.

“No panties?” He quickly looks back at you, his eyes sparkling. You just shake your head.

“Fuck that’s hot.” 

His voice goes straight through you, and you can feel the moisture growing between your thighs as the pulsing returns with a vengeance at his praise. 

“Just put the damn condom on already.” 

Dean’s mouth opens, but no words come out as he suddenly drops you, and you swallow hard as your warm skin makes contact with the freezing cold of the table beneath you. 

God damn map table.

You shut your eyes and take a breath, trying to focus on anything but the ice box under your ass as you hear a tin foil wrapper open and the sound of lubricated rubber. 

Dean’s warm hands slid under your ass again, lifting you up in time to look down and see Dean is ready and waiting for you.

He aligns the two of you, his tip teasing your folds before he lowers you onto him. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms coming around his neck as you stretch over him, groaning as he fills you once again.

“Fuck,” you moan, not caring about your personal rule, seeing as the two of you were completely alone. 

Dean buries his head into your neck, his hands pulling your ass to the edge of the table before steadying himself against it.

He begins to thrust into you, and you gasp as the new angle lets him hit higher than it did last night. 

You drop your head against his shoulder as he picks up the pace, your ragged and raspy breaths mixing together as you bounce against the table with each quick and rough thrust.

“Ahhh” you moan as you feel yourself beginning to tighten around him. Your heart begins to race and your breath catches as your head lolls back.

Fuck. Yes. Right. There. You think in time with his thrusts as the string in your stomach pulls taut. 

Dean’s fingers dig into the skin of your hips as he growls against you, and just like that, the string snaps and you yell out as your walls pulse like an earthquake around him, the vibrations shooting down your legs and up your arms. 

Dean’s arms wrap around your waist as he bites down onto your sweater. 

He grunts as he pumps harder, each thrust just missing the beat of your orgasmic pulse, making you hungry for the two to meet. 

You wrap your legs tighter around Dean, pulling him even closer to you. Your hands dig into his hair and he pumps faster beneath you. The dull ache of your orgasim is replaced as your toes curl and you bite down on your lip, feeling yourself building again.

“Please…don’t…stop,” you beg with the little breath you have left.

Dean responds with a quick rhythm and you clench around him before you explode again with another cry. 

Your whole body pulses as you ride your second wave, barely registering Dean’s own grunts beneath you. 

“God damn it,” you pant, Dean’s head resting against your shoulder, and your head resting on top of his. Both of your bodies heave against one another as you work to catch your breathes. 

“For the record,” you swallow, taking a moment to fill your lungs. “That’s not what I came out here to talk to you about.” 

Dean’s body vibrates beneath you, and he lifts his head away from your hoodie, a laugh on his lips and a flush to his cheeks.

“And yet, here we are.” He shakes his head with a breathtaking grin, and you can’t help but match his smile. 

“Here we are.” You agree.

Dean shifts under you, lifting you up and placing you back down onto the not-so-cold-anymore table as he removes himself from inside you. 

You swallow down the groan at the loss and hop off your seat, pulling your pants back up around your waist. 

You were definitely going to need a rinse off after this. And new pants. 

You lean against the table and watch as Dean tosses the condom into the empty wrapper and pulls his own pants back up, taking a moment to redo the belt you had taken apart. 

Once modest again, Dean shoots you a smirk before leaning next to you. 

“So what did you want to talk about?” 

You reach into your pocket and pull out the pen and paper, shifting to face Dean as you hold the two in front of his face.

“You wanted to give me a note?” Dean’s forehead creases as his eyebrows fold. You huff and roll your eyes. 

“It’s our rules.” You unfold the paper and pass it over. “You asked for rules, this is what I put together.”

Dean grasps the paper from your grip and you watch as his eyes scan your words.

“I’m obviously open to changing whatever so the rules work for both of us, but these were all I could think of for right now. Also figure we can add to it as things pop up.” You retake your spot at his side, trying to see where on the paper his eyes were. 

Dean’s lips purse as his eyebrows raise.

“Did you sign this?” He asks in bewilderment, his eyes leaving the paper to find yours. You just shrug.

“I don’t know, just figured I’d make it official, ya know.” Dean’s mouth drops open and you can see amusement coloring his green eyes.

“Don’t laugh at me!” You throw your hands out in front of you. “I’ve never done this before.” 

You watch closely, your eyes narrowing, as Dean’s mouth opens and closes, words starting to form, but never coming to fruition. 

“Fair enough.” He grabs the pen from your outstretched hand and spins on his heel, placing the paper down onto the table and signing his name next to yours. 

He straightens up and turns to you, the flimsy piece of notebook paper flopping between you. 

“It’s official.” He grins as he towers over you. 

You smirk and grab the paper from him, refolding it and tucking it back into your pants. 

“Well I guess it’s settled then.” You hold up your hand in the small space between the two of you. “Looking forward to doing business with you, Winchester.” 

This time, Dean laughs, the entirety of his upper body shaking. But he places his hand in yours, and you wrap your fingers around it, giving it a firm shake

“Right back at ya, sweetheat.” He winks as he drops your hands. 

You roll your eyes and push off the table. 

Time to head back to the shower. You follow the path out that you took in. 

“Oh,” you stop mid stride and pivot on your toes, glancing over your shoulder. 

“Make sure you clean the table before Sam gets home.” You wink, and disappear down the hall.

Chapter 4

FwB Tags

@iprobablyshipit91 @goldngguk @roseblue373 @spnfamily-j2 @marvelsmylife @sarahgracej @sacriceria @winchestergypsy90 @jdmswife @suckitands33 @kliness @deans-baby-momma @icequeen1371 @foxyjwls007 @deansbbyx @beskarfilms @deans-spinster-witch @nakedshowerdean @iamsapphine @ghostofjoharvelle @sexytholland @tmb510 

LMK if you would like to be added to the tag list!

[gumballavocadoharry]

Two singles, one baby:

*Harry's POV*

It was the glare of dawn that stung me awake with it's sharp resilient rays. The yellow glow shined on my face, nudging me awake before yell of my alarm could. I lazily rolled myself over the edge, where I could stretch myself awake. I heard stretching was a way to wake up in the morning and keep you from falling asleep.

It was practical advice for me, seeing as how only a week ago my problem lied with my bed head hitting the fabric of my soft feathery pillow. But I figured it was either a 5 more minute sleep or my job to pay the bills, so I think I made the right choice. I moped downstairs into the kitchen, where I heated the kettle on the stove, after pouring water inside. Oh how I fancied a cup of hot tea in the morning. I preferred the latter over coffee, only drinking the highly caffeinated drink in the case of my morning stretches not being enough of a wake up call.

While waiting, I took myself to my kitchen nook to listen to the cheerful melody's of the little sparrows that flew in and out of the backyard. I was a simple man, who enjoyed the small things in life. That's why living in this humble little blue house in the middle of the neighborhood was suitable and adequate. Some of my friends liked the high rise life of living richly or beyond their means; often setting them in debt before we graduated college.

They would always joke and nickname me the 'mom' of the group for my modest comforts and nonchalant attitude of partying wildly and running risky acts. I much rather preferred independent nights of ordering takeout and binging corney movies.

The hissing of kettle uprooted me from my seat, excitedly ready to pour a cup of chamomile. I fixed a slice of toast and bacon with it, before taking the breakfast to the table to enjoy. My eyes would toss themselves back and forth between my breakfast and my phone; checking emails from work and if there was anything that needed to be done. My eyes glanced to the round green clock that was hanging over the kitchen calendar. My morning walk. I never miss it, mostly because from being the stuffy office, it was the few little glimmer of vitamin D, I could conquer before the bullet of nightfall would reach, once office hours came to a halt.

I all too eagerly grabbed my sweat jacket and threw on some clothes. Nothing fancy or exercise type because it was more of a walk around for enjoyment with the benefit of getting healthy. I took a step outside on my welcome mat; the fresh air filling my lungs with tranquility and morning weather. After locking my front door, I walked onto the concrete sidewalk, taking the dew of the early morning.

The grass was still moist, the birds chirped eternally and the sounds of the world were quiet yet busy. But it wasn't until my eye caught the sight of the slender lady with her usual long ponytail that swung back and forth, withlist pushing the tall bulky stroller that carried her ten month old baby girl.

From what I heard of her, she's a single mother and widow. I see them always walking in the neighborhood every morning like me, sometimes whistling a tune along with the tweets of the birds that fly around. She always says hi when we pass glances from sharing the wide sidewalk. It's only then that I notice just how beautiful she is. Her treacly smile, her ticklish laugh, her peachy cheeks that she shares with her daughter is enticing. Like a waterfall in a greeny forest. Her daughter is already her mini mirror as she not only has features like her mother scarily, but her mannerisms are exactly like her as well.

If I'm lucky, I'm able to catch a glimpse of the infant who sits patiently in her in facing stroller, flashing her adorable little smile that I can't help but reciprocate with my own dimpled one. The only words I've said to the young lady were a "hi" which is as much as I could choke out. Walking up to her and asking: "Hello, I'm Harry. Wanna go out on a date with me?" And then watch her run away from me in horror. I shook the odious thought from my head; wanting to continue my pleasant walk.

But eyes kept glancing back and forth from the lady and baby, walking across the street. Her house must be there? I almost knocked myself into a streetlight from watching the beauty take her quotidian strolls. My heart sped up a million times just from staring at her. And no, it wasn't from the walk that I was accidentally hyping myself up from. Butterflies fluttered around inside my nervous stomach when her diamond eyes would beeline over in my direction.

She was a catch. And I was ready to wheel her in as well. But there just wasn't a moment where I could start a conversation and we would share a laugh, maybe escalate to a coffee or a fancy dinner? Or....

I was getting ahead of myself. I often pictured it being a icy day in the break of winter, her car getting stuck; me shoveling it out; giving her some hot chocolate...maybe giving her baby a teddy bear or story book. My daydreaming is what caught me off my toes to my beeping watch. I rushed back inside the house and ran into the shower, scrubbing myself so I could be ready for work.

I threw on my uniform that was office styled in a dress shirt and a red tie and khakis. Granted it wasn't the 'coolest' style of clothing I've ever worn, but the benefits of being in an office cubicle half the day; became greater upon realizing this was one of them.

I grabbed my cell phone, wallet and keys, before whisking myself out the door and into my car.

Telemarketing wasn't the most favored job in the world, as it was met with abrupt hangups, people cursing you out and just no one answering. But that didn't stop my paycheck. I mean, I knew as much as the next person telemarketers were annoying, but I've never known anyone to be in a full on rage with them; in the same way detectives, police officers and lawyers have to watch their backs of lurking perpetrators everytime they dare start the engine of their car or sit by a clear window in their own home.

At least that's where my worries took me: in a deep little whirlpool of the duskiness and fatalistic little carousel I took myself on. But despite the supposition of the job, it did make me gain more respect for the telemarketing industry. I don't find myself joining in with all those people who hang up impatiently or who condemn them as a blocked number in their phones out of sympathy.

After all, I would go through that a hundred times a day, no matter how much of a genial tone I would portray. One guy actually threatened me to the extent of finding where I live. I hung immediately and reported the number to my supervisor who took him off the call list.

It wasn't until I pulled up the short 5 foot tanish building, that my mind ran into work mode. It was basically second nature now to not have to strain a jovial tone with people who couldn't give a crap about your marketing and weren't opposed to let you know it.

But it wasn't like we were scamming people: I could never work for someone who does; we were actually meaning it with the things we tried to advertise: life insurance, car insurance, even random things like food, clothes and makeup.

I usually worked in that department, as it wasn't as brutal there.

The long fatiguing hours went by faster than usual; which came as a surprise as I spent most of the time watching the tiny particle dust bunnies float effortlessly in the sunlight.

I was charmed to see the sun was beetling in between twilight and the diluted water blue that had variations of peach and sunkist mixed together. I was so eager to enjoy the rest of the day, that I had subconsciously undid my tie before even setting in my car.

The radio played some mellow hits that were entertainment for getting home; but only upon then I saw the ponytail lady and her baby, who was a wailing mess. I practically hopped out of my car car while it was still moving and parked it in the driveway.

I noticed them on my side of the street and standing only a little feet in front of my house. Despite the jitters dangling in the back of my throat, I still managed to gasp out an: "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, well...no. My little girl's toy is stuck in that tree and....I'm sorry I didn't mean to stand in front of your house...I was just thinking of how I could get it down..."

"It's no problem-I'll get it," She looked at me like I was a magician who had just claimed to tell the future. But her face changed once she saw the guy who was in khakis and a loose tie, climb the tree like a desperate monkey and snag the little barbie doll with such ease. "Thank you so much!" She gratefully said. She was enamored at the moment I handed the baby her doll.

She cooed and smiled at with 3 toothed grin. "There you go sweetie," I cooed. "Thank you again" Her mother said, this time more sentiment in her voice. My eyes were infatuated with her grateful glimmer in her eyes. Maybe it was that fatherly instinct she sensed in me that charmed her; after all, I did always want children. "She's so cute, what's her name?" I said, hoping to break the ice of our anything but casual stares at one another.

"Bethany, but we call her Beth for short," I punctuated a smile, "That's a pretty name...Bethany." I liked the way it rolled off my tongue. And what's your mummy's name?

"I'm Yn," I think she sensed my notion. "Beautiful name, yn," I said with such grace. It rolled and bounced off the tip of my tongue and into a bucket of first impressions. "I'm Harry," I said, practically filicking myself for not giving a proper introduction to myself.

"Harry. A boy in my class had that same name and I always loved it." Yn tried to make small talk with the little piece of info she had to use with me. I smiled, the deafening sounds of awkwardness were becoming confident. "It was nice meeting you...and you," I said waving to Beth. "Thank you, it was great meeting you too, and thank you again...she loves that doll." Yn's voice sounded junctured.

She bit her lip wanting to say more, but left it at that. "See you around." She smiled and walked off, holding the little girl in her arms. I smiled, watching her walk away. Yn. Her name was now a tattoo in my brain. It played like a video montage of all the times we've interacted.

But this time was different. I went back into my house and started on dinner which consisted of a light sandwich, lemonade and some little debbie cupcakes I had stored away in the pantry.

My evening plans consisted of sappy comedy shows and my elementary school dinner. But it was the thought of Yn that summoned my mind off the unfilling dinner. Her perfect cupid's bow that themed her curvaceous lips were a plump bunny pink. Her natural rosation of her cheeks in the brilliant sunshine; her perfect smile that flaunts her rigidly straight teeth. Everything about her just seem to come into this distinguishable beam of light.

My heart became warm and fuzzy from thinking of her presence that was so illuminating. Yn had a certain awe about her that made her stand out. She could enthrall attention without even trying. And of course, the little beauty that she always takes with her is an eyestopper too.

My night dreams were filled with a flourish of her face. I know some might call it a pathetic teenage dream; a childlike wish that would never be wished upon by a star. But to me this was something....

Yes, I knew it was just a little crush, but it was just mere loneliness that was anchor to my wishes of a companion. The flicker of being alone wasn't as scary as the thought of not mattering to someone. I wanted someone, I wanted to make someone happy. Someone to cherish; not out of desperation, but genuine lust of a meaningful relationship.

The answers to my wish were upon on my front door with a number that led to yn, and an invitation to a coffee date.

My heart.....was taking shape to such a glorious frame. And yn's name....was an imprint to it.

*Sorry if the ending was a bit dopey....*

To @haarrrys for giving me inspiration everyday!!!!

[all-legs-no-nothing]

Sister in Ana, let me give you a recipe for FAT BURNING tea!

We've all heard about green tea and it's part of our culture, but let me tell you about tumeric. Good heavens above! Now you can have something caffeine free at night!

For this you shall need:

Tumeric

Pepper

Mint (optional)

Cinnamon (optional)

So, why these spices and herbs?

Tumeric has this great component called curcumin. It is metabolized in your body with the aid of pepper. The benefits include: reduced high blood pressure, reduced cholesterol, reduced blood sugar, SUPPRESSED FAT TISSUE GROWTH, prevented insulin resistance, high antioxidants, bile production aka it speeds up your digestion.

Why I add mint? Mint is the best girl to fight bloating. Cinnamon, along with great flavour, also helps lower blood sugar and prevents insulin resistance, all which help you lose weight faster.

These all put together will help you get AND keep a flat tummy! <3

[fullofgutsndopamine]

put me back in (i would do it again)

or; re-visiting old ghosts

more wcbah here (not mandatory to read other parts. doesn’t necessarily follow the timeline either so)

TW: cursing, mention of past abuse, PTSD, bad coping skills, mention of alcohol/alcoholism (not charlie or r)

For a long time, the street was forbidden.

like some kind of imaginary barrier forbid you from crossing that section of the street, some physical force putting a hand against your chest and forcing you to stop, to reevaluate, to think this through

usually it comes in the form of charlie.

for awhile, a mystery problem would come up; the pain that radiates down his leg that only seems to come up when close to this block would flare up, the sky would turn darker and charlie would insist it was time to come home, promising a warm mug of tea.

charlie could tell the hesitation.

his hand tangled in yours, he’s whistling as his head is up, looking high into the trees, the reds and greens and purples that only a midwest fall can promise you.

they get to the stop sign. you wait for charlie to open his mouth, to come up with an excuse, to fake an injury.

instead, he squeezes your hand: “i think the Marshall’s put their boat up last week, finally. I was working on their pier-“

your breathing is as timed as the beating in your chest. charlie is obviously making small talk, trying to make this less frightening-as if you hadn’t tossed and turned and lost sleep over this house and the monsters that roamed the too small four walls.

charlie’s grip on your hand tightens as the old house comes into view. you aren’t sure if it’s for your benefit or his. his voice never wavers, and he’s talking nonsense, just talking to be able to talk, but it’s comforting.

“fuck.”

the for sale sign creeks as it flips in the wind.

the house is just as you left it; the peeling paint, the mailbox on the ground. it’s like you and charlie never existed, never made it out, never did anything, ghosts dancing on the lawn between the houses.

you only realize charlie let go of your hand when you feel the empty space.

“charlie.”

your voice is harsher than it needs to be, and your whispering, which is unnecessary as everyone is gone, ghosts don’t haunt this part of town anymore.

“cmon. just want to see.”

leaves crumble under his boots and he kicks some away as if for confirmation, seeing his and yours initials in the old pavement by the mailbox, as if the nightmares aren’t enough to confirm this is the place.

“charlie!”

your practically yelling but he can’t hear you as he walks towards the door, his fingers linger behind as he traces over the peeling paint of the house, how some chips and gets stuck under his nails, how he’ll carry that with him

“do you think the lock is still broken?”

his hand rests on the door.

“shouldn’t we let the dead rest?”

it’s heavy in the air, because no one’s actually dead-you both just wish, most of the time. this house has seen it all, you’ve both seen it all, and it would only make sense.

his hand rests on the door handle before a gust of wind makes something in the front fall over.

you and charlie race back home, feet flying you to your sanctuary breathless as charlie yells, “go, go, go.”

charlie waits a few days to bring it up.

dark bags are under his eyes. he’s back to not sleeping-most nights you find his place in the bed cold, grabbing an old shirt of his off the floor as you walk downstairs in search of him.

“i was thinking.” he says carefully a few days later. he’s talking to his plate, his head ducked and he’s the nervous boy you grew up with again, always saying the wrong thing, always in the way.

“hm?”

it’s a half committed response, flipping through a newspaper you borrowed from the neighbor. they’re gone for the fall, but can afford to leave the subscription going, the least of their problems, so it continues.

“your old house,” he says, making your head whip up, “we could buy it.”

your hand grips the nightgown you’re wearing.

“charlie.”

“make it a home,” he says, using his knuckle to push his glasses up his face. they’re still broken, lean towards the left, “i already called. we can set up a meeting.”

“make it a home.” you repeat, “charlie, we got scared by the wind-“

“i won’t be scared,” he shakes his head, “not with you there. go with me?”

his voice drops and it almost sounds like begging, on the verge of tears.

“please.”

the days to the visit crawl and run at the same time. you find yourself busy with projects that aren’t necessary: raking the same leaves, watering half dead flowers-charlie takes the time off from the small projects he makes himself busy with around town, doesn’t leave your side.

it feels like a death march.

guilt and dread gnaws at your stomach, rips through you-but charlie is humming, smiling, as he walks hand in hand to a place you both memorized.

“and this here is the kitchen-“

it’s weird, having a stranger show you a house you grew up in. can see the marks on the wall by the stairs where charlie would mark how tall he was in comparison to you, the creaking stairs with the railing that falls if you grip it too hard-the sink that still leaks-

how the realtor would constantly be trying to get you two back on this tour, finding something to try and make this house appetizing

the stairs creak and groan as you follow upstairs, bow you hesitate until charlie steps in front, puts one foot in front of the other and offers his hand:

“i got us.”

the twin sized bed in the bedroom right off the stairs, that charlie never truly fit into, the nights he’d practically roll off the bed. the windows that creeked with the wind, flooded in the fall-

the first night is spent in the too small room. charlie insisted he could throw the twin sized mattress in the trash, buy a new mattress in a few weeks, that the pillows and blankets on the floor would be like a sleepover when you both were kids and the shadows scared you still, chased you to his front door.

you sit on the edge of the mattress as charlie walks around the room, his fingers trialing behind everything.

kelly, the realtor, has long given up. said to meet her downstairs when you’re both done, to give you space, explore the “rich history of the house.” you and charlie both hold in the laughs.

hands are shaken and papers are signed that day.

the move doesn’t take long; you both don’t own much and charlie keeps falling this a fresh start, trying to throw away anything that feels wrong. insists this time will be different, that he’ll make this right.

during the day, the house doesn’t seem too nefarious. you’re able to wash dishes at the sink, charlie hammers at the stair case, a cracking radio in the back-it feels like the house on the hill, for most of the day.

until night falls. shadows creep and bolt as you make your way around the house, hand in hand with charlie, even for the restroom. anxiety rips at your throat. but every time you look at charlie, he’s smiling. it’s all teeth, a genuine smile you haven’t seen in awhile, and his voice is low, borders on a hum as he talks:

“we’ll get it right, this time.”

charlie wakes you up from the floor. the front room doesn’t have much; spent most of the day dreaming up where things could go-a television, eventually, a small couch-charlie had a hand full of your paintings he insisted you brought with, spent the day with an arm full of them-holding them against the walls, tilting his head, trying to get it right-a nail between his teeth until he found the perfect place-marks the spot.

you were hoping to get away with it, sleeping in the front room. it was like before, when exhaustion finally took over and you two passed out wherever you could, only until the other woke you up, marched upstairs.

instead, you crawl into the twin sized mattress, back against the wall. it’s scary for only a moment-suddenly you’re a kid holding your breath waiting for your father to come home again-

until-

until

charlie slides into the mattress. it creeks and dips wit him but your hand is tangled in his against his chest and you can feel the steady beat from his chest to talk you off the ledge.

“tell me a story.”

charlie laughs from behind you. it gets captured in the too small room, makes itself louder. you imagine it chases away the ghosts that hide and peak and linger behind the doors

“i think i’m all out of stories, honey.”

“one more,” you’re all but begging, “for old times sake.”

this time, he isn’t drowning out noises. not the refrigerator slamming shut and the sound of a bottle cap hitting aluminum floor. the yelling, the “i’ll find you. you know i will.” charlie’s lips don’t need to be pressed against your ear to be the only sound you hear now. you’re a kid and you believe in princess’ and far away lands and happy endings again-

“once upon a time,” charlie drawls, “in a place far, far away-“

when you wake up, the sun is shining through the windows and you can hear the waves being chased to the shore, crash, build themselves up again

the spot where charlie laid is cold. you can smell coffee in the air, and the radio cracks downstairs.

he’s smiling, as you walk downstairs. a handful of nails again, but the sink isn’t leaking anymore, can’t hear the drip drip drip that you swore would drive you insane.

“morning, honey.” charlie smiles in the home he made, “made you coffee. figured we could get started outside today-“

and as you curl up next to him, the cup of coffee burning your hand, you’re home.