#now she has to live with it though and man…

[hairmetal666]

It's Wayne that goes with him when he buys the truck. He offers to go with him. Uses one of his few days off to do it.

On the way there, it strikes Steve that his own father would never do this with him. The man hadn't even bought the Beemer himself, just sent an assistant to take care of it. And here Wayne is, driving them to a used car dealership, humming along to some old country-western song on the radio.

It takes three dealerships for them to find it, but Wayne is patient, stoic, takes careful note of the cars that catch Steve's interest. He asks the salesman if he can pop the hood, peers at the engine, kicks the tires. He asks questions Steve would never think of, about adjustments to the odometer, history of repairs, if it was in any accidents.

Steve never considered wanting a truck, doesn't think it's his style. But he's walking the lot at the third dealership, and he sees it. It's a Chevy, blue and white, a few years old. It's in good condition, but was obviously used for work.

He walks towards it.

"You like this one?" Wayne asks. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"Yeah, it's--yeah," Steve nods.

Wayne does his checks, asks his questions, gives a nod of approval.

It's the first car he takes on a test drive.

He barely has it on the road before he knows it's the one. It surprises him. He always thought he was his true self in the BMW, but now--the engine has a throaty grumble to it, can feel it rumbling through his foot on the pedal, and it's--it's--perfect.

"This it?" Wayne asks as they pull back into the lot.

"Yeah, yes. It's. Yeah."

"Well, let's get to hagglin."

Wayne is, of course, an expert haggler. By the end of it, he's got a couple thousand dollars knocked off the asking price, Steve more than within budget.

They drive back to Wayne's little house on the outskirts of Hawkins, the one the government gave him, the sun just disappearing behind the horizon.

Eddie stands on the small porch, wide smile on his face.

"Wow, Wayne," he says. He wraps an arm around his uncle's shoulders. "You really did a number on him."

"It's a solid vehicle, Ed."

"Never took you for a truck man, Harrington," Eddie teases.

"Can't you see how gorgeous she is?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow, his smile not faltering. "Wow, it's true love then."

"Looks like it. Wanna come for a ride?"

There's only a second where Eddie hesitates, but then he's running inside to grab shoes, tripping on his way to the truck.

---

It happened like this:

Eddie Munson died in the Upside Down in 1986.

He's reanimated by Vecna for the final battle, a puppet to do his master's bidding.

When they win, when Vecna is dead in a pile of dessicated vines, they can't find Eddie. Scour the Upside Down for him and come up empty. They have to assume he's dead, like everything else there, kept alive only by Vecna's power. None of them want to leave without him, but the world is destabilized, they can't stay, El has to close the gates.

That night, Steve pulls the battle vest from under his bed, sobs into the blood-soaked denim, the grief from the loss just as fresh as March of '86.

He and the kids, they go visit Wayne. It becomes a regular thing.

Two weeks after the end of Vecna, Wayne calls him. He's panicked, near hysterical, nothing like the man Steve's come to know.

He goes, fast as he can, to Wayne's house. All the lights are off, the front door ajar, and he runs, clattering into the living room.

Wayne is in the recliner, face pale and strained, and on the couch--on the couch--

Eddie Munson.

His hair's lank, his skin sallow, the light in his eyes dim, but it's him. Unquestionably.

Steve does the only thing he can think of, calls Hopper. He shows up a little while later with El and Will.

"I called Owens," Hopper says.

"Why would you do that?" Steve is angry.

"Look, kid, I get it. But none of us are equipped to deal with this."

He's right, so they wait.

It doesn't take the doctor, El, and Will long to figure that Eddie is Eddie, even though his heart beats a little slow and his skin's always cold and his blood is slightly the wrong color. He's still at least 75% human, and that's enough.

Only those six people know. It's dangerous to tell anyone else when the world still thinks Eddie Munson is a serial murderer. Owens asks for time to clear his name, and they have no choice but to agree.

After two days, Steve thinks he should give Eddie and Wayne space, but as he rises to go, Eddie's hand grips his wrist. "Stay?" He asks. Steve doesn't leave.

It's hard, keeping the secret from the rest of the kids, Robin. He wants to tell her, more than anything. About how they share a bed most nights, how he's memorizing the shape of Eddie's body in a way he shouldn't, how the gentle desire turns to profound longing--but Eddie's safety is the most important thing, so Steve keeps it to himself.

---

They go out in Steve's truck almost every night, always on backroads. It's the only way Eddie can leave the house.

It's Steve's favorite thing, the only time Eddie seems truly happy. They roll the windows down, turn the music up, and whip around deserted farm roads. Sometimes, Eddie will stick his head out the window, shout out into the night.

Steve is in love with him.

He has no idea if Eddie feels the same, figures it doesn't matter. He'll harbor this flame for the rest of his life without complaint because Eddie is alive.

He thinks he's done a good job at hiding his feelings, thinks he's able to avert his gaze, hide his blush, when Eddie comes out of his room in only his boxers, thinks Eddie hasn't noticed how Steve's eyes linger when they share joints lying in the bed of the truck.

Except tonight--tonight--they're driving back home, and Eddie, he's been quiet, distant, fidgety, and now he reaches out to turn down the radio, which has Steve's stomach in a knot.

"You--Steve, you've been so great. To me and Wayne, and--you're family, you know? To us, you're--but--"

And Steve thinks this is it, that Eddie noticed, that he's being let down easy, and he wants to throw up, cry, but Eddie's still talking.

"You have a life to live, right? You're--you're 23 and you're not stuck here like me, and I know Robin is ready to go and the kids are--they're going to college soon, and you shouldn't stay here for me, I'm--"

"What?" Steve says.

"What?" Eddie echoes.

"I don't want to leave," Steve says.

"But--"

"Where you are is where I want to be."

"I'm in love with you," Eddie says. Cover his face with his hands.

Steve pulls the truck to the shoulder. His hands are shaking.

"You love me?"

"I'm sorry." His apology is muffled. "I didn't mean--I know this fucks up--"

"Eddie." He says, soft. "Look at me?"

One deep brown eye peers up at him. "Eddie, I--I'm hopelessly in love with you."

Both eyes now, mouth a bright curve. "You mean it, Harrington?"

"Fuck, can't get enough of you, Munson."

"You know, if I thought for a second anything like was possible, I would've--fuck, I would've made a move ages ago. I would've--"

"Shut-up," he whispers against Eddie's mouth. "Kiss me."

---

And later, Robin will ask if he has someone, and he'll say yes, and she'll ask, soft, "is it him?" and he'll nod, and they'll both cry.

Later, a news report, Eddie Munson's body was recovered from the bottom of Sattler Quarry, bearing the same wounds as Vecna's other victims.

Later, Chief Powell will hold a press conference, say they're looking for a man named Henry Creel, wanted on suspicion of killing his mother and sister and the aggravated assault of his father with an MO that matches the 1986 killing spree.

Later, Steve will shave Eddie's head, Eddie crying softly as the hair tumbles to the bathroom floor. Steve will kiss the tears away, one by one, say, "I know it's hard to let go. But we'll move away, to a place where people say 'you look like that guy, that Eddie Munson,' and you'll say, 'I get that a lot,' and your hair will grow back, if you want it to."

Later, they'll invite everyone to Wayne's , everyone except Dustin, busy in Boston with an internship, and Eddie will be there to welcome them.

Later, he and Eddie will take the truck, drive up to Boston. And Eddie, he'll spy Dustin first, walks up to him and says, "Pretty metal tattoos, little dude," and they'll all cry until Dustin stops to yell at them for keeping the secret.

Later, Steve and Eddie will leave MIT--Dustin screeching that they have to call him every night promptly at 8pm still ringing in their ears-- in search of their future.

[ford-ye-fiji]

this got too long for the tags, sorry op you just get this up here now. Anyway, do yall wanna know??? Yall wanna know?!! GET READY HERE IT GOES

background: I, college aged adult, live with my parents and younger siblings. The economy is in shambles okay. I’m glad though because it means I was able to help out with this nonsense.

January 2nd starts with driving my grandma to a faraway hospital for foot surgery. Stop to see her husband Pop (she is in memory care and he won’t move out of their house) HE IS SICK AND IN KIDNEY FAILURE. Meanwhile at home, two kittens go into heat a month early and are peeing around the house. We have to install a pee watch cause if they get on the carpets, it is the literal end of the world. At 11 pm, we pick up a cat cage for them to spend the night in, we can’t get a vet appointment for a couple of days but at least that’s earlier than we hoped for. Meanwhile, we have to force Pop to go to a hospital by calling an ambulance on him. He was literally two seconds away from dying surrounded by his own pee filled diapers. That’s the 2nd day of 2024 and it only gets worse from there.

the rest is under a read more cause it got too long, just like this year

hospital visits hospital visits hospital visits, rehab, physical therapy etc etc etc. We can't let Pop go home now that we’ve got him out of the house or else he'll never leave again. He can’t live alone and he lives over an hour away from us. His house is also a hoarder nightmare we’ve been trying to clean for 5+ years. In March, we finally move Grandma into a memory care closer to us, they say Pop and his 2 cats can move in with them (we had been searching for the last five months for an affordable memory care to take them both- if he could ever manage to convince him to move + cats).

Now, Pop is 90 years old (a fact he is fond of saying) and ready to die (a fact he is also fond of saying) so he makes vaguely threatening suicidal comments (which he has in fact been making for the past 50 years). Memory care freaks out and says he needs a psych eval before he can be admitted and IF HE IS they can still kick him out anytime cause he does not have an official dementia diagnosis (bc he hates doctors). Pop is also pretty much deaf and refuses to use hearing aids plus he has a catheter in (because of the kidneys) so extra fun times. Now, the memory care place tells us to take him to the ER for a psych eval. We get there at 2 pm bc this literally happened MOVE IN DAY. At 2:30 am, we finally return home and since pop has no place to stay and we have no room he sleeps on the couch in our living room. Father HATES this. I could understand at this point. He is a neat freak and pop is unequivocally not. He is the exact opposite. He's Pigpen from Charlie Brown.

Anyway, A WEEK LATER, memory care says ok he can come in. Over this uncertain week, we have come to terms with the fact that they could kick him out again at anytime for anything + pop has an aversion to doctors and hospitals + this will be a living hell for him. Like the man hasn’t been to a dentist in over 50 years and pulled his own teeth out rather than go to see them, he is DETERMINED. We make the decision to finish the basement. It is the only spare room we have available and finishing it would make it livable for a 90 year old man. Plus, with him helping to pay for it and if we budgeted really well it should be possible THIS IS STILL MARCH, LIKE MARCH 25TH, THE YEAR HAS BARELY EVEN BEGUN YET.

We ask uncle (oldest son of pop) to help as he is only other living nearby sibling. Uncle is handy man so can help with basement and thus help pop save money since he is also paying for wife/grandma memory care. He says yes. His wife and our SIL is also like my father. She is a neat and control freak. Pop goes to stay with them while we begin construction mostly bc we have to fill the living room he’s sleeping in with stuff from the basement. My bedroom is in the basement, so I move out of it out and sleep with my littlest sister- who sacrifices graciously with little complaining about the invasion of her personal space. Our SIL on the other hand makes our lives hell for the next two months, constantly complaining about his presence and not being able to do stuff she wants AND that we are taking her husband from her, who btw only came down to our house seven days total to help and that was spread over weekends across about two months. This is all done in passive aggressive fashion over group texts?!?!? Uncle is a really great guy but overestimates how much we can do ourselves. We have to finish with contractors but still got a lot done, thank you uncle, plus we learned how to diy drywall and mud. We still paint the basement ourselves to save money, finish in 3 blistering days and I ache in every way imaginable BUT. JUNE. IT IS FINISHED IN RECORD TIME. Pop is in the hospital again (since around the end of May) bc of an infection. When he is discharged, we take him back. We get his catheter out after a prostate shrinking op, which is wonderful! No more pee on couches from the occasional faulty catheter leaking.

Meanwhile, we have been cleaning out their house, trying to find what is actually salvageable and meaningful in their hoarders nest of a house cause we need to sell it to keep Grandma in memory care cause that is PRICEY. Pop isn’t a perfect house guest but if you leave handwritten notes or ask him not to do things he will comply (like we had to ask him not to clean what little remains of his teeth out with toothpicks in the living room and to not then spit the food bits??? Onto the carpet??). Gentle reminders and wordless gestures pretty much communicate well. He is also always saying thank you and making funny jokes which more than makes up for the downsides. Sometimes he has fits of old man temper, as he is 90 now, but that is to be expected. His brain is going and he is no longer quite the Pop we once knew and loved. Father doesn’t get this and is constantly seething about what how filthy he is. Familial strain is at an all time high because these are the grandparents his children love immensely because they were a) always willing to help- like Pop literally wired our house and b) were always around and always helping us and c) very loving and doting grandparents. However, bc of father's discomfort, we decide to ping pong Pop back and forth with uncle and SIL (they have a massive house and much older kids all moved out except one) theoretically every six weeks. We also finish cleaning out their house as much as possible and sell it. Lots of crying. This is the only house they’ve owned, as dirty as it was, they lived there for sixty years. Mom grew up in it. I practically grew up in it. It’s gone now.

August 16th we send him to uncle and SIL so we can have a break. Our family has given up a lot, especially mom who stopped her part time job + helping out at church + doing things she loved. Shoutout to my mom actually for being the best daughter in the world, I cannot compete. We all just need a minute to breathe from this.

But two days later he’s broken his hip at Uncle and SIL's house. We coordinate hospital operations and get him into a rehab near us. Then move him back in. Since both me and Pop now sleep in the basement, I spend these months sharing a bathroom with him and helping monitor his health. I sometimes wake up and, hearing that he isn’t coughing, go to check on him and make sure he’s alive.

September 16th, Grandma is in the hospital after a fall. After a lot of consultations, it is found that she needs to be on hospice. She doesn’t have long. We spends the next few weeks visiting her a lot and taking pop to see her.

October 8th. Grandma dies. We have to tell Pop. We coordinate and plan her funeral.

December, we need a break so we cautiously send Pop back up to stay with uncle and SIL. Pop has a doctor's visit almost a week and a half later so mom goes with SIL bc she is basically his medical manager and SIL doesn’t really know much.

We've known that his heart could fail at any time and that they could fix it with a surgery (which pop wouldn’t want. He has remained adamant that surgeries are not an option for him, he only got the prostate op done cause it wasn’t invasive at all). There is also a minimally invasive operation for his heart that might give him longer to live, but he needs his teeth fixed first. That will never happen and pop would not want it ever. So, our only option is, he needs to go on hospice. He also needs a short hospital stay (because his heart can’t pump properly so his lungs are filling with fluid, which will eventually kill him if the fluid isn’t sucked out periodically. He is drowning on dry land, it’s horrifying). SIL tries to dump him back with us because of this, she does this without asking or saying explicitly just by bringing all of his overnight stuff back to our house. Uncle simply comes down himself a couple days later to get pop from hospital and his stuff from our house. I am privy to more family drama than I have ever wanted to know.

Anyway as of today 12/31, he is still alive and well and due to come back to our house early on the 1st so uncle and SIL can go on a family cruise. I say Pop for 2k25, he can do it!

THINGS THAT I FORGOT:

-grandma was constantly in and out of the hospital bc of falls cause she forgot she was wheelchair bound and tried to stand

-having to find our grandparents cats a new home which almost didn’t happen and was a huge source of stress because for a time we were afraid that we'd have to give away these sweet creatures to a shelter

-constantly having to drive grandma to wound care that was an hour away because of her foot operation

-in December we also helped my oldest brother move from his apartment to a house and painted his living room and bedroom in three days bc we have painting experience now 💪

-the kittens refusing to stop licking their incisions from their operation and absolute refusal to wear cones and us scrambling to find a solution for that. They hated it but they didn’t lick the glue off and we got to take pictures of their misery so ha

-one heart stopping twelve hours where we thought one of our cats got rabies but he just got out and ate a bug. apparently cicadas can make your cat foam at the mouth PSA everyone

-I finally found another job and I started school back up

-my mom was so stressed her body decided to screw her over and give her vertigo for a few horrible weeks where she couldn’t drive anymore

So TLDR; 2024 was not my year

and grandma and pop I’ll love you forever

[impactrueno]

after seeing so many people bring up Drop Dead Fred in the comments of my bj & lyds comic, i decided to finally watch it last night and oh my god. i get it now. that's literally them, it's crazy???? i mean not 100% but i'm still shocked at how much they reminded me of both beej and lydia in looks, personality and dynamic (i gotta say though, i'm surprised that fred is more chaotic and infuriating than beej lol. fred makes him look tame in comparison)

it's interesting that tim burton was offered to direct this movie. i can definitely see how that would've turned out. the dark humor, the aesthetic of the imaginary friends and the inside of elizabeth's head already felt pretty burtonesque as they were in the movie, so i don't doubt he was a source of inspiration regardless.

fred and elizabeth though...it's crazy how much this feels like a spiritual successor to the beetlejuice cartoon. obviously it has its own identity so it's not like it's a beetlejuice ripoff or anything, especially since elizabeth is an adult dealing with adult problems and fred's existence is kinda vague in the sense that you don't know how much of him is actually imaginary/part of elizabeth's mind, and how much of him is an actual entity separate from elizabeth. i think by the end he struck me as some type of fucked up guardian angel that only manifests to those who need him. his purpose and reason of existence are directly tied to elizabeth (or whoever needs an imaginary friend) due to her needing some sort of coping mechanism to deal with abuse from her mother and her ex-husband. so like...part of her brain (her taking special pills weakens him until he disappears) but also not. he just exists with the sole purpose of helping her get back on her feet.

which is why i'm baffled at this letterboxd review i saw when i logged the movie:

girl what the FUCK are you talking about.

(spoilers: there is one kiss. one very non-sexual non-romantic goodbye kiss between elizabeth and her living coping mechanism/figment of her imagination/guardian angel of sorts after she managed to heal her inner child thanks to him. i am straight up stupefied that someone would interpret this whole thing as grooming. what movie were you watching)

i'm surprised in general at how so many people completely missed the point of the movie. people taking the gross out immature humor at face value as if that's what the movie is about has me worried about people's media literacy for real lol. this perception of the movie made it flop in the US and even had david letterman condescend to rik mayall when he interviewed him back when the movie came out in 1991. man.........don't piss me off lol

anyway. weird but ultimately lovely movie, it makes so much sense that this is a comfort movie for many and now i totally get why my comic reminded people of it. i understood what they were going for and it's tragic that general audiences did not. it's a movie that's hard to market for sure, because it looks like a kids movie at first glance but the themes and humor are very adult; but then an adult might look at this movie and go "why am i watching a movie where an imaginary manchild calls this girl snotface and makes all these crude gross out jokes" so i'm just. pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration at how misunderstood this movie ended up being

so yeah if you like beetlejuice and lydia's friendship in the cartoon, definitely watch this movie. just know what you're in for lol

[quarterlifekitty]

Okay listen I know I said I would stop but you adding onto könig gave me IDEAS.

Him fucking you while you play on your switch once you two get to his, frankly abysmally plain and sad, apartment in Austria only for him to whine about the switch taking too much of your attention and yoinks it from your hands.

Don't ask how he gets you papers, all that matters is now you're his wife and you're in his home country. Oh, you don't like where he lives? That's okay, he'll pick out a much better place. Oh, you only speak English/your native language? Good. He'll be the only one you need to talk to and he can translate anything you need to read and he'll fill out any silly forms needed.

Hope to god that if you don't want kids that your birth control is a fuckin implant. Though, it will only delay it. Not stop it. He wonders after a month of you living in Austria on top of however fucking long he was deployed near you, and not seeing you take or mention any type of birth control, why you aren't pregnant? Sure, hes.....older.....but that shouldn't be an issue, he read an article about a 68 year old man fathering a new baby a week ago. He's healthy, especially for his size. So just what could it possibly be? He decides to dig into your medical history, just to be sure, you can never be too careful, and there he spots the reason his little maus has yet to take. No worries, he knows a doctor.

Well. This got progressively out of hand. Would you believe me if I said I'm not even a könig main girlie?

I would believe you bc that man takes hold like a virus in your system man

The apartment is just a stepping stone— a family needs a house, he knows that, so he has you help him pick one. And I’m gonna say something. The ones he chooses to take you to and view… he picked based on how you build Minecraft houses. And maybe I’m a weenie, but I don’t think he takes your switch! You can’t really go out because you don’t know the language, and he’s gone for long periods on deployment— it’s good for you to have something to do. If he’s trying to spend time with you, he can just loom over you (you’re getting distracted by his cleavage tbh) and gently pull it away, putting it on sleep mode and on a side table.

And you know what. Perhaps a controversial opinion. He gets hard watching you play animal crossing. The way you decorate your little house and do all of the gardening, cooking, crafting. Taking care of the happiness and needs of all of the cute little animals. You’re already perfect at playing house! You’ve got free rein to use his cards to decorate however you want. Make the house a home, you know? And I don’t know about you, but I always have stuffed animals and cute toys all over my animal crossing house. So, to him, you’re basically already subconsciously ready for a baby.

I doubt reader has an implant in this, because she was terminally celibate before he showed up lol. But I do find the concept soooo funny. That he’s trying to get you pregnant so desperately, but of course he hasn’t told you that at all. He just tells you he’s coming inside and you go okay 💖 yay 💖. So like he could ask if you’re on contraceptives and you’d probably tell him but then he might have to admit to what he’s doing and he’d rather just read your entire medical history lmao. And he totally lies to you about why it has to be taken out. Saying there isn’t really medical care to maintain it in Austria, so you should really just have it taken out now.

And then you ask if it’s ok for him to keep giving you creampies even though your implant is gone. As usual, he says it’s fine— that you can let him worry about that!

[pitchsidestories]

Everything I know about female friendship II Arsenal Women x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2136

summary: Everyone in your flat share has moved on, except you. There used to be five of you, Alessia, Victoria, Laura, Laia and you, and now you think you're celebrating New Year's Eve alone in a flat that, if the pictures on the wall were anything to go by, was once full of friendship.

author's note: Dear readers, we hope you'll have a fantastic New Year’s Eve and a great start into 2025; however you choose to celebrate it.🫶🏻🫶🏻

This New Years’ Eve felt significantly different from all the others before. This year you weren’t out partying, dancing until the early morning hours and you also didn’t spend the night with your housemates and a bottle of champagne in your shared living room.

For the first time since you moved to London you were alone. Everyone that had shared the house with you at some point, had already moved out again. There was no Laura, no Victoria, no Laia and no Alessia anymore. Just you.

You really thought you had made peace with the idea that you would end the old year and start the new year alone. But sitting there, waiting for the hours to pass, the emptiness started to feel weirdly heavy. To counteract the silence, you put your favourite record on and opened a bottle of wine that you had saved for this night.

While you were pouring yourself a glass, a sudden ringing on your doorbell made you jump and almost spill some of your wine.

“I’m coming!”, you called out. Leaving your glass on the table, you slowly walked towards the door. As soon as you opened it, Victoria beamed at you: “Surprise!”

You didn’t know what to say. Victoria and Laura stood in front of you, their arms linked. Laia and Alessia appeared right behind them with multiple bags in hand.

“Wow, I thought…”, you stammered but Alessia didn’t let you finish.

“That we’re all celebrating somewhere without you?”

You nodded hesitantly: “Actually, yes.”

“Wrong!”, Laura clarified quickly and pushed past you into her old home without waiting for you to beckon them in.

You let the other girls pass without protest as well. Laia was the last one. She looked up towards the clouded sky one last time before going inside: “I wish the weather was better though.”

You almost snorted. Whenever she had the chance, Laia would bring up how bad the weather in England was compared to Spain.

Victoria rolled her eyes: “You will survive, Laia.”

”Would a hug help?”, you asked to which the Spaniard nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

“Knew it.”, you laughed before pulling her towards you. With your chin resting on Laias shoulder, you forgot for a moment that she didn’t live here anymore.

You stayed there until you heard Alessia yell from the kitchen: “Oh my god, we need to upgrade your dinner for tonight!”

Laia and you followed the others into the next room. You shrugged nonchalantly: “What’s the problem with wine and crackers?”

“With wine, you need Italian food.”, Alessia stated.

“And a spanish dessert.”, Laia added before turning to the other two Arsenal players that were too busy with their lips on each other to care about any kind of food. “And no, Vicky and Laura, you cannot each other up. Respect the single ladies here!”

“And we want to contribute some Dutch and Austrian food.”, the defender explained with a cheeky smile on her lips.

You couldn't help but get a little sentimental as you watched your friends teasing each other, reminding you of the time when you all called these four walls your home. The melancholy hit you out of nowhere and your heart was torn into a million pieces, but the presence of your friends managed to put the many shattered pieces back together again.

“Man, how I missed you girls.”, you sighed whole-heartedly.

There was an amused sparkle in Alessia’s eyes when she replied to your comment: “We still see each other in training. We’re not completely gone.”

“Yes, just because we moved out doesn’t mean we’re not your friends anymore you idiot.”, Victoria reminded you with her direct Dutch manner.

Instead of looking into anyone’s eyes you focused on the flickering candlelight in front of you, while you admitted: “I know that. It just sometimes feels a bit lonely. I miss the random talks in the living room and stuff like that.”

 “No wonder you’re a bit down the music is depressing.”, Laia observed, making her way to your beloved record player.

Maybe because the Spaniard herself went through dark times in her football career she was the one who was able to find the lightness in every moment so easily it was an art the defender perfected over time.

“Don’t turn that off!”, you protested smiling weakly.

“Can anyone help me to top the pizzas or not?”, asked the blonde striker.

Luckily for her the Austrian was the first to offer her help as they swiftly went to the kitchen to give the food the last finishing touches before it was put into the oven.

Alessia's face was one of pure concentration: “What do you think more cheese?”

“Of course, more cheese!”, Laura declared.

The half-Italian nodded in agreement: “Alright.”

“Laia put on something more.”, Victoria began but was confidently interrupted by the Catalan woman.

She assured her grinning: “You don’t have to tell me, I’ve the best playlist for that.”

“Excuse me!?”, you formed your lips to a pout which could almost compete with Leah Williamson’s one as Laia switched to Latin dance music.

Laia's brown eyes twinkled mischievously at you, her hips starting to swing to the rhythm of the beat: “Just trust me on this.”

“Fine, but I won’t dance.”, you quickly clarified.

She shrugged unimpressed by your statement: “You don’t have to.”

“Good.”, you replied.

“But you will later.”, Laia stated firmly.

A soft smile was playing on your lips: “I’m unsure about that.”

“Girls, the pizza is done.”, Alessia chirmed, the delicious smell of the Italian dish which was made by her family recipe filled up the room.

When she and Laura placed the finished pizzas fresh from the oven on the table, Victoria clapped excitedly:” Amazing.”

“Come try it.”, the Austrian said, waving Victoria over to her.

While the midfielder sat down, Laura cut her a piece of pizza and held it in front of her face so she could take a bite.

Victoria chewed happily: “It’s so delicious.”

One after the other, you all joined the table, pouring each other wine and trying the pizzas.

You watched all your friends crowded your kitchen like they used to do a few months ago.

“At least you’re all happy now.”, you grinned.

Laia turned to you with a raised eyebrow: “You should be happy too.”

“I am.”, you replied a little too quickly. A half-truth that came too easily and that was hard to describe to other people.

Alessia shook her head. As usual, she looked right through you: “She is not.”

“Rude.”, you said. You weren’t offended but a little taken aback by how quickly she caught on to your lie.

The striker remained unimpressed: “At least you haven’t told your face that yet.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, you hadn’t realized that you were frowning. Your eyebrows had begun to knit together, creating a small crease on her forehead, and her molars were clenched together. A bit longer and you would have given yourself a headache by the end of the evening.

Victoria refilled your now empty wine glass with a gracious smile: “Yes, so how are you really.”

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to let your guard down: “I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”, Laura asked for confirmation.

“Yes. I just get a bit sad and nostalgic around the end of the year.”, you finally admitted.

Your friends went quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but rather a thoughtful one which was quickly ended by Laia looking at you incredulously: “But you can be proud of yourself.”

“Proud? Are you serious?”, you laughed.

“Obviously I’m serious.”, the Spaniard nodded, glaring at you sternly.

You shook your head, the crease between your brows making a reappearance: “Of what?“

“Oh my god, are you kidding?”, Victoria suddenly burst out.

“No.”

The dutch midfielder heaved a frustrated sigh. “Remember when you moved in here? Look at you now.”

The memories came back with force like a ball hitting you right into the face during a football game. It was one and a half years ago and you should have been overjoyed to have just signed your first contract for Arsenal, but all your thoughts were preoccupied with your recent break-up. Your move to London was the last straw for your ex, she ended the relationship via text. The majority of your first few weeks at Arsenal were only made bearable by your housemates.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh about your past self: “Vicky, I was a heartbroken wreck back then.”

“That’s what I’m saying! You’re so over it! You’ve grown so much as a player and as a person!”, she disagreed with you passionately.

You let your gaze wander lovingly over the faces of your beloved friends before concluding: “I grew only because of all of you.”

“Hey, no. With us all.”, Alessia corrected you promptly with a knowing smile playing on her pink lips.

She was right about that when you thought back fondly on the development of the friendship between the five of you.

The sense of togetherness you all developed on and off the pitch was nothing short of remarkable. Even at hard times when things with the head coach got difficult you stood together. Yes, you had befriended teammates in the past, but the true power of female friendship was evident in your former roommates.

“You’re right, Laia’s English improved so much since she moved to London.”, you remembered smirking.

“Excuse me?”, the Spaniard huffed playfully.

Laura patted her shoulder sympathetically:” It’s true.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”, Laia admitted.

You gratefully squeezed the striker's hand: “Thanks for the pizza, Lessi. It was great as always.”

“You’re welcome. I tried to perfect the recipe in the past year.”, Alessia proudly raised her chin.

With curiosity in her voice, the Austrian wanted to know:” Is it originally from your Italian family side.”

“Of course.”, the blonde replied, her laugh warming even the coldest of hearts.

Meanwhile Laia rose solemnly from her chair:” You know what, girls?”

“What? It’s not midnight yet.”, you remarked after you checked it on your phone.  The time really flew by when you spent it with your friends. While the conversation and the wine flowed.

The defender rolled her eyes in annoyance:” I can read a clock, y/n. Thank you very much.”

“So?”, you looked at her with anticipation.

“Yes, what are we doing?”, Laura questioned matching your excitement.

“It’s time for dancing.”, Laia announced grinning roguishly.

“No.”, you objected.

“Yes.”, she answered, her voice full of enthusiasm.

“Laia”, you warned her as the Catalan pretended not to have heard the warning and took your hands to lift you from your chair.

“Come on, y/n.”, Laura interjected.

“Ugh.”, you groaned while the fellow Arsenal players started to dance around you.

Slowly you began to move your body to the music as well, feeling the weight of the year being lifted from your shoulders as Alessia chirped in your ears:”You’ll feel better afterwards.”

The promise which the sentence held turned out to be true. The melancholy wasn’t gone entirely, but there was a lightness in your steps now which was new tonight.  

“We’re such bad dancers.”, you laughed out loud.

“Who cares?!”, Alessia asked, flailing her arms as she spun in circles around the room.

You thought about if for a second and then nodded: “Good point, actually.”

Victoria who almost knocked a small golden table lamp from one of the dressers while doing the robot, reminded you: “It’s just us!”

“And that’s more than enough.”, you said fondly as you watched your friends doing silly dance moves in your living room like they used to.

They didn’t hear you though. Instead, the music stopped, and your teammates suddenly scrambled through your apartment. A glance towards the clock revealed why. It was five minutes before midnight. Victoria and Laura ran out on the balcony, carrying snacks while Alessia and Laia frantically filled champagne glasses.

You met on the balcony exactly at midnight, quickly clinking your glasses together.

“Happy New Year everyone!”, Laura yelled into the night sky, right as the fireworks started around you.

Victoria pressed a quick kiss to the Austrians cheek before turning back to the group in front of her: “Happy New Year, girls!”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest as you just stood there on the balcony, watching your former housemates and current teammates sip on their champagne and light some sparklers.

The nostalgia was still there but less sad and heavy. It started to transform into something that filled you with hopefulness and excitement for the new year. You felt at peace knowing that no matter what, the girls would always be by your side.

You blinked at them one more time: “Can’t wait for another year with my girls.”

gif and image source: https://www.tumblr.com/stargirlsfc/746487956612775936/lets-fucking-gooooo?source=share, https://pin.it/3K5c1msTJ

[lovecla]

THIS IS MY PLAYPEN ; JACK HUGHES.

WARNINGS unedited, jealous jack!!!!

WORD COUNT 0.7k

FROM ME TO YOU it’s officially 2025 where i live and i just wanted to write something short and funny because we need more jealous jack fics in this world *mark ruffalo protesting meme*. honestly, i’m just so grateful for all of you i wish i could drag you to my home and smooch you all. thank u so much for everything!

𐙚

“I FEEL like a skirt shouldn’t be that short,” Jack says, eyeing you across the room. “I mean, when she bends over to do that I can literally see her panties.”

“You mean when she bends over to grind on her best friend?” Luke chuckles, leaning against the counter. “She’s just dancing, man.”

“The problem isn’t her dancing—”

“The problem is that you’re not the one she’s bending over for, right?” Luke rolls his eyes when Jack gives him the finger. Sometimes he felt like Jack was the youngest one among them all.

“I could totally be the one she’s bending for,” he says, acting all nonchalant and unimpressed. Luke almost laughs with how full of bullshit his brother is. “She likes me.”

Luke sips on his beer, and Jack turns around, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say anything? Do you know something I do not?”

Luke places his glass on the counter and raises both of his hands. “Man, chill. If she likes you, if she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter; that’s not why we’re here today. It’s Mercer’s birthday, so suck it up, dude.”

Jack knows he should listen to his brother and act with his upper head, but it gets so hard— literally— when he has to stand there with his teammates and pretend he’s not watching your every move like a fucking creep.

He had never noticed how hot you were. He knew you were pretty, because only a blind person couldn’t do so, but hot? Yeah, no. You were usually the type of girl who wore large clothes, and even though he thought you were cute nonetheless, now that he’s seeing you with other eyes, he realizes he can’t live without having at least a taste.

But fucking Johnathan Kovacevic beats him to it, and Jack seriously wants to punch the guy in the face because really? Can that dumbass not see Jack spent the last thirty minutes or so eye fucking you? Like, hello?

He knows he can’t really be upset, but when you smile, bright and sweet, he swears he’s seeing red everywhere.

“Dude, chill, what the hell,” Jack hears someone say, but he doesn’t even acknowledge who. He just keeps staring as you lean forward to reach Kovacevic’s ear, standing on the tip of your toes.

You look so fucking gorgeous. Even if Jack believes you shouldn’t be wearing something that short— not because it doesn’t look good but because he can’t even protect you if someone decides to try something funny—, he knows you’re the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

Yet now you were laughing at Kovacevic, probably not even funny, jokes.

“Luke,” he calls his brother, who silently rolls his eyes before putting his phone down to give his brother his full attention. “Can you, like, help me out?”

“I’m not going to talk to her,” he says. “What is this, fifth grade? ‘Hey, Y/n, my brother really likes you and would like to hold hands during recess if that’s possible—‘” he says, doing a very annoying voice.

Jack holds in the need to punch him.

“No. I meant something like getting Johnathan out of there or something,” he explains. “So I can go talk to her.

“That’s just as childish but fine.”

Luke makes his way to where you and Johnathan were standing and says something that makes Kovacevic’s eyebrows meet his hairline and, the best part, also makes him leave.

So you’re standing in the middle of the dance floor by yourself, but not for long because—

“Hey, there, Y/n,” Jack greets you, trying his hardest to sound cool. You chuckle, smiling at him.

“Hi, Rowdy. How are you?”

“Better now.” He answers smoothly, which makes you laugh.

“You’re awful,” you grin. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Mercer? It’s his birthday…”

“I’d rather be here, with you,” he puts his hands inside his front pockets, and you stare at him closely. The hat he’s wearing makes him look hotter, even if it gets you a little bit sad because you can’t fully see his perfect, golden hair. “You look hot.”

You tilt your head, the unexpected compliment making you blush. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he hums. “You look even hotter now that you’re not talking to other guys.”

That makes you roll your eyes, even if you’re still smiling. “You sound like a toxic boyfriend.”

“I could be that, yeah,” he smirks.

“Toxic?” You raise your eyebrow.

“A boyfriend,” he presses his lips together. Then, “Your boyfriend.”

“Well,” you step closer, looking up at him. “I think we can make that work.”

He smiles before kissing you, and surely, the rest is story.

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2024:

BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah - E, 21 chapters, Words: 195,969 - “In my humble opinion there’s only three things that men should be and that is bloody, slutty, and pathetic.” And, on a good day, Draco Malfoy can be all three. When war heroine Hermione Granger and Azkaban-tattooed war criminal Draco Malfoy are forced to wed as part of Shacklebolt’s controversial Reconciliation Act, they openly fight the match and each other—their public brawls breathlessly reported by the press. Secretly, a deeply traumatized Draco delights in Hermione’s attention and pines for a real marriage with her—even as her forced proximity to the Black family magic irritates the cursed scar Bellatrix left on her arm, reminding her why she can never truly trust or forgive him. Then Hermione discovers that Draco’s blood will soothe the scar . . . and Draco is willing to trade his blood for her body. (With post-war blood purity politics, black market potioneers, Pansy Parkinson’s career advice, the Malfoys blackmailing Hermione’s Wizengamot opposition, BDE Neville Longbottom hunting Death Eaters, a slutty Theo Nott serving as Draco’s right-hand man, and Crookshanks loose in Malfoy Manor.)

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Meet Me In Dreamland by sinflower81 - E, 39 chapters, Words: 229,631 - If there’s one thing Hermione Granger is good at, it’s using magic to fix her problems. And this time, her problem is sex. Luckily, she has the perfect solution: a locket enchanted with the Patented Daydream Charm. Whenever she opens it, she’ll find herself in Dreamland, where she can live out all her filthiest fantasies risk-free. The magic is a bit tricky, though. For some reason, Malfoy keeps showing up there with her. Thank goodness it’s only an illusion—if that was really him, she would never live it down. Meanwhile, Draco is determined to figure out who the fuck is cursing him to suffer through highly realistic, erotic hallucinations of his secret childhood crush. When he finds the culprit, there will be hell to pay.

The Missing Sister by singularritae - M, 75 chapters, Words: 652,727 - The owl appeared late at night and left just as suddenly, he recognised the handwriting immediately and ripped open the envelope. She is yours. If something happens to us, I want you to hide her. Name her Hermione, for she will have my last libation before I sleep and be the messenger of dreamers. Moony and Mary know. Three words. Three words that forever changed the course of the war.

A Gallows Marriage by MilaBelle - E, 31 chapters, Words: 162,244 - “Glee was the last thing she felt staring into the empty eyes that should have been a bright grey. His face had always looked pointed and sharp, but now that gave way to gauntness. His hair, which he had been so particular about in school, hung long and limp. It reminded her of how his father had looked in his mugshot. How he had wanted to be just like his father growing up. And now he was, maybe more than ever. A ghost.” After doing more than her fair share in saving the Wizarding World and bearing the scars of what it cost, Hermione Granger thinks she has earned herself a little respite. But when a charismatic albeit chaotic Theodore Nott convinces her to use an old law to save a dear friend who is about to meet the Dementor’s Kiss, she simply cannot stand by and watch. Follow Hermione as she navigates a world that still believes in blood status, a marriage to save the life of an old enemy and the hurt that comes with surviving.

an ever-fixed mark by ninepiecesofcrait - E, 28 chapters, Words: 208,118 - It was a comedy of errors how Hermione Granger ended up engaged to Draco Malfoy, really. A series of unfortunate events. // Malfoy looked at his bloodied hand and the ring on the cobblestone floor, and sighed. “Well, Granger.” Grey eyes finally raised to look at her. “Now look what you’ve done.” // [while working to break a curse in malfoy’s cellar, hermione accidentally touches an enchanted betrothal heirloom from the noble house of black. things rapidly fall apart from there.]

The Best Mistake by Chels_Writes_a_Fic - E, 26 chapters, Words: 127,444 - Hermione Granger does not make mistakes, at least not often. After making the biggest, dumbest, most horrible mistake of her life, Hermione must deal with the repercussions while keeping her relationship with her Auror partner, Draco Malfoy, strictly professional. He, of course, has other plans. Amidst a resurgence in Death Eater activity, the likes of which Britain hasn’t seen since the First Wizarding War, Hermione will come to realize that the mistake she’s made with Draco might not be so bad at all. It just might be the best mistake.

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Mind the Bump by Soap1 - E, 28 chapters, Words: 84,050 - Hermione Granger and her colleague (and, though she sometimes hates to admit it, her friend) Theo Nott, are busy at the Research Institute for the Alchemical Sciences, working together on an innovative, though secretive, project that more than one person might like to get their hands on. She doesn't have much time for dating, and certainly isn't ready to think about starting a family. But after an exciting, though unexpected, one-night stand, she finds herself pregnant. With Draco Malfoy's baby. As her research continues, as her pregnancy progresses, will she be able to make room for Draco in her life?

Détraquée by Hystaracal - M, 108 chapters, Words: 728,097 - "All her growth was the conveying of a corpse of hope." (From 'The Rainbow', D.H. Lawrence) This is a story about coming into one's own, a meditation on the twilight of girlhood and the violence of crash-landing into womanhood. Follow Hermione as she navigates through the quagmire: Saving the world, getting top grades, falling in love, lust, and a whole lot of trouble, and comes out of it hopefully (at least) partially sane.

[theonottsbxtch]

A FUTURE WORTH LIVING | CS55

an: this was a request from @carlossainzapologist and RAHHHHH they’ve given me so many ideas chat be ready to be blown up on here please enjoy knight!carlos

wc: 3.6k

The castle walls were always cold at night, the chill seeping into her bones no matter how many fires roared in the hearth. She stood at the balcony, the silk of her gown whispering against the stone as the wind tangled itself in her hair. Below, the training yard was empty, save for one figure—Carlos.

He moved like the ocean, each swing of his blade fluid and unyielding. Moonlight danced along the edge of his sword, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to mock her. She had watched him countless nights like this, a silent penance for the sin of her love. The knight was hers in duty, bound to protect her with his life, but not in the way her heart so desperately craved.

She clenched the railing, the cool stone biting into her palms. Tomorrow, she would stand before an altar, draped in gold and jewels, and vow her life to a man she barely knew. A prince who was everything a kingdom could hope for—noble, strong, diplomatic. And yet, she could barely remember the color of his eyes.

Carlos, on the other hand... She could sketch the curve of his jaw from memory, trace the faint scar that cut through his brow with her fingertips. But he had never once looked at her as though she were anything more than his charge.

She turned away, unwilling to let the tears fall where they might be seen, even by the night.

“Your Highness,” his voice broke through the stillness, low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine.

She hadn’t heard him climb the stairs. “Carlos,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

He stood in the doorway, his armor glinting faintly in the moonlight. “It’s late. You should rest.”

She laughed softly, bitterly. “Rest will not come easily tonight.”

He hesitated, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’ve...much to think about, I’m sure.”

Her heart twisted at his careful tone, the way he avoided her gaze. “Do you ever think about what it might be like to leave all of this behind?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos stepped closer, and for a moment, she thought he might say something—something that could shatter the fragile balance they had maintained for years. But instead, he bowed his head.

“My duty is here,” he said, his words as unyielding as the steel he wielded. “With you, always.”

And wasn’t that the cruelest part of all?

She turned back to the balcony, desperate to hide the tremble in her lips. His words echoed in her mind, a hollow comfort and a deeper torment. With you, always. But never in the way she longed for.

“Duty,” she murmured, tasting the bitterness of the word. “And what of desire, Carlos? Do you ever think of what you want?”

The question hung between them like a blade poised to strike. She didn’t expect him to answer; he never did. He was a master of restraint, trained to subdue his every impulse, his every want, for the sake of the kingdom.

But this time, he faltered.

“I have no right to want,” he said at last, his voice tight with something she couldn’t quite name.

She spun to face him, her heart pounding. The stoic knight who had stood at her side for years, unflinching, unyielding, looked...fractured. His jaw was clenched, his hands trembling at his sides, as though holding himself back from something he couldn’t afford to let loose.

“Everyone has the right to want,” she said, taking a step closer. Her voice was steadier now, emboldened by the crack in his armour. “Even you, Carlos.”

He shook his head, “It’s late, Your Highness,” he said, his voice cold again, the mask he wore sliding back into place. “You should go to bed.”

Her heart stuttered.

“I…” She swallowed, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “Carlos, I—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice a little softer but still firm. “It’s been a long day. You need rest. Tomorrow, I’ll be here to take you to your wedding.”

The words stung, sharper than any blade. Your wedding.

Her chest tightened. She nodded, but it was a hollow motion, an empty gesture. “Of course,” she whispered, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “I will go to bed.”

Carlos didn’t move, didn’t speak, as she turned away, her steps heavy as she walked past him and into her chambers. His silence followed her like a shadow, and when the door clicked shut behind her, the walls seemed to close in.

She collapsed onto her bed, the weight of the night pressing down on her chest. The tears came then, hot and relentless, streaking down her face. She buried her face in the pillow, her sobs muffled by the soft fabric, but the pain was no less real. How many years had she spent in this prison of her own making? How many nights had she wondered if he felt the same? And now, she had the answer.

He had never loved her. Not like that.

The cruelest part was that she had always known it. He had always kept his distance, had always put up that invisible wall between them. But tonight—tonight, she had hoped for something different. A sign. A glimpse of what could be. But instead, he had pushed her away, as he always did. As he was bound to.

And tomorrow, she would marry a prince. Not Carlos.

The thought was suffocating.

She cried until the tears were spent, her body aching with grief. The room, the bed, the very air around her felt like a tomb. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, but sleep was fitful, filled with dreams of a life she would never have.

When the morning came, bright and cruel, she woke to the sound of birds outside the window. The sun was already rising, casting its light on a future she was powerless to change.

The day had come.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror in her chamber, staring at the reflection of the woman she was supposed to be. The dress—gold and white, sparkling like the dawn—felt like a weight, a gilded cage around her body. Her hair, braided intricately, was pinned perfectly in place, but her heart was a mess of tangled threads she couldn’t untangle. She had spent the last few hours preparing, her hands trembling with the knowledge of what was to come. The crown, the prince, the vows.

But as she looked into her own eyes, she saw only a woman who had never been allowed to choose her own fate.

Her father’s voice echoed from outside the door. “It’s time, my daughter.”

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears.

When she stepped into the hall, the air seemed to thicken with the weight of expectation. The guests were already seated, whispering amongst themselves, all of them dressed in their finest clothes, their faces a blur of curiosity and anticipation. The music began to play softly, and her heart raced in response.

She could feel every eye on her as she made her way down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. The golden carpet stretched out before her like a path to a life she had never wanted but had been told to accept. Her father’s arm was warm and steady at her side, but his grip felt more like a shackle than a reassurance.

And then, she saw him.

The prince stood at the altar, tall and regal in his embroidered cloak, his expression composed but his eyes glimmering with the excitement of their union. He was a handsome man, noble, with a smile that promised safety, security. But it was a smile she had never truly felt for.

The thought of marrying him—of giving herself over to someone who had always been a stranger to her—gnawed at her insides.

She caught sight of her people sitting in the pews, the nobles, the courtiers, their faces filled with eager expectation. The kingdom was relying on her. They all expected this—her duty to marry and secure the future of their land. And she had always known it was her responsibility, her burden, to uphold this legacy. But today, as she walked closer to the prince, closer to the altar, something inside her broke.

This wasn’t her life to choose. This was a life written for her before she had even taken her first breath.

Her heart pounded as she neared the altar. The prince’s eyes were fixed on her now, his smile widening. He reached out, eager to take her hand, to finalize the union that had been arranged for years. But something inside her snapped.

She looked to her father, his face a mask of pride and expectation. And then, she whispered—her voice trembling but resolute, despite the tears that threatened to spill.

“I can’t.”

The words were quiet, but the silence that followed felt deafening. Her father’s face faltered, the confusion and anger flashing in his eyes as the entire room fell into stunned silence.

“I can’t do this,” she said again, louder this time, her breath shaking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Before anyone could stop her, she turned. Her gown swished in the air as she fled from the altar, her heart pounding with every step, every beat screaming to be free. The room erupted in chaos, gasps of shock and whispers of disbelief. Her father’s furious voice called after her, but she didn’t look back.

She ran down the aisle, past the stunned guests, toward the doors. The weight of their eyes was suffocating, but it wasn’t enough to make her stop.

But then, as she reached the doors, she heard it—the sound of footsteps, fast and urgent. A figure pushed through the crowd, his heavy armour clanking as he moved with determination.

Carlos.

Her breath hitched as he came to a stop in front of her, his face flushed with exertion but his eyes filled with something softer—something she hadn’t dared to hope for.

He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t need to. The world had stopped, leaving only the two of them.

“Carlos,” she whispered, her heart thundering in her chest.

He looked at her, his gaze gentle but firm. “You’re not alone,” he said, his voice low, raw. “I’ll be here. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she allowed herself to breathe, to feel something that was her own.

He reached out, taking her hand with a tenderness she hadn’t dared dream of.

“Come with me,” he urged quietly.

Without a second thought, she nodded, her heart finally free of the chains that had bound it for so long.

Carlos led her swiftly through the palace, his hand firm around hers as they moved with purpose. The chaos of the wedding behind them still echoed in the corridors, muffled voices and heavy footsteps trailing in their wake, but they were already a world apart.

He knew every hidden corner of the palace. Every secret passageway and forgotten alcove. He had trained here for years, had wandered these halls long before he had become her protector. Now, as he led her through a narrow, unlit hallway, his grip tightened, a silent promise that he would never let her go.

They reached a small, inconspicuous door at the end of the hall, tucked away in the shadow of a grand staircase. With a glance over his shoulder, Carlos pushed the door open, revealing a small room that had been untouched by the outside world for as long as either of them could remember.

The walls were lined with old tapestries, their colors faded with time, and the floor was covered in a thick rug. There were no windows—no light except for the soft glow of torches on the far wall. The air was thick with dust, but it felt safer than any grand chamber in the palace. Here, in this forgotten corner, they could be hidden from everything, from everyone.

He closed the door behind them, the click of the lock sounding final.

For a moment, they both stood in silence, catching their breath. She was still in her wedding gown, the fabric bunched around her legs, her chest rising and falling with each breath. His hands were still warm from the grip he had kept on her, his fingers now twitching with the need to touch her again.

Carlos took a step closer, the heat between them building. His eyes searched hers, full of questions, but also something deeper—something he had fought to conceal for years.

She swallowed, her voice barely a whisper. “What now?”

Carlos didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. His touch was hesitant, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he moved too quickly.

“I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “I didn’t mean to make you run. But I couldn’t let you do this, not when I knew you weren’t ready.”

Her heart skipped at the weight of his words. He knew her. Truly knew her.

“You should’ve let me go,” she whispered, her voice strained. “You should’ve stayed out of it. This is not our fight.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “It’s always been our fight, Your Highness. I’ve watched you—” His voice faltered as if the confession had come too suddenly. “I’ve watched you give everything for this kingdom, for your people, for your father. But it was never your choice, was it? Not once. And I couldn’t bear to watch you live a life you didn’t want.”

The words were like a dagger to her chest, but they were also freeing. For the first time in her life, someone saw her, truly saw her—beyond the princess, beyond the duty. He saw her heart.

“I don’t want to marry him,” she said, the words coming out with a rush of emotion she hadn’t allowed herself to feel until now. “I never did.”

Carlos stepped closer, his breath mingling with hers. “Then don’t. Not now. Not ever.”

She looked up at him, her chest tight with something she couldn’t name. “But what do we do now, Carlos? What’s left for us?”

He didn’t hesitate. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to spill from her eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Whatever you need, I’ll be there. Always.”

And in that moment, everything that had been left unsaid, all the years of longing and silence, came crashing down.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against hers for the briefest of moments, tentative, searching. She gasped, her heart racing as she finally let herself feel everything she had been holding back. She kissed him back, her hands moving up to his chest, tugging at the fabric of his tunic, desperate to feel him closer.

The kiss deepened, their bodies pressed against one another as though they were two halves of a whole, finally coming together. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her flush against him as his mouth claimed hers with a fierce urgency.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short gasps as the heat between them intensified, the room spinning with a mixture of passion and desperation.

She had imagined this moment a thousand times—dreamed of it in the silence of her heart—but nothing had prepared her for the reality of it. The way his hands burned against her skin, the way his lips moved over hers with a hunger that matched her own.

Carlos pulled back for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, both of them gasping for air. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve always wanted this,” she confessed, her voice trembling.

And without another word, they kissed again, this time with a fierceness that spoke of all the years they had spent apart, of all the moments they had lost. In that hidden room, within the walls of the palace that had confined them both, they were finally free.

Just as their kiss deepened once more, a sharp, urgent knock at the door shattered the fragile moment between them. The sound echoed in the small room like a warning bell.

She pulled away immediately, her heart leaping into her throat as she scrambled to straighten herself. The panic rose within her, hot and suffocating. What if it was her father? What if the whole palace had come after her?

Carlos, too, immediately stepped back, his expression flickering between concern and irritation. He moved toward the door swiftly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, though it wasn’t drawn. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and in that glance, there was no need for words. They both knew they were far from safe.

The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a low voice from the other side.

“Carlos? Open the door. It’s Lando.”

Her heart skipped. Lando—one of the knights she recognised from the court. He had always been polite, professional, and loyal to her family, but what was he doing here?

Carlos hesitated for only a moment before he reached for the latch and opened the door. Lando stood there, his expression tense, eyes scanning the room quickly. He wasn’t wearing his armor, but he was still dressed in the colors of the royal guard, his dark cloak billowing slightly behind him.

“Carlos,” Lando began, his voice low but urgent, “I’ve heard the rumors. Your princess...she’s gone?”

Carlos didn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on Lando, weighing the situation.

“Yes,” Carlos said, his voice steady but tinged with something like defiance. “She’s with me. No one else knows of this.”

Lando nodded, glancing quickly at her—still in her wedding gown, eyes wide with fear—and then back at Carlos.

“Good,” Lando said, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I’m not here to make trouble. I’m here to get you both out.”

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning. “Get us out?” Her voice trembled, the reality of what that could mean slowly sinking in. “Where? How? They’ll come for us. The entire palace…”

Lando closed the door behind him with a soft thud, cutting off the room’s only escape from the chaos outside. He leaned against the door, his hands steady. “I have a plan. I know the back routes. I can get you on a train, to the border. The prince and your father will have no idea you’ve gone. But we need to move now, before they realise what’s happened.”

Carlos turned to her, his eyes dark with unspoken emotion, but this time there was no hesitation. He wasn’t waiting for her to choose anymore.

But she was frozen, her mind racing. The weight of everything was bearing down on her—her family, the kingdom, her future. She had run away from her wedding, run away from the life she had been promised. It wasn’t just a momentary flight of passion. This was real, and there would be no going back.

Her heart was torn between the life she had been forced into and the man standing in front of her. She had always known she was meant for something more, but this—this escape—felt so final. So dangerous.

The room seemed to close in around her, the walls pressing against her chest as she breathed in sharp, ragged breaths.

“I can’t... I can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Carlos took a step toward her, his hand gentle on her arm. “You don’t have to decide now, but we don’t have time. They’ll find us, and they’ll make sure you marry him. You’ve already decided you can’t go through with that. So what are you going to do? Stay here, be forced into a life you never wanted?”

The words stung, but they were true. She had always been the dutiful daughter, the princess. She had always done what was expected. But this—this was hers.

She looked at Lando, then back at Carlos. The decision was there, right in front of her.

The chaos of the wedding, the pressure of her family’s expectations, the silence she had lived in for so long—it all came rushing to the surface. She didn’t have time to think anymore.

Fuck it.

The thought shot through her mind like a spark to kindling.

“Let’s go,” she said, her voice steady now, her decision final.

Carlos’ eyes softened, relief flooding through him. He reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “You won’t regret this.”

“I already have,” she replied, a wild grin breaking across her face. “But this... this is my choice.”

Lando smiled, and with a quick nod, he moved toward the door. “We’ll need to move fast. You two better follow me.”

Carlos took her hand, guiding her toward the door, but before they stepped into the unknown, she paused for a moment.

“Carlos,” she whispered. He turned to her, his hand resting on her back. She looked at him with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. “Are you sure? Will you stay with me? I... I don’t want to be alone in this.”

Carlos stepped closer, his voice firm. “You’re not alone. I will always be here.”

And with that, they followed Lando through the dark corridors of the palace, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance.

They were no longer bound by duty, by royal expectation, by anything but their own desire for freedom. And in that moment, they realised that together, they could forge a new path—one they chose.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby

[atsadi-shenanigans]

A Misuse of Potions 2 - Invisibility

In which I write probably my most demented smut so far. Predator/prey. Buckle up, friends and enemies, cause that man gets REAL WEIRD in this one. Full-force Creachur Astarion.

On Ao3.

On the third day of Eleint, she comes to him. Her dark eyes are warm, her limbs loose, and he doesn’t even have to scent the air to know what’s going on between her legs.

“Would now be a good time?” she says.

Always, he wants to say, though that’s not always true. Sometimes, even now, the memories seep in and it’s all he can do not to shred his own skin with his claws.

But this is not one of those times. This is the third day of Eleint, his Eleanor has a glint to her eye, and they’ve discussed this subject at length.

Astarion snaps his book shut and lets it drop to the floor. Rolls to his feet to sweep her into his embrace and buries his face against her neck to breathe her in, slow and deep.

Warmth, life. Salt and clean.

Moon blood.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” he says and means it. Can tell in her gaze she sees the truth of it.

They’ve planned for this. Extensively. His Eleanor does love her planning. She’s quite prepared.

He’s not even surprised when he follows her upstairs to their bedroom, and she pulls a pack from their wardrobe. Removes the items within and inventories them on the bed. He takes a small, velvet pouch she holds out, and his groin is already starting to tighten. From her scent, of course, and from what he knows this pouch will lead to.

She goes over The Plan again. They both need to be certain, after all. There’s not much on his end; neither of them expect much on his end once they start, save for her words “red light.” She’s used them before; by now they’re both comfortable with it and what comes after, even if it sometimes makes his guts squirm.

No pain follows it, though. Not ever. Not after red light, not after cub. Sometimes they resume, and sometimes they just…stop. Hold each other. Dress and move to the lounge. Sometimes she’ll get herself a bite to eat, and sometimes she’ll give him her wrist or her neck when he needs it.

She dressed carefully, this night, from an outfit she had folded in that pack. It’s cheap material. Far too flimsy for road travel, but it’s meant to be cheap, and he watches her slip the layers on and his cock begins to fill in earnest.

She does not wear her moon blood belt. She does not tuck rags into her trousers (her face flushes adorably as she slips nothing but a single pair of panties on, followed by said trousers).

He has to lean against the wall and keep his arms crossed. His own trousers become uncomfortable.

She notices that. Of course she does. Gives him a little smile, the minx.

“Ready?” she says.

He wants to push her to the floor and spread her legs and—

He steps away from the wall. “Very, my love.”

The teleportation spell is not his favorite, even if it is useful. For this, though, he swallows down his complaints (he’ll be swallowing down much more pleasant things tonight), and a moment later, they step onto soft grass.

It’s a lonely patch of woods. Or as lonely as any patch of untended woods can be. They’d scouted it some months back, when passing near the Bear’s newest little enclave. No one lives out here. No guards, no gaggles. No one to get the wrong idea or try to do something stupid and ruin the night for all involved.

There’s also no goblins or worgs or other worrisome beasts. Just the bunnies and other snacks.

The late summer heat clings to the air, but the wind already sweeps a soothing chill over his face. His Eleanor glances about, her poor, human ears straining, and looks to him.

“We’re all alone,” he says.

His fangs ache. The beds of his nails tingle as his claws threaten to sharpen. Alone out here, in the wilds, with her.

They look at each other for a long moment. He lets himself enjoy the way the silver moonlight—nearly full, lucky him—paints over her skin, sinks into her dark hair.

“You sure about your getup?” she says.

He’s wearing his home clothes, the ones he was loafing about it: a loose tunic tucked into his trousers. He hadn’t thought to change. Had only grabbed his city shoes while trying to adjust himself in his underthings.

He waves her off. “I can replace it.”

Gives her an appreciative sweep. She put on a light jacket and a pair of stays, as she would need the support. At least initially. But they’re the most basic pair she owns. Easy to mend. Or replace, should he get a little…rough.

Most of all, his gaze is drawn to the juncture of her thighs, and the small, dark patch just beginning to show itself.

He’s scenting the air, isn’t he.

He slips the velvet pouch from his pocket. It’s a small thing. Light. Holds only two, delicate golden ear cuffs, which spill into his palm as he tips it.

He slides the first one up, halfway between the lobe and the point. His Eleanor licks her lips like a degenerate. He’d had the initial idea for this outing, but she’d leapt on it, proposed all of these additions.

The other cuff pinches on his other ear. They’re rather plain, with only the hint of swirled knot work along the sides. But they warm his ears as he speaks the activation. The magic sinks into them and spreads like warm fingers (hers) over his ears.

Until the world muffles itself. The racing rodent hearts disappear. The thunderous pulse of his love fades to nothing. He flails in his mind a moment—not used to this, danger, if he can’t hear, if he’s trapped in silence again—

“Still okay?”

He catches her voice. He can focus on that. He’s deafened as an elf. As a vampire. But they tested these on her, and she notices no difference.

“You poor thing,” he says, because she has to live like this, in such a dim and dull world all the time.

She flips him off. Unfortunately for her, he’s close enough to snap at the offending finger. Slowly, of course. Gives her ample time to pull away and snort. Which makes him want to kiss her.

So he does. Luxuriates in her hot mouth, the slide of her tongue, her scent and that heavy, heady ambrosia of her moon blood.

Gods, he’s glad she doesn’t mind letting him feast upon her like this. He tries to remember the feel of his life before this, before the beach and the tadpoles, and he cannot fathom existing so long without this. Without her.

But before he can be carried away, his Eleanor takes a step back. Her cheeks are flushed. Neck reddened down to where her skin disappears beneath her light jacket and stays and under tunic. Her eyes are pools of heat, her lips already swollen.

Her moon blood—when not crippling her in pain—can sometimes spike her desire. This appears to be one of those times (gods below, there’s a damp spot high on his thigh where he’s already leaking).

She retrieves a bottle from the pack she’s secured to her person. Liquid silver sparkles in the moonlight. His nail beds tingle hard and this time he cannot stop the claws from forming.

“You’re sure?” he says.

His delightful contradiction, no longer a virgin but having lost none of her hidden boldness, only says, “Close your eyes.”

He does.

A year or two ago, he wouldn’t have. Blindness meant vulnerability. Meant unseen blows to unprotected places. Meant clawing starvation hollowing his guts and drying out his flesh, his throat so withered he could barely produce a sound that wasn’t a deathly, rattling click.

Now, as he obeys, a shudder of anticipation shivers down his spine.

He can just hear her uncork the bottle. Cannot hear her swallowing, or the air in her lungs, or the way he imagines her own heart races in lust and anticipation.

Nor can he hear her shift closer. Not until the rustle of fabric reaches him, right in front of him. And the scent of her blood suddenly surges. His lips part as he gasps, and his demented little love sticks two, wet fingers into his mouth and the taste blinds him to anything else.

“Trackers need a sample scent, right?” she says.

She’s stuck her hand down her trousers. She’s smeared his lips and tongue with her blood. Lets him suckle desperately a moment before she steps away, and he’s left to wipe his mouth to ensure no drop escapes.

“You are utterly deranged,” he says.

“Pot kettle,” she says, another of her people’s charming sayings.

She falls silent after that. Astarion keeps his eyes closed, searching the spaces between his teeth with his tongue for any last hints of her.

“Darling?” he says after a moment.

No answer.

His cock throbs. His claws fully extend, his fangs aching.

He counts to forty three times. Opens his eyes.

He’s alone. The clearing is empty, with no trace of his darling. Nothing but her scent floating in the air, an invitation to him.

He nudges the empty bottle she left at his feet. It’s not like her to waste anything. Which means this is a taunt. The cuffs deafen his ears to her, a potion of invisibility blinds his eyes to her. All he has to track her is scent. Her skin, her hair, and the dizzying harpy song of one of his most favorite things: her blood.

He has one job. Well, two, but they’re the same in the end.

Track her. Hunt her. Capture her.

And take her. Any way he sees fit (that they’ve discussed, and she was quite open). Her blood, her body, her sex. She’ll try to evade him. But he will find her. He’ll plunge into her, first with his fangs, then with his cock. Or perhaps the other way around. Perhaps both at the same time. He’s not sure. Didn’t bother to plan that far, because that’s what she likes to do.

He sucks air deep into his lungs: plush grass (her plush thighs on his hips), damp earth (her wet cunt pulling him in), the almost sweet smell of late-summer leaves (her arousal thick as he slips his tongue against her).

There she is. Headed immediately for the thickest part of the underbrush. Hoping to hide her tracks, hide her trail, slow him down.

He imagines her crouched behind a tree. The startle as he grabs her, spins her, pressing her to that tree and the way she’d moan as he slipped inside her…

He reaches into his undergarments and adjusts his cock. Running like this won’t be fun, but it’ll be so, so worth it once he finds his devious darling.

He stops at the edge of the underbrush. Looks to the closest tree: a large oak. They’re all large, with wide, thick branches nearly touching.

Astarion ponders a moment, and then slips off his shoes. He doesn’t technically need to, but it seems the sort of thing to do.

Sets his bare foot on the rough bark, and scurries right up the side of the trunk into the canopy above.

Brush doesn’t matter to a godsdamned immortal vampire, after all.

***

The rest is on AO3 because I wrote like 14k for this, goddamn, and also for the horny.

[c0llisiion]

— End of the world (cb)

★ npr, f!reader, angst , bsf!chan , pining , both of them are stupid, slight crack — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 1,620

A/N: a lil angst to close off the year <3

Final year was coming to an end in just a week. 4 years of constant fun, happy, and sad moments were all going to be memories soon.

Your final semester exams were over. Your dorm mates are already packing their things up to move out. Preparations for your graduation were all that was happening on your campus. It was bittersweet in a way.

But you couldn’t shake off this one feeling. The one that you have been procrastinating on for 4 years now. The feeling you tried to push away but never could.

“So… are you going to confess to him…?” Your dorm mate asked as you helped her pack her things. You looked at her slightly confused by the sudden question. And then it clicked.

“Nah.” You gave a vague and straightforward answer, which was not reciprocated.

She turned and looked at you with her furrowed eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘nah.’? How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?” She asks in a longing tone.

That last sentence hit. You halted all your movements and replayed those words in your head. Seriously, how long were you going to keep it a secret? How long were you going to keep gaslighting yourself into believing those emotions aren’t real? For how long are you going to hide away from your strong feelings for Chris?

It was a repeated cycle. The moment you would get some form of confidence, you would promise yourself or others that you would go and confess to him. But that never happened, of course.

And you blame your insecurity. Your paranoia. Your overthinking tendencies.

‘What if he hates me?’ ‘What if he thinks I'm stupid?’ ‘What if he rejects me?’ All going through your head as the long paragraph expressing your feelings for your best friend stayed unsent.

But a part of you justified that. What if he actually rejects you and then there’s this awkward tension that would always linger whenever you guys meet? Then you would have lost your dignity and a best friend.

You let out a deep sigh. And plopped on the pile of clothes laid out on the bed. “I really don't know, man… I really don't... fuckkk..." you rubbed your face with your hands.

“What is there to fear, girl… his rejection or the embarrassment?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“Both; I just don’t want to look stupid in front of him,” which was actually stupid of you to think.

You had this crazy-ass scenario where the moment you confessed to Chan, he would start yelling at you, disgusted, and call you a dumb bitch before spitting on you and walking away. Which was insane and stupid.

But for Chan it was different…

“Dude, you gotta confess to her, like actually call her up and ask her to meet somewhere,” one of his friends commented as they played Mario Kart on a beat-up old TV.

“You think so?” Chan added.

“Yeah man, it's high time; I think you should,” his friend said nonchalantly.

Chan thought about it. Maybe he should. What could possibly go wrong?

“Yeah… but I don’t know how to, though… and like… she has connections with people I'm close with too… Don’t you think it will be awkward once we break up?” He asked, expecting some hard advice from his friend.

“You live once, man; if you like that girl, then go for it. Ask her friend for advice on what to ask or something…” And that’s exactly what he did.

After 45 minutes of your dorm mate convincing you to go talk to him and confess your feelings, you agreed. What could possibly go wrong if you did?

“I’m telling you, just do it! Even if he rejects you, you could always ignore him afterwards; it’s not like you’re going to see each other after graduating, right?” She says excitedly, giving you some form of hope.

You nod, the same confidence building up.

“I’m going to do it.” You say with determination. Your friend squealed in happiness. She leaned in closer. “You know what would be crazier? If he called you right now. Like that would be the biggest omen-"

Your phone rang.

Yours and hers eyes go wide. You both glance at the screen together and see Chris’s name.

Like little girls, you both jump and scream in excitement before shakily picking up the call.

“Hello...?” Your voice was slightly out of breath.

“Oh hey, are you free right now? I've got something important to ask you…”

Your eyes widen at his response. Is this finally it?

You quickly reply. “Yeah… yeah… What's up? Do you like…want to meet up somewhere? I, too, actually wanted to say some things…” You ask, praying that he actually agrees.

“Oh? Yeah, sure… Let's meet at our usual place; how about that?” You could practically see his smile as he said those words.

You quickly said your goodbyes before turning off your phone and looking at your friend.

“It's time.” You say with playful seriousness.

“IT'S TIME?!” She responds with the same tone.

You get dressed in your best casual outfit, your hair and makeup slightly done, as you walk down the path and see Chan sitting on one of the benches, his one leg bouncing anxiously and his head looking around.

Once he spots you, he immediately rushes over to you with a bright smile. His curls softly bouncing and his cute dimples prominent on his cheeks.

“You came!” He said excitedly.

You smile widely and nod. “Of course! What's up? What did you want to say?” You ask cutting right through the chase.

He takes a deep breath.

Your excitement starting to bubble up.

“You know… I always wanted to ask you this”

Oh my god, you couldn’t believe that it was happening.

“And we have been friends for a really long time, and I trust you very much…”

Shit. No way. Is it happening?!

“I kept it to myself because I didn’t want to offend you…”

Offend you? What does he mean by that?

“You know you are friends with her and everything…”

Oh no. No way THIS was happening.

You held your breath as you waited for his final words, just hoping that he does not say what you were dreading.

“I really… I really like f/n…”

Your heart shattered. Your eyes went wide, and a shocked look was plastered on your face as you tried registering his words. Your mind went completely blank, and you couldn’t see or hear anything, just your heart beating extremely fast. That paragraph that you always wanted to say was quickly swallowed down back to where it belonged, you thought.

He continued rambling. But it was all muffled. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you didn’t even realize he had stopped speaking.

“Y/n?” It was when he finally called out your name that you were brought back to earth. Your eyes fluttering before looking at his face. Trying not to cry.

“Is everything alright, y/n? You didn’t say anything…?” He asks with uncertainty. Searching your face to gauge your reaction.

“H-huh…? Oh, im sorry…” you mask a fake smile. “…I just- *chuckle* i just was in shock yeah cus…” your brain’s gears working over time to come up with a believable lie. “Cus… i actually thought you liked her and hearing it from you definitely confirmed that… haha”

You tried putting on your best front, but your body was shaking. Your eyes brimming with tears and your heart was… hurting.

And Chan wasn’t dumb. He knew something was wrong.“Are you su-“ Before he could continue, you cut him off, trying to get over the situation as soon as possible.

“So is that what you wanted to say..?” You ask kind of passive aggressive.Chan shook his head. “No… no… I just wanted advice… but are you sure you ar-“

“Advice?! Of course I can give them to you! I will send you an essay if needed!” You cut him off again, your voice unusually excited to cover up your pained voice.

He knew something was off but acted oblivious, not wanting to press the topic more. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off again.

“So yeah, I will send you some advice and tips on asking her out. if you need anything else, im just a text away got it?” You try to keep the atmosphere normal. You put on a tight lipped smile as you looked at chans confused expression.

It was unlike you to cut him off so much. He wanted to know why-

“I will see you around then.. i gotta go now.. I have some packing to do..” you say as you start walking backwards, the tears finally starting to spill but you hoped with your distance chan never saw them.

Chan looked at you, still confused and slightly stunned at your behavior. He knows something is wrong, but he also knows you’re stubborn and won't say anything to save your face.

He let out a deep sigh as he watched you turn around and walk away, not even being able to say goodbye or ask what you wanted to say.

You couldn’t believe what just happened, honestly. Your tears were uncontrollably flowing down your cheeks, and it was making you mad. You prepared for his rejection too, but why did it hurt? Was it because he is in love with someone close to you or because he didn’t choose you? It shouldn’t be like this. This is not the script.

All kinds of emotions ran through your brain. Humility. Dejection. Worthlessness. It was a mess. All those years of pining. Just gone with a single word.

If only Chris knew.

A/N: IM SOERY FIR THE AMOUNT OF CHAN FICS AHHH 😭😭 anyways this was supposed to be a short drabble but i got carried away. Lolz. Inspired by ariana’s end of the world so listen to it while reading <3 tysm for reading!! HAPPY NEW YEARRRRRRR

[renirae]

Tim Drake and stalking as a love language

I have this idea that Tim has been stalking people as a love language actually years before he ever discovered Robin's identity.

It started when he was six and his parents were visiting. Tim was already being taken care of by a live-in nanny, so he rarely saw his parents - even while in Gotham, they were still usually out of the house, going to galas and dining with important businessmen.

However, one night they actually did stay home, and Tim was so excited to finally spend a day with them before they flew out the next day!! ...Until he learned they were only home because they were having a dinner party.

Now, it was clear that Tim wasn't a part of the guest list; but Janet made the mistake of not telling Tim to go to his room. Instead, she specifically said "Timothy, I don't want to see you for the rest of the night".

Tim, of course, realized the loophole; they weren't allowed to see him, but he could watch them. And as long as he wasn't caught, he'd be following his parents' rules AND spending time with them before they left!

So before the dinner, he found somewhere to hide in the dining room, and he watched his parents the entire night. And it was great! They even talked about him to some of their guests, called him a "smart and independent young man". They'd never said that to Tim's face, but he glowed with pride from the compliment for days after. His strategy had worked perfectly.

For the next few visits he did the same thing. Every time his parents were home but didn't want to see him, he simply watched them instead. It was basically spending time together!

Eventually though, Tim grew older, and visitors to the mansion started to ask why their son was never a part of the dinners. But rather than adding Tim to the guest list, his parents simply stopped ever hosting events.

Tim at this point had already started stalking Batman and Robin, so he had a genius idea; he could follow his parents around Gotham to watch them too!

So yeah, this continued until Janet's death; whenever his parents came to Gotham and went to go, for example, meet a colleague in a restaurant, Tim would find a way to sneak in or otherwise watch over them. Obviously by this age he was now aware just how... not-normal this behaviour was, but it was also basically the only time he ever saw his parents interacting with each other without Tim around. And again, they even sometimes complimented him! He would never have known that if he hadn't kept watching them! So... yeah, no matter how creepy he knew it was, he couldn't convince himself to stop.

Of course, the canon stalking of Batman and Robin continued as well - after Robin switched hands, Tim even sometimes went to Bludhaven to stalk Nightwing around too, although those trips were much more few and far between given the necessary added amount of planning and travel.

That, of course, continued until Jason's death... and then Tim's mother and later his father died too, so you'd think Tim would have nobody else to stalk, right?

...Well, old habits die hard.

Even after getting friends and family, Tim couldn't quite stop himself from stalking them. Perhaps it was because his parents always got annoyed when Tim tried to spend time with them, so he grew paranoid that his new friends and family were the same way - if he was too clingy, they would stop wanting to spend time with him. So if he wanted to see a certain family member but he'd spent time with them too recently, he ended up just hiding and watching them instead. Just like with his parents, he could spend time around them without them getting annoyed at him. It was a win-win!

(Of course, he now lived with a bunch of other stalkers (even if most of them did it for vigilantism reasons and not to their actual friends and family like Tim did), so this couldn't last forever. I imagine they slowly caught on, one by one, and once the entire family was aware they all worked together to stage an intervention.

And since I refuse to write unhappy endings - during the intervention, it takes some prodding, but Tim finally opens up. He tells them about his parents, and admits he stalks people because he's worried he'll be seen as clingy like they did. And after many many reassurances that his parents were wrong and everyone loves him the way he is, they all hug him and have a movie night or something and it's happily ever after :))

[banananutmuffin28]

can I request for Se-mi x fem reader where the reader is one of the pink triangle guards? Where she protects Se-mi and helped her get out of the game by betraying the other guards.

First ever ask!! Ofc ofc :D

Player Se-Mi x FEM! Guard Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Well…this became a lot longer than I anticipated! I hope you all enjoy!

Life has always been cruel to you.

And, you supposed you have been cruel back.

Your parents never cared about you, letting you wander the streets alone until you one day got lost.

You still remembered what happened, even though it transpired years ago.

It was dark out, and in the alleyway where you stood, not even the city lights could really dispel the darkness around you. 

Of course, like any child your age you were scared. Your hands had trembled, your lips curled into a sob, hoping that maybe just this once, your parents finally cared enough to rescue you.

But, that never happened, now had it?

You never were a stupid child; you were intimately aware of what horrors could unfold in this world -but you had never really, truly seen it happen firsthand.

Of course, that changed.

There was a clatter of metal against the dirtied cement, a scream, and then before you knew it you were face to face with a sad sod of a man. 

Though you barely remembered his words, you would always recall his hands-large and meaty-sinking deep into your delicate shoulders as he shook you with the desperation only a man in his final seconds of life could conjure. He was begging you to...save him, but from what you still hadn't known.

But before you could move, scream, or do anything of the sort, you heard a bang. Skin and flesh alike flew from his forehead, and his eyes rolled back to his skull as he suddenly slumped before you, coating your body with his blood.

And then, the man's limp body was pulled back, and as you cowered there in the dirt, you finally saw the face of the killer.

As he would later admit, he was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

The man readied his gun...but couldn't bring himself to shoot a child.

And so, instead, he gently ushered you to a black van parked by the side of the road, tied a blindfold over your eyes, and took you to the games.

He pleaded and begged the Front Man to let a child stay with him, arguing that you had no one left. And, in a way, you supposed that was true.

Eventually, the Front Man had agreed, and you would spend your formative years living with the man who saved you.

It was...certainly a sight to behold, watching a child roam the halls that, just hours ago, were soaked in blood.

And, when you were of age, you were granted a mask and an outfit. It was a triangle mask, just like the one of the man who saved you. 

In another life, perhaps you would’ve been happy, ridding the world of the trash with you and the man who had saved you.

But again, life struck, and this time it took away him too.

Apparently, he had spared a contestant he was meant to kill.

And, just like that, it was as if your world had crumbled all over again. At first, you were in denial. That man, whom you had grown to love as a father, was a ruthless killer. Surely they had misunderstood the situation? Surely, it was only a matter of time before he would've killed the player?

But, you soon learned that life had no time for your pondering. You would have to move on forward.

Your loss had...changed you. Soon, you would be known as one of the coldest of killers. You would spare no one, and relished in the panicked screams of the players.

After all, these vermin weren't human, right? And, those worms were what took your adoptive father away from you.

Not once did you ever question this sentiment. Sure, sometimes you felt fleeting sympathy, but that had never been enough to stop you from pulling the trigger.

You were a robot. You were ruthless.

But then, you met her.

The first time you two had locked eyes was outside of the games.

You were in a convenience store, buying some snacks and a drink for yourself. Hell, you were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't even realized it was your turn to pay until she cleared her throat.

"Hey, are you gonna pay or are you content with keeping your head above the clouds?"

Her voice was...soothing. It wasn't gentle by any means, but something about it stirred something in your heart.

You scrambled back, nearly knocking over the bag of makeup items behind you.

You turned to her, cheeks flushed, trying to regain some ounce of dignity, but it was to no avail. People never talked like that to you anymore; they were either too fearful or simply thought you weren't worth their time.

She tilted her head, lips curling into a grin as she leaned onto the table.

"So...are you going to pay or what?"

You only nodded, too fearful that if you spoke you would sound like a diseased frog. Without even looking back, you slammed the necessary payment onto the counter and hurried out the door.

The girl was only wearing a standard employee uniform.

So how did she look so damn pretty?

Despite that lackluster first meet, though, you had always come back. When you had entered the shop the next day, her eyebrows had furrowed in surprise and a grin danced across her lips.

She set aside the plastic cup she was holding and made her way to the register.

“I hope you don’t run off staring at clouds again,” She drawled, running a hand along the buttons of the register. “What can I get for you today, beautiful?”

How your ice cold heart didn’t explode at that very second was beyond you.

The days passed into weeks and soon, you found yourself visiting the store—her—every other day.

Eventually, you learned her name to be Se-Mi.

Se-Mi, Se-Mi, Se-Mi.

Her name dripped from your lips like the smoothest of honey.

You loved her piercings, her posture, and that damned smirk she always had.

She was so kind to you. You savored the quiet nights you'd spend with her out in the park, and whispered her name into your pillow before you slept.

Se-Mi had big, big dreams. Dreams of becoming a rockstar. Dreams of becoming a mechanic. Dreams of surviving this cruel world and making it out on top.

But, despite it all, you always kept her at an arm's length apart. After all, it was almost time for the games to begin. Soon, you would have to leave her to kill once again.

So, on the night before the first game would start, you left her a note on the convenience table where you two first met. You wrote of how you had to go, for your work was grueling and demanding, and you couldn't have her be caught in the crossfire.

You apologized for not meeting in person.

You never said goodbye. You couldn't. She needed to think of you as merely a fleeting presence, lest she catches feelings and finds out you're a killer.

You had planned on shooting your sorrows away.

So, imagine your surprise when you saw her wake up in the games.

Her? No, no, no, she couldn't be one of those disgusting vermin that plagued the streets. Se-Mi was so kind, so brave and headstrong.

She wasn't exactly well-off, but she couldn't have been struggling that much!

Surely, this was a mistake!

But, when you ran to the Front Man and asked him, he simply pulled out her file and handed it to you.

 It was not a mistake. In fact, SeMi was drowning in debt.

"I trust this won't be a problem to you?" He asked, leaning back into his plush chair as he swirled the liquor in his cup.

You swallowed.

"Of course not, sir."

The Front Man stood still for a moment, then sighed. 

“If you were anyone else, I would shoot you because clearly, this is a conflict of interest and we need to keep these games fair,” He finally said at last, shaking his head. “But…you have more than proved yourself to be loyal to us, to me. I trust you won’t abuse it?”

Your heart stopped when you felt his icy eyes on you. When you nodded, he smiled.

“Good, good. After all, I would hate to see you befall the same fate as 097.”

The Front Man motioned for you to leave.

“Do not fail me. 098.”

—

As you left the room, you could feel your heart racing. All of a sudden, it was so much harder to breathe, to walk.

A whirlwind of thoughts raced in your mind, though one drowned out the rest.

You wouldn't be kind to her. Your brief time with her meant nothing; after all, she wasn't human.

Right?

When you stepped into the area of the First Game, you could barely keep yourself upright. Your hands trembled, immediately flying to your face to make sure that your mask was still on. Your legs nearly buckled when you watched as Se-Mi enter the Red Light Green Light

The gun felt ten times heavier in your hands.

During the duration of the game, you would not shoot her.

Of course, you tried to tell yourself that you weren't giving her special treatment! 

Everyone trembled in the games; if you shot everyone who shook slightly there would be no one left to inherit the prize! You were still impassive, it was still equal.

You didn't care about her. You never had.

But...like most lies people tell themselves, it came apart in the quiet of the night. Your fear for her echoed in every beat of your heart, in every gasping breath you took. You saw her lifeless body in the shadows, watched as bullets tore themselves into her skin and blood ran down her wounds.

Se-Mi, Se-Mi, Se-Mi. You couldn't let her die.

When the second game commenced, you could hardly suppress your nervousness as you watched her play Flying Stone.

It was a difficult game, after all.

And oh, when she passed through the finish line, you couldn't help but throw your hands in the air-much to the chagrin of your co-guards.

They stared at you questioningly, causing terror to sift in your heart.

During the third game, your eyes had met.

It was only for a split second, but feeling her gaze on you made you feel so...exposed. 

Your cheeks grew hot and your hands felt slippery.

You loathed how she looked at you, like you were some sort of monster.

Though, you supposed she wasn't quite wrong.

When you watched as Player 230 and his lackey dragged another man away, leaving Se-Mi alone, it felt as if your heart was breaking. It took every willpower in your body not to shoot them on the spot for doing such a thing.

Though, that willpower still wasn't enough for you not to intervene in some way.

After making sure none of the guards were watching, you waved at her in the shadows. When her attention turned to you, you acted. Frantically, you pointed towards a trembling duo in the far right corner of the carousel. 

The clock read ten seconds. If Se-Mi rushed, she could make it in time.

And, she did.

As you watched the door clamp shut behind her, a whirlwind of emotions appeared in your gut. What you just did couldn’t be chalked up to strictly following the rules.

You had helped her. You had tilted the odds to your favor by alerting her to safety. You had done the very thing the Front Man had warned you not to do.

So, why was it that you could barely summon any regret?

After Mingle had ended, you turned to leave, but stopped when you noticed Se-Mi trailing after you. Her arms were crossed together, and she chewed her bottom lip. 

And then, she gave you the tiniest of nods. 

Thank you, she mouthed.

You felt like your heart was exploding all over again.

For a brief moment, you thought that what you were doing was enough. You could oversee the games, and remain relatively impassive until Se-Mi was in danger, in which you could then give her a gentle nudge.

But then you remembered the next game.

The Special Game.

This time, instead of automated machinery, it was forks and fists. Instead of children’s games, it was pure, human violence. Instead of the threat of a bullet piercing through their skull, the only thing that would keep them going was their raw, unbridled rage for wanting to survive. Revenge would be enacted, and rivalries settled.

You couldn’t leave Se-Mi alone. There were too many unknown variables. Se-Mi never held back her tongue—it was one of the things you loved about her, in fact—but tonight it might also be what kills her.

Again, that terrible image of Se-Mi’s bloodied corpse popped into your mind. If she died, it would be all your fault because you let it happen. 

Fear flooded your veins. 

You won’t let that happen. You couldn’t lose someone else in this damned world. You couldn’t lose her.

That night, as the lights dimmed and the last of players were ushered from the bloodied bathrooms, you stared at the camera glued to the ceiling of your room. You knew someone was watching you on the other side, waiting.

Instinctively, you draped a blanket over your hands.

You couldn’t let them see how much they trembled.

Before you had meant Se-Mi, you never really cared about the camera in your walls. Sure, the lack of privacy was annoying, but in your mind, it also served as evidence to the higher ups that you were completely and utterly loyal to them.

In a way, they had saved you, after all.

But now? 

The way the camera was angled—tilted so that it could observe every inch of your room—made your skin crawl.

Suddenly, it seemed as if the air was being choked out of your lungs. Obsessively, you grabbed your mask and held it up your face.

If you ran into the room and protected Se-Mi, you wouldn’t get another chance. The entire organization would be after you—he would be after you.

Were you really willing to betray everything you’ve known for a girl you’ve only known for months?

But then, you remembered the time you spent with her. You remember those starry nights, those quiet evenings, and those chaotic days that had you sweating with a stupid grin on your face.

Se-Mi made you feel alive. With her, you were no longer a robot, but a person, free laugh and giggle whenever you’d want without fear of losing face or risking a punishment.

It was then that intercom rang, its cheery tone a stark contrast to the indecision and uncertainty that broiled in your gut.

“Soldiers, please get ready,” It sang.

You let out a sigh and stood up, eyes trained to camera, to the Front Man.

Your decision was made.

—

 The stomps of the other guards echoed across the corridors. You stood motionless, a gun in hand, as you pressed your hands against the cold concrete walls hiding you.

Soon, they would realize your absence and a search would be dispatched. But, for now, you were invisible.

Quietly, you slinked to a shadowy corner of the room. When you heard footsteps approaching, you ducked down and readied your gun.

Within moments, you saw the growing shadow of the manager. You crouched down, waiting for him to turn, then—

Without giving your doubt any time to fester, you leaped out of the shadows and pressed the gun to his head. Before he could shout, you shoved him against a wall and pulled out the pistol from his hoister.

“Move, and you die,” You snarl.

You watched as the man stammered, recognizing the tell-tale sign of fear alighting in his eyes through the mask.

“Y-you! What are you—“

You clamped his mouth shut.

“Shut up and take me to the players.”

The man trembled in your hands and a choked gasp escaped his lips. But, with another nudge of your gun, you got him to move.

When he started marching to the double decked doors, you smacked his back.

“Not there,” You whisper, grabbing his collar. “Take me through the tunnels.”

The man stiffened. His lips twisted into a question, then froze.

He nodded, and began walking the opposite direction. 

From your adolescent years spent in the games, you had picked up upon your share of rumors. You heard of soldiers purposefully missing to harvest the organs of the eliminated, and you heard that there was a secret escape hatch hidden somewhere among the concrete walls.

But, what had drawn your attention the most, was the rumor that there was another way to enter the main lobby where the players slept.

A young, curious you had traversed through the halls and found that very corridor, though you soon realized that only a manager’s mask could open the door.

Now, an older and more jaded you stood in front of the same very doors, caressing the steel barrier with a new sense of urgency.

You had to move. Fast.

Already, you were hearing the beginnings of a brawl: A thump here, a curse there.  

If you wanted any chance of saving Se-Mi, you had to act now. 

Quickly, you shoved the man in front of the motion sensors and gestured for him to gaze into the center. It whirred softly, and then—

“Identity confirmed. Access granted.”

Letting out a shaky sigh, you knocked the manager out, and then ran into the tunnels. It was dimly lit, but you didn’t care.

The screams of fighting and flesh tearing bounced across the walls. At another time, you wouldn’t have cared, but right now, the sound terrified you to the bone 

Soon, you saw a regular wooden door and immediately twisted the doorknob. 

Immediately, you were met with the sight of utter brutality. Corpses littered the floors and blood soaked the survivors. Some screamed at the sight of you while others fell back, eyes trained on the gun in your hands.

“Where’s Se-“ You cut yourself off with a cough. “Where's Player 380?”

The woman closest to you fell to the floor. 

“Do…do you mean Se-Mi?”

Before you could respond, you sensed footsteps approaching behind you. Without skipping a beat, you turned and coldly shot the two men creeping behind you.

They fell to the floor with a thud.

Then, you turned back and nodded. 

The woman stared at you, more frazzled than ever. Instinctively, she stepped back. 

“I…she should be over there,” She murmured, pointing to a corned of the room.

You nodded. 

“Thank you.”

As you ran, you tried to ignore the surprised shouts and gasps from the other players. Most fell back when you aimed your gun at them, but some looked at you curiously.

You glanced back at the double doors, and cursed.

The cameras had no doubt exposed your location to the others. Already, guards were pouring in, guns at the ready.

You were running on borrowed time. 

You rounded a corner and stayed near the shadows. Then, you heard a piercing scream that belonged to Se-Mi.

Gasping, you bolted towards the voice. There, you saw a man shoving her against the wall, sinking something into her neck.

You didn’t stop to think about it. You shot him in an instant.

Se-Mi fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

Blood was still flowing freely from the glass shard that lay pierced in her jugular. 

Fuck, you would have to take care of that later.

You looked back. The gunshot had alerted the other guards, who were now running to you, screaming.

Running in raw adrenaline, you hoisted an injured Se-Mi into your arms and zig zagged across the pillars holding the bunk beds. Bullets flew by you and one grazed your shoulder. 

You bit your lip, but didn’t make a noise.

“What are you doing?” Se-Mi demanded, fear lacing the edges of your tone. Her arms wrapped around your neck, angling her head in a way that rested against your shoulders. 

You stiffened. 

“I can’t let them hurt you.”

The second you whispered the words, you saw recognition flash in her eyes.

The beginning of your name was being murmured from Se-Mi, almost questionably, but the sound of footsteps approaching.

Cursing, you hid behind a pillar, and when their attention was drawn elsewhere you dashed to the corridor from where you entered.

The two of you were still breathing heavily when you set her down in the middle of the tunnel. You had locked the door, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found you and broke in.

Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “A…are you hurt anywhere, Se-Mi?”

She stood there for a moment, rubbing her hands together. Her lip piercing glinted in the dull light, and for a few seconds you were enchanted by her. Blood clung onto her tracker, and you knew she hadn’t showered in days, but that still didn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

And then, she laughed.

Startled, you stepped back. 

“Am I hurt?” She wheezed, and you immediately cringed at your question. “Of course I’m fucking hurt. I have this bitch of a wound on my jugular and I’m covered with cuts. Everything hurts like hell!”

Despite yourself, a blush raged on your cheeks.

“I-I, okay, that was a stupid question-“

“Terrible, even,” She chimed in, the faintest of smirks curling at the edges of her lips. 

You nodded, “Yes, terrible and dumb but-“ 

You gestured towards her legs. “Are there any that would hinder you from running?”

Se-Mi frowned. 

“No, not really.”

You blew out a breath.

“Good, because if we want to escape this place we need to be able to move. Fast.” 

Gently, you helped pry the shard from her neck. It had stopped bleeding now, but it wouldn’t take much to reopen the wound.

“We have to get going, now,” You muttered, and started marching towards the other end of the hall.

“Wait,” Se-Mi hissed, tugging you back. Her voice was softer now, but still held conviction. “Aren’t you going to…explain yourself?”

You stopped, dread pooling in your gut.

When you turned to look at her, you couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I…fuck,” You glanced at the door, fearful that it would break open at any moment. “Se-Mi, we should do this later.”

You swallowed.

“I promise that when we get out of here, I’ll come clean and explain everything. But, right now we need to hurry and run while they still can’t find us.”

Se-Mi stepped closer. She laced your fingers together and flicked your mask.

“Can you still take this off,” She murmured, tugging you closer. “I want to see you. Not some…pink clown trying to cosplay the Nintendo loading screen.”

You let out a snort. “Pink clowns? I’m rather offended.”

Se-Mi smiled coyly. “Don’t spit on your luck, honey, that was my nicest of comparisons. And besides.”

She paused, her face growing softer. “I want to see you. I…I missed your face.”

That blush on your cheeks was now a raging inferno.

 But, before you could reply, she added quickly, “Getting that letter really hurt my feelings, you know? I need to see your face again to make it easier for me to imagine giving you a nice, clean punch after all you did.”

You bowed your head. Despite the mirth, you could sense genuine pain hiding underneath. You knew you had a lot to make up for.

“I…understand.”

Tenderly, you unclasped your mask. Then, you slid down the jet black face covering, revealing your face to her.

Se-Mi gasped softly.

“It really is you,” She whispered.

Se-Mi cupped your face carefully, as if she was worried you were merely an illusion in her mind. You leaned into her touch, humming.

And then you felt soft lips on your own.

A gasp left your lips at the sudden contact, but then she kissed you again and suddenly all your thoughts vanished.

Roughly, she pinned you against the wall and laced your fingers with hers. The noise that left your lips was embarrassing. 

When she finally pulled away, you were gasping for air. Your cheeks were blazing, and you were sure even the tips of your ears and neck were tinted with pink.

Se-Mi smirked at you, and pulled you by the collar. Just then, you heard pounding on the walls.

“You sure have a lot to make up for me once we’re safe,” She cooed. “Put your mask back on and lead the way, beautiful.”

You nodded dumbly, and started running.

A/N: Oh my God. I still can’t believe this ask grew so much, haha! If you guys want a part 2, please do not hesitate to let me know! I hope you liked it!

[n0vazsq]

For the best | Pau Cubarsi x Reader

pairing . . . pau cubarsi x gf!reader

summary . . . Pau's reaction to you having a day out with his mother

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 631

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . short bc i tweaked out so yeah

. . . Training had been tiring as usual, and Pau was using the short break to catch his breath on the sidelines.

He wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve, scanning the pitch out of habit, when he noticed his teammates, Lamine, Hector, and Marc, huddled together over Lamine’s phone.

They were laughing in a way that suggested mischief, never a good sign.

"Pau," Lamine called, turning toward him with a grin that could only mean trouble.

"What is it now?" Pau asked, his tone tinged with suspicious amusement.

Marc could barely keep a straight face as he took the phone from Lamine. "Have you seen what your mother has been posting?"

Pau frowned, straightening in his seat. "No, why?"

Marc stepped closer and held the phone out for Pau to see. On the screen was a picture of his mother and you, standing in front of a boutique, arms draped with shopping bags, both of you smiling like you didn’t have a care in the world.

"When was this?" Pau asked, blinking in confusion, a slight smile forming on his face.

"Today," Hector chimed in, his grin growing. "Keep scrolling."

Pau swiped to the next image, which showed you and his mother at a cafe. The two of you were mid laugh, drink cups in hand, clearly enjoying yourselves.

"You didn’t know they were spending the day together?" Lamine asked, unconvinced.

"No, I didn’t," Pau replied, shaking his head. "Neither of them mentioned anything about it."

"That’s rough," Marc said, with mock pity. "They’ve probably been planning this for weeks, and you’re out here sweating through drills while they bond."

Lamine grinned. "Honestly, I’m impressed. Your girlfriend’s managed to win over your mom so easily, and you’re completely out of the question."

Hector leaned back on the bench, arms crossed, his expression amused. "They’re out there living their best lives together, and you didn’t even get a heads up."

Pau handed the phone back with a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "What do you want me to say? They’re obviously enjoying themselves."

"Enjoying themselves?" Marc repeated, eyebrows raised. "Pau, this is more than that. Your mom has practically adopted her."

"And you’re not worried about it at all?" Lamine asked, clearly fishing for a reaction.

"Why would I be?" Pau replied, his tone even, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "If anything, I think it’s a good thing."

Marc groaned dramatically. "Of course you do. She’s already your mother’s favorite, and you’re just here to carry the shopping bags when necessary."

"You’re making it sound like a bad thing," Pau defended calmly.

Lamine leaned forward, pretending to whisper conspiratorially. "Next time we see them, they’ll probably be wearing matching outfits."

Pau shrugged, unfazed. "And? If they are, I’ll tell them they look beautiful."

The boys stared at him, momentarily speechless. Pau took advantage of the silence, a grin on his face.

"Unbelievable," Héctor said, shaking his head. "You’re really not bothered?"

"Not even slightly," Pau replied. "She’s someone my mother approves of and cares for. That’s all that matters."

The teasing only escalated after that, Hector and Marc mimicking exaggerated phone calls to Pau's mother while Lamine doubled over with laughter. Pau let them have their fun, his smile never fading.

As they finally began to head back to the pitch, Marc clapped Pau on the back. "You’re a better man than I am. I’d be worried they’re plotting against me."

Pau laughed softly. "If they are, I’m sure it’s for the best."

With that, he jogged ahead to rejoin the drills, leaving his teammates shaking their heads in disbelief.

For all their teasing, Pau knew one thing for certain; having you and his mother get along so well was something to be proud of.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[insomniac4000]

Bite Me

Chris Dixon SMUT ChrisMD/female reader.

Chris has a habit of biting his friends when drunk, one night it goes even further

Chris Dixon, known to millions as ChrisMD, had built his reputation opening FIFA packs before moving to football challenges and written and sometimes cheesy jokes. However, among his close circle of friends, he was known for something a little more bizarre: his habit of biting people when he’d had a few too many drinks, his fans were starting to see it more too as his videos started to feature alcohol more and more.

No one was entirely sure how it started. Some blamed a raucous night out in Ibiza. Others swore it was during one of the Sidemen charity matches when Chris, newly single for a few months and overtaken by adrenaline and too much post-match beer, had sunk his teeth into Harry Lewis’ broad shoulder. Whatever the origin, the biting had become a staple of Chris’s intoxicated antics, it was like it was now a meme of sorts but it real life. Every night out it happened and everyone would wait to see who the unlucky victim would be. It wasn’t an aggressive or malicious action from Chris, more like a spontaneous, drunken act of camaraderie. His friends had come to accept it as one of his peculiarities, though that didn’t mean they were entirely okay with it.

In particular George and Arthur Frederick were the ones who protested the most, George remembers the first time it happened to him. The group was gathered at George, Chris and Arthur’s flat for a casual evening. Pizza boxes were stacked on the counter, and the remnants of some games lay scattered across the living room. As the clock ticked toward midnight, Chris’s cheeks were flushed from laughter and a few cans of lager.

George had just finished recounting an embarrassing story about the time he fell into a fountain during a Tiktok he was recording roughly two years ago when Chris pounced.

“Mate, you’re such an idiot,” Chris said, staggering toward George with a grin.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” George replied, shaking his head.

Before George could react, Chris leaned in and chomped on his shoulder.

“OW! What the—Chris!” George yelped, pulling away.

"It’s affection!" Chris declared, grinning. "It’s like a hug but more memorable."

George rolled his eyes. "You’re a menace."

The room erupted in laughter.

“There it is!” ArthurTV declared, pointing at Chris. “The Dixon Bite™. Knew it was coming.”

“It’s like clockwork,” Arthur Hill added, shaking his head.

George rubbed his shoulder, half laughing, half glaring. “You’re like a drunk toddler, mate. What is wrong with you?”

Chris, unfazed, raised his can of beer in mock salute. “I told you it’s affection, George. Pure, unfiltered affection.”

Most of the time though it was usually Arthur Frederick, also known as ArthurTV who was on the receiving end of the Dixon chomp.

The first time it happened on camera was during Chris’s first pub golf video, they were a long time into the video and a lot of alcohol had been consumed. They were sat outside on a wooden bench, others were ready to get up and leave with only Chris, Arthur and a cameraman remaining.

“These arms have so little fat on them” Chris slurred as he attempted to pinch the bicep and got his face right up to the muscle in order to admire it. Arthur paid absolutely no attention to his old school friend as he was playing chess on his phone. Suddenly though the brunettes attention was grabbed by the mistakable feelings of two small rows on teeth on his bicep, he looked and there was Chris hanging from his arm.

“Get off me,” Arthur cried and shrugged the smaller man off who could only give a very drunken giggle in response.

“I am the envy of every girl in my Youtube comments right now.”

There was one person who was very bemused by the whole thing, and that was Y/N. Y/N was a relative newcomer to the Youtube scene, she had started out on TikTok but had branched out to Youtube over the past eighteen months, it was a very similar story to George so because of that the two became quite good friends. She could be incredibly sassy, which was good considering she spent a lot of time keeping in check a lot of rowdy boys.

The group were out for karaoke, it had become quite a staple for all of them, joining the aforementioned group of George, Chris, the Arthur’s and Y/N was another relative newcomer to the content creating scene; Italian Bach. Dutch courage was always needed for people to get up in front of a crowd and sing, and that also meant that everyone was waiting for Chris to pounce, today it was Arthur Hill’s turn.

“You haven’t eaten dinner and with your stature that can only spell disaster, here have this,” Arthur suggested as he pushed a bottle of water in Chris’s direction.

“You’re a good mate, Arthur,” he said, accepting the water. Then, without warning, he lunged and bit Arthur’s upper arm, his mouth still wet from the beverage.

Arthur froze, staring at Chris in disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Consider it a thank you,” Chris said, grinning.

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. “You know, one day someone’s going to bite you back, and you’re not going to like it.”

Y/N shook her head from her seat. “You’re like an overexcited puppy, Chris. Maybe someone needs to get you a chew toy.” Y/N and Chris had a budding friendship, it was really awkward at first as the pair didn’t know how much they had in common until they both really got to know each other more. Chris really liked the when Y/N took charge too, he needed a girl just like that to keep him on the straight and narrow. Not that he needed parenting or anything but he knew he sometimes took things too far and needed someone to tell him when it was enough and when he needed to wind his neck in. Chris stared at Y/N intensely, she gave back a slightly bemused expression as she watched him bite his lower lip slightly.

“Or my cock… wait what?” ArthurTV added trying to cut the tension.

Nights out with the group were very often, especially for the group who lived together and Arthur and Y/N tagged along often as they were all single. As Bach had a girlfriend he wasn’t always present. The group this time was missing Bach as well as Arthur Hill who was busy rehearing for his upcoming tour. Chris was particularly buoyant that night, fueled by tequila shots and the high of securing a girls number. Y/N was standing at the bar, chatting with George, when Chris appeared out of nowhere.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "You’re a legend. An absolute legend."

"Thanks, Chris," Y/N said, laughing. "You’re not so bad yourself."

Before she could say more, she felt his teeth on her upper arm as it was exposed by her sleeveless top

"Chris!" she shouted, jerking away. "Did you just bite me?"

"It’s a compliment!" Chris insisted, grinning. "Means I like you." This was the first time Chris had done it too her and when he let go and looked at Y/N he had such a cheeky look on his face, she tried to be angry but couldn’t help but laugh at the dopey expression, it was quite cute plus she liked the idea she had sort of now been through the initiation ceremony to join the group. She felt like it was a rite of passage she had just gone through.

She stared at him, half-annoyed, half-amused. "You’re lucky I don’t bite back."

The idea must have planted itself in Y/N’s mind, because the next time they were out, she decided to test his theory, They were at another bar. Chris was his usual tipsy self, moving through the group like a whirlwind of energy. Y/N watched as he playfully bit ArthurTV on the shoulder before bursting into laughter.

“You’re going to pick on the wrong person one day,” Y/N mused finished her drink and placing it on the table behind her.

“Hey, I have never had any complaints about my mouth skills before now,”

“You are so full of it aren’t you?”

“You want to be filled…” While Chris was distracted by talking Y/N leaned in and bit him on the arm—not too hard, but enough to make him yelp.

"Ow!" Chris exclaimed, clutching his arm. "What was that for?"

"Just returning the favour," Y/N said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Chris stared at her for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Alright, fair play.”

The rest of the night, there was a palpable shift in the dynamic between Chris and Y/N. They found themselves gravitating toward each other, the biting incident breaking down some unspoken barrier. Their banter was sharper, their laughter louder, and there was a spark in their interactions that hadn’t been there before.

At one point, they were sitting at a table, sharing a plate of chips. Y/N reached for the last one, and Chris playfully swatted her hand away.

"Hey!" she protested. "I’m hungry."

"So am I," Chris said, popping the chip into his mouth with a cheeky grin.

"You’re impossible," Y/N said, shaking her head. But she was smiling.

Chris leaned in slightly, his voice softer. "And yet, you’re still here."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush but didn’t look away. "Maybe I like impossible."

They stayed like that for a moment, the noise of the bar fading into the background. Then, without thinking, Chris closed the distance between them and kissed her.

Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she kissed him back, her hand resting lightly on his arm. When they finally broke apart, Chris looked at her, a mix of surprise and delight on his face.

"I didn’t see that coming," he admitted.

"Me neither," Y/N said, laughing softly. "But I’m not complaining."

Chris smiled and leaned in again, the kiss wasn’t as soft this time, less tentative and more passionate. Y/N kissed back with full gusto, letting out a small moan when she felt a slight nibble on her bottom lip.

It felt like moments until the pair were in an Uber, Chris’s hand moving up Y/N’s leg the further they got to his flat. The lift ride was quiet and as soon as they reached the black front door to the flat Y/N was pinned against it Chris kissing her again. They fumbled their way to the bedroom Y/N knocking into a plant as they went discarding clothes along the way.

Y/N moaned as Chris’s kisses and light nibbles moved down her jawline and neck.

“You like that?” Chris smirked peppering his kisses lower, removing Y/N’s shirt and bra before carefully placing one her breasts in his mouth.

“Fuck Chris,” Y/N gasped as he liked and again gently bit her where she was most sensitive.

“God you moaning my name is sexy,” he whispered removing Y/N’s underwear. He planted kisses up her thigh, too slowly for Y/N’s liking “Chris please I need you,” she managed to breathe out, that was all Chris needed before his tongue made contact with Y/N’s clit causing her to moan incredibly loudly. It was an ongoing joke that Chris had recently had a lot of practice with women but Y/N was now reaping those rewards massively as Chris was showing her he knew exactly what he was doing, eating her out, his tongue working wonders as a hand massaged her clit simultaneously. Y/N’s breath quickened and her moans loudened as she felt the familiar feeling bubbling in the pit of her stomach, but she also wanted Chris to get his.

“Come here,” she demanded pushing Chris’s face from her pussy and forcing him to look at her. He removed his boxers and was surprised as Y/N pushed him back slightly and Y/N crawled onto Chris’s lap kissing him as she lowered herself onto him, lotus was one of her favourite positions. She bounced on him with as much gusto as she had, only stopping to moan slightly when Chris kissed her, adding the odd bite. Soon enough the pair entered a climax shortly after another before collapsing exhausted in the bed.

Chris was awake first the next morning, he went to grab a coffee hearing that George and Arthur were already awake.

“And where did you get off to last night?” George asked with a smirk as he leaned against the breakfast bar.

“What do you mean?” Chris tried to shrug it off as he poured his cup of morning.

“Well there’s the fact you left without saying goodbye last night, then when we came home we find the plant half hanging off the table, tripped over women’s shoes and some very obvious sounds,” Arthur replied also smirking as he grabbed his cup.

“Well it sounds like you’ve already made your minds up,” Chris shrugged, he looked up at the creaking door to his room and Y/N walked in wearing her outfit from the night before. Her big eyes went even bigger as she saw three men staring back at her she quickly tried to scramble for an excuse.

“I erm.. got too drunk and Chris bought me back here, being a gentleman though he slept on the floor…”

“Y/N that would be so much more convincing if it wasn’t for the fact your neck and shoulder looks like you’ve had cupping treatment,” George replied. Y/N walked towards a mirror and sure enough Chris has definitely made his mark.

“Chris we really need to talk about this biting thing,” she sighed.

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups | Part 6

Part 1 can be found here. AO3

Shout out to @xbirdiex

Saturday moved with ease, John and Nyla joined you in taking the boys to the planetarium and lunch before dropping by the park for the regularly scheduled play date with other neighborhood kids.

Nyla stretched upon climbing out of your van. The ride from downtown to the park closest to your house had taken much longer than expected. There were several accidents on the freeway that delayed you by nearly an hour.

“I’ll be taken myself on a walk, you youngin’s watch the bairns.” With that, she strode with purpose on the path that circled the park.

The boys released themselves from their seats and took off screaming like only a seven-year-old can. Sharing a look with John you grab your park blanket from the back before locking the van.

John rubbed the back of his neck; he had been stuck in the back with the boys who talked the entirety of the car ride.

“They sure do have a lot of energy.”

Laughing you lead the way to a relatively flat spot of grass and lay out your blanket.

“They sure do. If you can believe it this is less energy than they used to have.”

Aghast John stares at you deep concern etched between his brows. It triggered a whole ‘nother round of laughter. Wiping your eyes free of the joyful tears you go on to explain.

“Toddlers have more energy but fewer words and are arguably much harder to care for. They are attracted to death, finding things that can kill them everywhere.”

“How did you manage?” He glances from you to the children crawling over the park equipment like ants over a corpse.

“Larsen mostly.” You smile softly thinking of your best friend.

John leans back on his hands, crossing his feet at the ankles.

“Tell me about him?”

“Larsen?” You question, surprised.

“Mom!” Mac comes racing up to you, “There is a kid that is throwing bark at people.”

“Okay, is he still doing it or did his grown-up take care of the problem?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, so it sounds like it has been taken care of right?” You lift a brow in conjunction with your question.

“Yeah,” Mac nods once before taking off at the same speed he arrived.

Blowing out a breath you glance to John and roll your eyes about your child’s antics.

“What do you want to know about Larsen?”

“Let’s start at the beginning, how did you meet?”

You can’t help the smile that blooms across your face.

“We met in second grade, about the same age the boys are now. We became the best of friends and were thick as thieves. Larsen lived outside the boundaries of our school but his parents used one of his grandparent’s addresses to get him into a ‘better school’.” You roll your eyes at that but continue. “We stayed friends all through school. He was my best friend. So many people in high school thought we were dating. Made it so hard to get a boyfriend.”

John laughed at the bitter cast to your voice. “Seems like it turned out well for you though.”

Canting your head side to side you decide how to explain.

“Larsen didn’t like the idea of romantic love; never had a partner because of it. When I got the news I was pregnant he was my first call.” You chuckle at the memory now, “I told him everything that had happened and you know what my best friend did? He offered to marry me over the phone.”

You pause your tale to yell at Jace to get down, the outside of the equipment is not meant for playing.

Picking up the story where you had left it you continue, “I said yes, obviously. He was the best partner I could have asked for. You are staying in his old room actually. We didn’t have a conventional marriage but he loved the boys fiercely; said he would be their father before anything else in his life. Damn man nearly passed out during delivery though.”

The memory still makes you smile, both your mom and Larsen’s had come to help with delivery. He didn’t even hold a leg as you pushed out the boys but one glance at your nether regions and the blood gushing from your vagina had him pale and had his mom shoving him into a chair with a ‘you are not going to pass out, we are all busy right now.’ The midwife team had laughed at that with you as you laughed out Jace. Mac had already been whisked away to get cleaned up.

“He sounds like a good man, the boys talk about him sometimes,” John is contemplative in his tone.

You curl your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and resting your chin down too.

“His death shocked us all. He had an aneurysm at work, gone before the paramedics arrived.”

“Not a bad way to go all things considered,” John mused aloud.

“Noah MacTavish! Get down now!” Mac makes a guilty face as he is caught scaling the play structure. “No, it could have been worse. He left us with a healthy chunk of life insurance and because he passed at work we got all the life insurance money from that fiasco. I paid off the house and invested the rest. I opened my cake decorating business within a few months of his passing to pay for our daily expenses, got all three of us in therapy, and then the boys started Kindergarten soon after. Larsen’s mom, Crystal, and my mom both stepped up in amazing ways.”

John is looking at you when you glance his way, the depth in his gaze sends shivers across your skin. The last time you had seen that look on his face had been in the weeks you were avoiding Simon on base. A deep contemplation as he mulled over his thoughts, you thought even then that it made him more attractive than should be reasonable.

Turning back to watch the boys you finish your thought.

“They both take the boys one day a week for a few hours so I have time to clean house or make deliveries or go to the doctor without an entourage.”

“Now Nyla is here and hopefully soon they will have more people to share the load,” John whistled, the sharp sound had both boys stopping their poor choices.

Speaking of Nyla caused her appearance avoiding the need for you to reply that you didn’t know if Simon and Johnny would want to be involved.

The boys played for a while longer before the three adults hustled them into the car and home for dinner.

Sunday morning saw you waking early with the boys, feeding them before sending them off to play in the backyard. Nyla and John were both able to sleep later than the six am wake-up you had.

Nearing nine am, Jace tore in through the back door as you work on the cake due today. He is holding his groin, a face of slight panic as he busts into the downstairs bathroom. You don’t remember the problem with him using that toilet until John’s startled voice sounds from the open door.

“Hello?”

“I have to go potty,” comes Jace’s quick reply.

“Ah.”

“Does your penis ever get stuck in your clothes?”

Oh no, now they are having a shower conversation. All of your focus is on the sounds drifting from the now-open door.

“Sometimes it does kiddo.”

Fuck. How do you deal with this? Jace will be done soon and John should have locked the door.

“Huh. Okay.” The toilet lid slams and you can hear Jace washing his hands before he reappears to go back to playing.

Now the question is, do you flush the toilet and shut the door? Yes. John deserved to shower in peace. As you reach the door you announce yourself.

“Don’t mind me, I am just going to take care of the step Jace missed.”

“Thanks, dove,” John’s voice drifts down over the shower curtain and you stop yourself from imagining anything that might join that thought.

“I am also going to lock the door so Mac doesn’t do the same thing to you.” Flushing the toilet you step back out of the room. John laughs as you lock the door and pull it shut tight.

Turning you find Nyla looking at you all concerned. By way of explanation, you say, “Jace busted in on John.”

She laughs with you at the absurdity of the situation and follows you back into the kitchen as you wash your hands and prepare to keep decorating a cake for a teenage birthday order. Their parent would be coming by in two hours for their delivery.

“I am going to visit with my boys.”

Your stomach tightened painfully at those words. The small smile you give her doesn’t mask the tension in your body. She pulls you into a motherly side hug, touching her head to yours before wandering from the kitchen. The front door opens and closes in near tandem with John stepping from the bathroom.

Fully clothed, steam billows around him as he shoves a bundle of clothes under one arm.

“That cake is the ugliest set of colors I have ever seen,” his brows nearly touch as he stares at the orange monstrosity sitting atop your counter.

“Oh I know but it’s only going to get worse,” you grab another container filled with your homemade frosting and begin to whip in a pale mint color.

“Worse?” John moves into the kitchen and around the counter to look down into the bowl you are using your hand mixer on. “Is that some kind of green?”

“Mint, but yes. Kid is turning thirteen and their two favorite colors are orange and mint. Mom wanted to combine both on the cake. Sent me reference photos and everything.” Turning off the hand mixer you set it to the side and ready your piping bag for a transfer. “Any fun plans today?”

John moves back around the kitchen island and settles both himself and his bundle of clothes onto a chair.

“I have a few stops I need to make but then will be back around lunch.” He is watching you as you spin your piping bag and start to drape strings of mint icing along the edge of the cake.

“Okay my mom will be here soon for the boys,” you glance at John as you tell him why, “She likes to take them to church.”

He pulls a face as he mutters, “Lovely.”

“I feel the same but if it keeps the peace and means she will take them on a weeknight too, I will allow it for now. I will probably use the time they are gone to deep clean the house before Simon and Johnny come over tomorrow.”

A scream from the backyard has you checking out the kitchen window to confirm no broken bones or blood, finding none you shift back to what you are doing.

“Do you clean because you’re stressed or because they are going to see more than the front room?” John lightly tapped his fingers against the counter, the sound barely traveling to your ears.

Sticking your tongue out in lieu of an answer John laughs. He rises as the knock sounds at the front door. Your mother comes in and chats with you a moment before collecting your boys who both give you a hug and a kiss before trailing out the door after grandma. John pokes his head into the kitchen to let you know he is leaving. And then you are alone.

Blasting music through the house you finish decorating, send a text to your client that she can pick up the cake any time before two pm, and set about cleaning the house. When Nyla reappears she jumps in by stripping all of the beds and starting the wash. By the time the boys and John appeared the house looked cleaner than it had been for Larsen’s wake. The scent of cleaning chemicals masked with lemon could be smelled in every room in the house.

Your pickup happens neatly at one, the mother gushing that the cake matches the vision and her kid is going to be so pleased. Nyla made sandwiches while you had finished cleaning the last bathroom. Sitting down at the table John announced that he would be sending both you and Nyla to a movie and then dinner.

“Are you sure you want to handle the boys?” They both grin up at you like innocent devils.

“We will have fun, won’t we boys?” John winks at them as they cheer.

At Nyla’s shrug, you accept the offer. A quick shower for yourself and the two of you were out the door, giggling at the thought of John managing the boys. The movie was your choice followed by Nyla’s pick of restaurant. Darkness had fallen by the time you both made your way through the garage and into the TV room.

Flung across the couch were three sleeping bodies. Jace slept sitting up against John. Mac rested his head against John’s thigh. John sat upright, head notched over the top of the couch and hands still gripping the controller for the game console that showed they had died again while playing Minecraft.

You lifted Jace first, fighting your way up the stairs with his body koala tight to you. Settling him in bed you turn and find a squinting John stepping into the room Mac wrapped around him. He settles your boy down with a gentle touch and even covers him to the chin with his blankets.

Waiting at the door, you pull it closed after John has slipped from the room.

“How were they tonight?” You whisper in the dark hallway.

“Good, we played board games, hide and seek, read some books, ate dinner, and then fell asleep playing video games.” His tone is even, steady beyond the sleep in his voice.

“Thanks for keeping them tonight John, it was nice to go out with Nyla.”

You can’t see what he does but his fingers find yours for one squeeze.

“They are good boys. I am happy to spend time with them and give you more time to get to know their grandmother,” he whispers back to you.

Tightening your fingers on his you fight the warm ball growing in your chest.

“Goodnight John.”

“Goodnight dove.”

A/N: The next chapter is The Talk™ 😬

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

@love-kha1 @sweetlike-sugarplum @vmaxis @splaterparty0-0 @momowhoo @talia-the-gemini @redkarmakai @aethelwyneleigh27 @asexualbuthorny @sleep101 @callsignbumblebee @lucienofthelakes

[damn-stark]

Chapter 35 I live. I tell your story

Chapter 35 of Moonlight

A/N- Happy New Year and I really hope you all like it!

Warning- some angst, FLUFF!!! Talks of death. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- Past 578

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*25 YEARS LATER*

Flying in the sky is a lot like swimming in the sea. On warm days when the sun is out the sky is blue just like the body of water. The sky is endless just like the sea is. And on any random day, the sky is cold or chilly because you’re up so high, and when you’re in the water the deeper you dive the colder the waters get.

Unlike when you’re in the water though, there’s no constant need to keep surfacing for air though. True, sometimes the air in the sky gets thin, making it hard to breathe, but you don’t need to hold your breath and keep coming up and down. You’re just on your saddle, drawing in crisp air through your lungs, you’re breaking apart wet clouds, startling flocks of birds, or sometimes even joining their beautiful formation as you and your dragon become one with the endless sky touched by only you.

Isn’t it so fascinating that besides winged creatures you and Rhaena are the only ones who can touch the sky and be a part of the endless horizon?

You think about that often and always take great pride in the fact that you have your dragon now that you live so far from the sea. You might be dramatic but what would be of you if you couldn’t touch the sky whenever you wanted to?

You don’t want to know. You lost so much, but Astraea has been your constant companion since you were an infant. If she hadn’t made it—-well you don’t want to think about it.

What you will think about once you dismount your dragon is breakfast. Everyone must already be around the table—except for Jacaerys maybe. He’s never on time anywhere.

“Ser Cane,” you greet your old but fiercely loyal sworn protector.

“Good morning?” He asks as he watches you walk past him before he follows at your tail like always.

“Great,” you let him know and turn around to watch your dragon back peddle before she walks forward and flaps her giant purple wings to gain momentum before she departs for the skies again—“you were late,” you point out as you drop your gaze on the man and raise your eyebrows teasingly.

“Or you woke up earlier,” he retorts. “My Princess.”

You snicker and then turn around on your heels to face forward. “I knew you’d be here when I landed so I didn’t want to bother you before it was time.”

He sighs in defeat knowing nothing will change. The only advantage to this disadvantage is that at least his heart doesn’t strain with worry because he knows that the people of the North love you, and your dragon is fierce. You can be fierce too but you stopped carrying weapons on your person long ago, so you’re left vulnerable when you’re alone, but you ignore that.

“Cregan!” You call out when you spot him walking toward the dining hall, and he immediately comes to a stop as he hears his name. When he turns, his grey eyes brighten as he sees you picking up the skirt of your gown to run over to him.

When you reach him you throw your arm around his and then lean toward him to press a kiss on his lips, making him smile sweetly.

“How was your flight?” He asks against your lips as he savors your kiss as if he hadn’t tasted them in the morning.

“Refreshing,” you share with a smile before you turn forward and walk to the dining hall side by side now. “You’re late to the table how come? Did something come up?” You ask curiously as you look at him trying to find the answer on his face.

“Yes, some of the lads needed my help. I almost thought I wouldn’t break fast with you and the boys,” he says.

You hum and let your eyes flicker to the corridor as you walk inside the stone building. “You should have taken Jacaerys with you so he could work up the courage to talk to you.”

Cregan turns his head and probes. “About?”

You draw out a deep breath and then turn your head to look him in the eyes. “It’s not for me to say. I just wanted to let you know that he wants to talk.”

He hums and shrugs. “He’s welcome to talk to me anytime he wants. He knows that.”

You keep your eyes on him and sigh, he hears it and he sees your softened eyes full of love start to harden and create a deep crease in between your eyebrows as they furrow in response. “What?” He presses.

“We’ll talk about it later,” you say and leave him wondering what you could mean.

“Okay,” he scoffs softly.

You huff and rub his bicep with your other hand before you slip your hands away from his arm and walk ahead and enter the dining hall first, causing all the chatter to silence as all the attention falls on you and Cregan walking in a bit late.

“For once I am not the late one,” Jacaerys breaks the short-lived silence, making his older brother Maekor scoff in annoyance.

“Grandmother! Grandmother!” Maekor’s twin boys both then shout in sync with excitement, making Maekor’s wife lean down to scold them for shouting over the table in the same way their uncle just did.

“Good Morning everyone,” you announce. “Please as you were. Sorry, we’re late.”

“Good morning,” Cregan greets as he makes his way to his seat.

“Mother,” Rickon, Cregan’s first-born son with Lady Arra Norrey, greets you as you sit down between him and his father.

“Rickon,” you redirect and stroke his chin gently.

“How come it’s alright for you to be late because of your dragon riding, but it’s frowned upon when I’m out all night?” Jacaerys remarks as he reaches over the round wooden table to place food on his plate, making you sit back and slowly look at him with curiosity.

“Can you ever shut up?” Maekor hisses at his brother.

Yet you only add fuel to the matter. “Because it’s not truly the same is it? And you’re out all night without guards doing…well, I do not wish to know what.”

Jacaerys scoffs and proceeds to add. “Father and you go out at night as well—”

“Jacaerys,” Maekor cuts his brother off sharply, making the corner of your lips twitch to a smile that you share with Cregan.

When your husband sees your reaction his lips upturn to a smirk and he passes you a look that says, “that's your son.”.

You snicker in response and he then strokes your chin before he reaches over the round table without needing to be told and passes you what you wanted. After you all serve yourselves breakfast there’s a serenity that blankets the round wooden table, the oldest boy of Maekor’s twins walks over and sits between Cregan and you because he says he wants to tell you a story that never gets told because he gets sidetracked on a matter you start to make sense of before you get lost as you drift your attention to Torrhen.

Your youngest son and child has always been quieter than his other siblings, even before his dragon dreams and Greenseer notions started. Some people might even say that he blends into the room, that’s how quiet he is, he’s never expected to be the loudest one, but he’s never lost to you. He's like the brightest star in the night sky, you always find him like right now, and at this very moment he seems lost in his food as if he’s trying to decipher something within it.

You hope he’ll snap out of his stupor as he feels your eyes on him trying to decipher what thoughts might be forming in his mind, but he seems to be hundreds of years away from where he actually is. Thus you intend to call out to him to snap him out of his stupor and begin a small conversation, but just as you part your lips the dining hall doors open, and the maester walks and makes his way to you.

“Princess,” he whispers by your ear as he pushes a scroll toward you. “This just came to you from the Riverlands. It has an unknown mark on the wax.”

You grab the scroll and turn it, seeing the wax and identifying who the sender is; it’s Alys.

“Thank you, Maester,” you say back with a smile directed at the scroll.

The Maester quickly bows his head at you and Cregan before he scurries off, leaving the room to you and your family once again.

“It's Alys,” you let Cregan know since you know he’s curious about the raven scroll.

“Hm, I wonder what she could want,” he comments and you giddily smile at the scroll one more time before you tuck it away so you can read it later. As of now, you finish your breakfast with more enthusiasm since you're anticipating reading the scroll, which is why you finish quicker than the others.

“I’ll be in the Godswood,” you let Cregan know and kiss his cheek. Before you can lean back and walk off you grab his shoulder and slide your lips to his ear. “Talk to Torrhen, please my love.”

Cregan’s eyes slowly find your son and you follow his line of gaze, noticing that he’s only eaten half of his food and the rest is just sprawled around his plate as he keeps playing with it.

“He’s…having a hard time and I know he doesn’t say it or it may not look it, but he really does need you,” you continue to whisper as you focus back on Cregan. “So talk to him. Take him with you to help you, okay? And be…warm, hm.”

Your husband's grey eyes snap to you and he raises his eyebrow to question your comment.

“He’s your son. Our youngest child, keep that in mind, okay?” You press to give him some idea as to what you could mean without having to explain it right now.

“Alright,” Cregan says back with confusion but he doesn’t press on the matter, he just lets you know he comprehends, letting you leave to go read your letter and respond to Alys in the Godswood like you tend to do when she writes.

“Dear, Princess,

I write to you in regards to Prince Aemond—“

You blink repeatedly in surprise and quickly lean forward to continue reading with a new sense of urgency.

“—some of the King’s men traveled to the God’s Eye in search of your lost ancestral Valyrian sword and stumbled upon it on the lake's surface still attached to your late husband's skull. The men want to recover the blade, thus I thought I’d ask if you would want to recover his bones to do with it as you please or let them disregard it back in the lake. Let me know as soon as you can, the King’s men don’t find value in the bones of the enemy.

-Your friend, Alys Rivers ”

You blink again with surprise and sit back to go over the news the letter contained over and over again, with each time the scab over your heart tearing little by little.

For ten years all you thought of when you thought of Aemond was his death. You remembered the grief and agony that tormented you when you saw him fall into the water and never get out. You remembered how empty you felt without him. You remembered how much you missed him every time you looked into Aerion and Daenys’ eyes. Your memories were never kind until ten years passed.

After a decade of agony, you stopped aching and looked back fondly at your memories. It’s true you’ll never stop missing him or the rest of your family, you’ll be cursed to grieve them until your memory fails you or until you die, but you’re at peace, so to learn that they found his bones, rattles you. You thought you’d never get to lay his body to rest or have your two children that you share with him see him one last time…

Thus now that you can give him a proper funeral you won’t let it go to waste or have his bones return to the lake. You’ll give him a proper Valyrian funeral and have Aerion and Daenys attend. You know the Riverlands still remembers him as a terror of the trident and the rest of the realm remembers him as a kinslayer, but you don’t need them to stand next to you as you burn his bones, all you need is the children you had with him. Fuck everyone else and what they might think when they hear what you do.

As for what Cregan might think…

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

After a rather long day, after thinking about Aemond since you read that letter, and after putting your conversations with your husband aside, Cregan and you prove your son Jacaerys right and find yourselves in a discreet hot spring where you know no one will disturb you. And you know that because you only stumbled upon the hot spring when you were a ward sneaking off in the middle of the night with your lover.

“Did you talk to Torrhen?” You finally get to ask after only since you didn’t want to risk being overheard by one of your sons or anyone else eavesdropping.

“Uh,” Cregan hesitates to answer as he undresses.

You look back at the sound of his response and raise your eyebrow even though he has back-turned, letting you see his pale ass as he takes his pants off. “Cregan,” you press.

Said man turns at the sound of his name coming from your lips and lets his pants fall before he proceeds to shake them off, and then walk over to you.

“Need help?” He asks smugly.

You swat his hand away and back away as you untie your gown and let it fall around your ankles, leaving yourself in a lighter gown.

“I told you to talk to him and Jacaerys,” you press impatiently.

Cregan pulls his leather vest off and then takes off his shirts, leaving himself completely nude to jump in the hot water while also ignoring you.

“Cregan Stark,” you hiss and finish undressing before you face him from dry land with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Can you get in the water,” he counters and waves you over. “I can’t think properly when you’re like that.”

You roll your eyes and join him in the water before you look at him with irritation all over again. “Explain why you did not talk to Torrhen or Jacaerys.”

Cregan meets your gaze and his eyes wander down to your breasts so you cross your arms again and press him. “You did not have to talk to the both of them. Just one for now. Why didn’t you?”

Cregan’s grey eyes slowly scale back up to meet your gaze and he sighs deeply before he finally shares what he’s been holding back. “I…tried. I did, but I could find a way to offer him what you want me to give him. And he brushed the matter aside, I did not want to pry.”

You take long blinks as you let his words sink and when you remember that he did not have the same attention from his parents growing up, you let out a deep sigh and approach him to gently grab his arms.

The thing is that his parents were good to him, but his mother died when he was fairly young, and his father wasn’t as open and warm with him as your mother and your father were to you and your brothers. Cregan is a man and he was the eldest, he needed to be tough to face every challenge head-on, so he wasn’t talked to with sweet words laced with honey like the way your mother talked to you and your brothers. He wasn’t told to let his feelings out, they needed to be kept in, whereas your brothers had your mother's shoulders to cry on.

It’s because of that upbringing that it’s second nature for you to be present and warm in your children’s lives. It’s hard for Cregan to be so with his sons, but with your daughters it’s a different story, he was terrifyingly overprotective when your daughters still lived with you. Now they’re too far from him to be menacing to any dangers that could put them in harm's way. And! You don’t want him to be the same way with your sons, you just need him to be someone they can open up to. They need him.

“I’m not telling you to do the impossible, just be…warmer,” you explain your thought process. “Press Torrhen to open up. He really needs you, my love.”

Cregan slowly lowers his head and his eyebrows knit together as he grows conflicted. “I don’t know how to help him,” he confesses quietly and with shame laced in his voice.

“I…” you trail off and hesitate. “I admit it’s not easy. We don’t see what he can, but,” you pause and raise your hands to grab his jaw and tilt his face up so you can look him in the eyes. “Tell him you’re there for him. Be someone he can rely on, instead of someone to avoid. He thinks that you think of him as mad. That you wouldn’t understand and that he’s a burden.”

Cregan shakes his head and his eyes begin to brim with tears. “No,” his voice quivers. “Never. I know there are things in this world that cannot be explained. I mean you fly a dragon and walk through fire, my ancestors were wargs. Some of us live to fight the dead beyond the wall, he’s not mad. I just…haven’t tried I suppose. I’ve relied on you too much to be their support when…it should’ve been the both of us.”

You stroke his cheeks and nod gently. “You understand.”

Cregan raises his hands to cup yours and keep them on his cheeks as he whispers. “I love that you’re so caring to our children. I admire that about you, did you know?”

You giggle as your heart swoons even though this is all something you already heard. “I like to be reminded from time to time,” you tease him and lean in to slowly take him in for a passionate kiss, making him let one of your hands go to slither it to the back of your neck and keep you secured against him as he just deepens it and lets his tongue dance with yours.

When you wrap your arms around his neck he lets his other hand slide down to cup one of your ass cheeks and knead it as he only lets you take in small breaths before he continues to devour you completely in sync with your movements.

One would say he’s gone months or years deprived of your lips, but this morning you woke up early to fuck before you started your day. He’s just as needy as you are, so when you finally pull apart it’s after you’re both heaving from a quickie in the hot spring.

“What did your witch friend say?” Cregan finally asks, making you laugh and kiss his forearm as he has it wrapped around your neck while he keeps his chest pressed against your back.

“Alys,” you correct him with a giggle before you draw out a deep breath and go serious. “She let me know about the King's men diving in the God’s eye to recover my family’s Valyrian sword, ‘Dark Sister’, from Aemond’s skull, and she asked if I want her to have the men recover his body for me or let it sink back in.”

You feel a breath unfurl over the back of your neck before he shares what he’s thinking. “What did you respond with?”

“Yes,” you let him know without shame because it’s not like Aemond’s corpse can do anything to harm him or you—“I want to give him a proper funeral. For me and Aerion and Daenys. I sent them and Daenerys a raven to go to Harrenhal so they can be a part of it and so I can see them.”

Cregan hums and you turn around to face him whilst you remain wrapped in his arms, only now his hands are wrapped around your waist and you have your hands pressed against his chest.

“I sent a raven to Alysanne,” you say in reference to your (second) daughter and second born child with Cregan, who was named after Good Queen Alysanne because she’s someone you admire and because of her good relations to the North—“I told her to go to Harrenhal too, so maybe you and the boys can come? I’m sure Rickon can handle being Lord for a while.”

“He’s told you, hasn’t he? He wants to do more?” Cregan asks and you can’t help but smirk, giving away your answer.

“Perhaps, so come with me,” you plead. “Let's see our children. And our Alyssane is with child, it gives you the opportunity to see her.”

The corner of his lips pulls to a smile and he lifts his hand to grab your cheek. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod right away and look at him with a pleading look to sway him to what you want.

“We could also visit my brothers at the Red Keep while we’re out there already, and…maybe we or I can ask Alys to help Torrhen,” you share that last bit quieter as you sound desperate for anything to make Torrhen feel better about his abilities.

“If he wants to go that is,” Cregan interjects and you drop your head on his shoulder.

“If I ask him he will,” you tell him confidently before you go back to being worried. “I just hope Alys can offer him some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure she can. She’s already offered, hasn't she?”

You nod softly and he starts to caress the back of your head as he leans down to press his lips against the top of it. “See? Then there’s nothing to worry about. She’ll help him with what she can.”

You nod as you take his comfort and linger in the silence for a short while before you pull your head back to look at him giddily. “I was thinking that on our way back from Kings Landing, I could stay with Alysanne until she gives birth. I’ve been at Daenys and Daenerys' side when they had their babes, I want to do the same with Alysanne.”

He huffs and presses a kiss on your forehead. “I’m certain she’ll appreciate it.”

“That’s if she doesn’t want her father instead,” you tease the fact that your daughter favors Cregan more than she favors you.

“I’m certain she’ll want her mother there at her bedside when the time comes,” he offers reassurance. “I’ll go after and we can return home together.”

“On dragonback?” You probe as you mindlessly trace circles on his chest. “It will be quicker.”

He sighs and lolls his head down but he can’t refuse you, so he gives in. “On dragonback,” he assures you, making you giddy before you go on spewing about your failed attempt at knitting Alysanne a blanket for her babe before you both talk and enjoy the silence and your alone time together.

When the kids started getting older and you added more to your family way back then, Cregan and you would sneak off to steal time for yourselves. After all, having four children to start off with right way and then increasing that number to four, to five, to six, seven, and then eight doesn’t leave much privacy, so you had to rely on sneaking off like when you were young. Now as the kids are old and the girls have left to start their own families Cregan and you simply enjoy spending time away from the castle from time to time. Eventually, before dawn, to get some sleep in, you would return home. Just like now.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. THE RIVERLANDS*

“I have forgotten how ugly the Riverlands are,” you hear Jacaerys comment under his breath. “I do not get why people live here.”

“You’ve only been here once,” Torrhen corrects his older brother with some impatience after a long ride of dealing with him in a small carriage that only persisted of Cregan, you, him, and Jacaerys; Maekor and his family took a different carriage from the harbor, and Ser Cane is leading the way on horseback with a few other guards.

“Once was enough to dictate that I don’t like it. As to how Alysanne lives here is beyond me,” he says snobbishly.

“It was her duty to her husband. She, unlike others, understands the responsibility of duty,” Torrhen retorts sassily, causing you to lift your eyes off your book to watch the pair of brothers.

“Hm,” Jacaerys huffs as he flashes his little brother a feigned smile, “you sound like Maekor and Rickon.”

The corner of Torrhen’s lips twitch to a smirk and he counters back quickly. “They are our brothers.”

Jacaerys feigned smile falls flat and he looks back at his brother with a scowl. “Why don’t you doze off—”

“Jacaerys,” you warn him and finally lower your book to give them all your attention.

Said man drops his scowl and sighs deeply before he looks out the window and adds another comment. “I don’t think choosing to marry Ellis falls in the line of duty. Duty would be if she had to marry him, but she chose to.”

“She still has to move to Raventree Hall for her husband. She uprooted her life to come live in the Riverlands. That’s duty.”

Jacaerys eyes fall on you and he simply shakes his head. “It doesn’t bear heavy weight though, does it?”

You sigh and hold his gaze with pity as you know where he’s coming from. You just don’t add anything to the matter, choosing silence and acknowledgment instead.

“Mother,” Torrhen calls out and steals your attention. “You mentioned once that you thought of moving over here, how come?”

You put the book aside and glance at Cregan with a teasing smirk before you look back at your sons and share what you told daughters before. “Before your father and I married, when I was Regent, Lord Kermit Tully fancied me.”

“And you him,” Cregan inputs with annoyance so you nudge his arm and quip.

“No, I did not!” You chuckle. “Sure he was handsome, but I did not fancy the man. He was just someone I considered marrying to do my duty to my family.”

“But?” Jacaerys probes, letting his curiosity get the best of him.

You look at Cregan and offer a much warmer smile. “Your father and I worked out our problems and he asked me to marry him first, so I did.”

Cregan flashes you a smile before he wraps his arm around you and pulls you to him. “I would have challenged Lord Kermit for your hand, do you know that?”

“Would that have been after you had killed my grandfather or before?” You snap him as you pull your head back to shoot a pointed look.

“You wouldn’t have married me if I had?” He teases as he leans toward your lips.

You shake your head, making him smirk and quip.

“Then I would have stolen you.”

You giggle. “Oh would you have, oh, so honorable Stark?”

Cregan smiles wider and he nods as a response before he whispers. “If you had said no then, then that’s when I would have let you go.”

You hum and look at him with amusement and fondness. “It's a good thing you did not commit to killing my grandfather then,” you add, making your sons share a disgusted look that Cregan and you miss as you’re too busy gazing into each other's eyes.

“Well it’s a good thing I wasn’t born a Tully,” Jacaerys cuts in, making Cregan and you slowly peel your eyes away from each other to look at your son.

“They’re honorable people, Jacaerys,” Cregan defends them. “They’re good fighters that risked their lives for your grandmother Rhaenyra and your mother. You should not say things like that.”

Jacaerys lets his eyes linger on his father before he drifts his eyes away and turns his body to be able to look out the window some more. When Cregan is assured that his son won’t move he looks at you, making you look at him to take note of the confused look he gives in response to Jacaerys reaction.

You can’t offer him much but grabbing his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure him because you know it’ll pass quickly, he just needs to leave it be.

After that as a silence sets within the carriage, you notice the carriage slowly rolls to a stop and as you look out the window the first thing you catch a glimpse of is your firstborn, your Aerion waiting for your arrival.

You then see the grey eyes of Daenerys and behind her, you catch Alysanne with her husband Lord Ellis Blackwood, and your entire being lights up, but your attention is completely stolen by Aerion. So much so that before the carriage can come to a stop, you get up from your seat. Once the wheels stop moving against the ground you don’t wait for the doors to open, you burst out of the carriage with your eyes darting to your son.

“Aerion,” you greet excitedly before you pick up the skirt of your gown and run over to greet him with an embrace. “Aerion,” you whisper once you have him in your arms.

“Mother,” he greets in his deep gravelly voice that is like sweet music in your ears every time you hear it.

After lingering in each other's embrace you pull back and cup his cheeks. “Look at you,” muse and study his towering figure which appears to be more buff than the last time you saw him. “You’ve put on more muscle.” You point out.

He chuckles breathlessly and drops his head causing your hands to fall back to your side.

“How did the waters treat you?” He asks and lifts his head to look at you with his father's blue eyes that hit you with a wave of longing for a man who's been dead a long time.

“They were on our side, thankfully,” you assure him and caress his arms as if trying to grasp the fact that he's flesh and bones. “How was your ride here?” You redirect, causing a sparkle to shine in his eyes as he flashes you a beaming smile.

“Safe and good. Thank the gods.”

You smile softly and muse. “Yes thank the gods.”

You linger in his presence as if you hadn’t seen him a few months back for his name day and just take in the sight of him. Out of all your children who left, his departure hurt the most. Maybe it was because he was just seven years old when he went to ward with your grandfather Corlys, or maybe it was because when he was a boy he looked so much like his father, and having that beautiful reminder leave you was like losing Aemond all over again. And it was not just a temporary loss, you lost that reminder forever when Aerion stopped looking less and less like Aemond as he grew older. Now he only has Aemond’s eyes as a sole similarity, but besides that, Aemond is lost in Aerion forever.

You would argue that Daenys bears a heavy resemblance to Aemond, but the truth is she grew out of her father's looks rather quickly. She’s slim and tall just like him, and her attitude and the way she carries herself is just like him, but she hates and you mean hates when you compare her to Aemond. She takes offense to it so you stopped looking for her father within his only daughter to please her. Besides, it was easier to stop comparing the two because Daenys’ blue eyes changed when she was a babe to the same shade of brown as Alicent’s. Which must be some cruel joke the gods chose to play on you because how can you hate the woman who bore those brown eyes first but love the girl who bears them now?

In any case, you move away from Aerion and immediately take in his wife and your daughter Daenerys.

“Hello, my lovely girl,” you greet her warmly and embrace her tightly.

“I almost thought I didn't exist in the presence of my husband,” she sasses you, causing you to pull back and shake your head in response.

“Stop that,” you scold her lightheartedly and then take her face like you took Aerion’s and just admire her pretty face.

“I missed you,” she lets you know kindly, making her grey eyes soften.

“I missed you too.” You redirect without hesitation and stroke her face.

Daenerys smiles with dimples appearing on her cheeks and then lifts her eyes to the sky. “Where is she?” She asks.

You follow your daughter's line of gaze and before you can search the skies intently Astraea dives out of the cloud bank and lets out a rather greeting roar that makes all your children grin from ear to ear.

“There,” you point to your dragon flying by to most likely circle around to land close by. “Where are your kids?”

Daenerys returns her attention to you and drags out a deep breath. “Home. It’s a short trip away from home. We did not want to make it a big deal.”

You hum with a hint of sadness, but you don’t let it linger to avoid making her feel bad, instead, you think of a solution. “Well, I’ll have to pay you a visit with Astraea then.”

Daenerys smiles cheekily. “Sounds like a good idea. The kids will love it.”

You offer her a sweet smile and just as you’re going to move down the line to greet Alysanne, shouts break through the air and echo, “Aerion!” As all your sons cry out for their older brother with so much excitement before they run over and tackle him to trap him in a group embrace that he gladly welcomes as he matches their excitement.

“Dany,” you hear Cregan say before you hear him approaching his daughter who isn’t publicly acknowledged as his daughter, but is. And she, along with all your children knows that. It’s not a secret Cregan and you kept, and it’s not one that can be uncovered due to her white-silver hair and the fact that she was born at the same as Daenys, so no one is the wiser. Thankfully.

“Mother!” Alysanne calls out dramatically, making you turn to look at her and cover your mouth out of pure admiration as you take note of her little belly.

“<My little Siren,>” you greet giddily in a sing-song voice in Valyrian before you skip and jog over to catch her in an embrace as she runs over to meet you halfway.

“<Mother>,” she redirects with a hint of relief. “<How I’ve missed you.>”

You rub her back and nod gently. “I’ve missed you too. How are you feeling?” You ask right away and pull back to caress her belly. “Nauseous? Tired?”

Alysanne, who loves to be pampered and given attention to looks at you with a sweet and helpless look. “Tired. I’m always tired, but I feel much better now that you and father are here.”

You stroke her cheek and then stroke her chin. “I’m here for you now, okay?”

She sighs with more relief and nods in comprehension before her eyes dart to her father approaching her as the boys are still hogging Aerion’s attention, and she immediately looks at Cregan with a pout and her eyes brimming with tears, captivating all his attention just like a siren captures their prey

“My darling,” he coos and she coos back.

“Father.”

You roll your eyes and then finally give attention to Alysanne’s husband. “Ellis.”

“Princess,” he greets you with a bow just like his father Lord Benjicot Blackwood always did, however, Ellis’ smile is much more charming than his fathers ever was.

“How are you, my boy?” You ask him with genuine curiosity as you take him in for a short embrace.

“Honestly?” He says as you both pull away—“I’m nervous. My father says that I shouldn’t be, but I am. Alysanne is…” he sighs with concern. “Very important to me. I treasure her, and I hear what happens to women. I don’t want that fate for her.”

You swallow back nervously and remain positive yourself. “It happens, but it won’t happen to her. Just try to remain strong, and level-headed, and remember to breathe. She’ll be okay, and so will your babe. In any case, I’ll be there when she gives birth.”

Ellis lets out a relieved breath and nods in comprehension. “Good. Thank you.”

You offer him one last smile before you glance over at the others and see that Aerion now has Ser Cane captive while Cregan is talking to both Daenerys and Alysanne, letting you let out a small and content breath before you let your eyes wander to the distance to find none other than the women who summoned you here, Alys. She’s keeping to herself in the distance, letting you have your time with your family, but also making sure that you know she’s here too.

Once you make eye contact she turns away and walks away all mysteriously except there’s no mystery as to where she’s going. To avoid all the attention, she disappears into the Godswood, so you let Cregan know where you’re going and then approach Torrhen.

“Darling, meet me at the Godswood when you’re done here, okay?” You let him know as he’s still getting carried away with his brothers. “Have Ser Cane show you the way.”

Torrhen's face doesn't drop the smile he carries, he just agrees with a quick nod. “Of course mother.”

You give his arm a gentle squeeze before you watch Astraea land nearby, drawing the attention of Daenerys and Alysanne and whisking them toward her. And even though she won’t let the girls ride her, she still welcomes the attention they give her, and if the occasion arose she would protect them too just like she protects you. Therefore you’re able to leave her with your family without a second thought to walk to the Godswood to join your good friend Alys underneath the Weirwood tree.

“Hello…old friend,” you greet her as you approach her figure facing the old Heart Tree.

“Princess,” she returns in a kind voice before she turns around and shows off her face untouched by aging. “It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”

You smile brightly and when you reach her you grab her hands and caress her knuckles. “You must tell me what you do to not age. Maybe I want to live forever too.”

Alys laughs softly and with her thumb, strokes your cheek. “You age gracefully, my friend. Besides, my time will come when my flesh and bones will return to the ground and bring new life.”

You snicker teasingly at her choice of words and she catches it right away and scoffs before she moves back and points her chin to the exit. “You’re missing one. Where’s Daenys?”

You draw out a solemn breath and offer her an answer. “She couldn’t come. She said her daughter Naerys just recovered from a cold. She didn’t want to risk exhausting her so I am going to her after Harrenhal.”

Alys hums and then draws out a deep breath as her looks give a flicker of pity. “I had your husband's bones wrapped. All that’s left is you putting them on a pyre.”

You swallow thickly and nod stiffly in comprehension before you look down at the rings around your fingers. “I’ll do it after dinner. When the sun sets. I don’t want to leave him waiting longer.”

Alys nods once and as you look up at her face you see her eyes once again drift past your shoulders. You follow her line of gaze by peering over your shoulder and notice Torrhen approaching hesitantly.

“Mother?” He calls out quietly and you flash him a smile before you turn swiftly and meet him halfway to walk him toward Alys.

“Alys you remember Torrhen, don’t you?” You ask with hints of excitement as you show off your son to your friend—“Torrhen this is Alys Rivers. My friend. You met her once when you were fairly young so I don’t think you remember her, but this is her.”

There's a flicker of recognition that flashes in his grey eyes as he takes in the woman who has not aged a day since the time she went to visit Winterfell.

“Hello, it’s nice to see you again,” he greets her kindly, making her close the gap between them by grabbing his face and looking deep into his eyes with a narrowed gaze filled with curiosity.

“Gods,” she mutters. “You look every bit like your father. Shame.”

“Alys,” you exclaim with a wobbly smile threatening to spread on your lips.

Said woman lets Torrhen go and steps away, letting your son pass you a concerned look that you try to assure by caressing his arm.

“Do you have your mother's talent?” She asks your son and his eyes dart to you before they find her again and he shakes his head.

“No.”

Alys sighs with disappointment before she turns to you and asks for your permission to take him to help him, and you of course give it to her with a single nod out of desperation.

“Torrhen,” you say and bring his attention back to you whilst Alys walks closer to the weeping face carved on the tree. “I want you to go with Alys right now and let her help you.”

Your son's dark eyebrows slowly knot together and he probes. “What? Why?”

You exhale deeply and grab his hand to offer him your explanation. “I mentioned that she can do magic and she also has visions. Do you remember?”

He nods and you sigh and continue softer.

“Well, she might be able to help you understand what you can do in ways I never could. So I need you to be honest with her, okay? Tell her everything you dream and see, hm?”

He blinks slowly and interjects with a hint of disbelief. “You told her about my visions and dreams?”

You nod and his jaw hardens as his lips form to a small and displeased pout.

“I’ve seen you, Torrhen. It all takes so much from you, especially lately. I just want to offer you a solution, okay, so please for me,” you press and touch your chest. “Let her help you. She won’t take them away but maybe she can offer some relief to all the chaos, hm?”

Torrhen clenches his jaw harder but a huff of air runs out of his nose before he faces you again and hesitantly nods.

“Good,” you whisper and stroke his cheek before you step away from him and turn your head to Alys to offer her a small smile before leaving the Godswood.

After that before dinner and during dinner, you bask in the bliss that you feel over having almost all your kids under one roof again. Rickon and Daenys are missing but you don’t let who you’re missing stop the joy bursting in your heart. You know what awaits you later, and all the feelings that will come with it so for now, before you’re riddled with grief, you find joy in the sound of all your children’s laughs.

You admire the way Cregan interacts with Maekor’s twin sons, while also helping him create those splendid memories in your grandson's minds. You coddle Alysanne as she demands your affection in what she calls her time of need, but in doing so you also feel pride and happiness as you see how much Ellis loves and cares for Alysanne. He might look intimidating as he towers over with his tall and slim figure, and with his dark hair and the mysterious way he looks at the world, but he’s really sweet, funny, and affectionate. He surely makes Alysanne feel better as she deals with a wave of different emotions during her pregnancy, and that makes you glad; it reminds you of Cregan and you when you were with child multiple times throughout your life, letting you know that you couldn’t have asked for better for your daughter because Cregan has always been so good.

Moreover, you continue to get drunk in the buzzing emotions, in the way Daenerys and Aerion look out for each other as their brothers get carried away with the wine and pull them into their madness. You watch the way Maekor’s wife fails at reining him in as he’s too driven by his high from being with his brothers. You even join Jacaerys in singing a few sailor shanties and upbeat songs.

There’s only short moments of silence here and there but life travels through the haunting halls of Harrenhal. Even when you drift away and at last bring yourself to what’s left of Aemond Targaryen; your uncle, best friend, and great, epic love of your life.

“<I'm sorry it took so long,>” you talk to the perfectly wrapped bones laid down on the stone table. “<I thought they’d never find you, but here you are. I’m sorry.>”

You get closer and closer, with each step feeling a heavy weight of grief and sorrow that you haven’t felt in a long time fall over your chest and push you down and further down while faded memories once so vivid swirl through your mind.

“<Your face is a blur,” you admit, “I’m older now, but I have not forgotten you, I swear. And I still miss you.>”

You reach the side of the table he was left on and feel your breath shudder and a grip tighten around your throat.

“<You must have been lonely, Aemond. Oh…Aemond. Why didn’t you listen to me?>” You ask a pile of hollow bones with tears crawling to your eyes and making your voice sound shaky. “<Why did you have to be so driven by your ego? We…” you pause and draw in a shaky breath. “The truth is I’m happy with the life I have. I built it. Me. Yes, there are bad moments, but I made this life I’m living now. I built my family with my husband. I have loved like my mother. I have taught my children to love the same way my brothers and I loved each other…the same way my mother taught us how to love, so I can’t say I wish my life was different, but…but…>” You sniffle and press your hands on the surface of the table.

“<…There are times when I wonder what our life would have looked like. Would it have been as beautiful?>” You ask the emptiness of the room where his ghost doesn’t even linger. It’s just the presence of his remains, you, and the dancing flames giving the chambers light.

“<I like to think so because I knew you. You had a good heart and you just wanted to be loved…>” you scoff softly and finally lift your hand off your side to very slowly and carefully lay your hand on his head, feeling a wave of sorrow hit your heart and causing streams of tears to break out of your eyes.

“<I wish my love could have been enough for you Aemond,” you whisper and lower your lips to his head. “But as selfish as you were about my love and you loving me, it didn’t satisfy you. That’s why you’re gone and I’m sorry for it. I’m sorry for everything. Even though I was unfaithful, even though I was mad you killed my brother and my grandmother, even though…so many other things I still loved you with all my heart. I still do. I love you as if you were still alive. I will love you forever.>” You finish and breathe out before you press a gentle kiss on his forehead and keep your lips pressed against the cold surface.

The door proceeds to creak as it opens, causing you to stand up to your given height and steal a peek over your shoulder. When you catch Aerion walking in you wipe the tears off your face and let out another breath before interjecting.“Are you ready?”

Aerion sighs deeply. “Mother.”

“Do you want time with him?” You ask as you think that’s why he called out to you, but when you turn around to face him he doesn’t look sorrowful, he looks like he’s dreading having to say something.

“What is it?” You ask curiously

Aerion draws out another heavy breath and takes a step forward before he swallows nervously and shares what he’s keeping inside. “I will not take part in the funeral.”

You scoff and confusion flickers on your face. “What do you mean?” You mutter. “He was your father Aerion.”

Said man shakes his head stiffly. “No. He was not. Cregan was my father, Ser Cane and Corlys were my father, Aemond Targaryen never was. He might be the reason I am here, but he is no father of mine,” he finishes with a hint of disgust and your face falls with utter disbelief.

“That’s why Daenys is not here either,” he adds and drops his head to talk to the ground. “She wanted no part in it either. We are sorry for you, mother, but we do not care for him.”

“Aerion,” you warn with no actual threat in your voice.

“Do you really expect me to grieve for a man who took part in the reason our family was killed? A man who was at fault for why my grandmother is not here?”

“He had no fault in that,” you cut in for Aemond’s defense. “You know that. He might have been against my mother, but I was too at some point.”

“But you never killed your brothers—”

“He did not kill his brothers,” you cut him off but he quickly snaps back.

“That’s not the point!” He heaves and you look at him bewildered as he meets your gaze with the same eyes of the man he despises—“He was a bad man, who left. Every chance he had to stay with us he used to turn around and leave. I will not grieve for someone like that. His blood may run through my veins but I will never call him father. I will never remember him as such, and I will never claim him as such either. I am sorry mother.”

Aerion steps toward you and cups your shoulder to lean in and press a kiss on your cheek before he abandons the room and leaves you alone, letting you let out a small sob.

What could you say to make him feel otherwise? His mind is made about his father and he has a right to feel what he wants because he’s a grown man. You can’t beg him to look at things differently, you’ll probably talk to him but never beg him.

If only he could remember how much his father really loved him, but alas…he can’t.

“I guess it is just me and you, huh?” You direct to Aemond’s remains as you turn and face him again. “It’s okay. You always preferred it that way anyway.”

You let out a deep, shaky breath and then collect his remains to walk out to the pyre that was built for you and place his remains on top.

When the remains are where you want them to be you step away and that’s when it sets that Aerion kept his word; he doesn’t come. No one does and you don’t expect anyone to join you because no one knew him but you, and he would have hated it if Cregan were in attendance so it’s just you, Ser Cane, and Astraea standing around the pyre, but you’re the only one grieving him.

Alas, in the silence of the night of Aemond’s lonely funeral, as you hesitate setting his remains ablaze, two pairs of footsteps echo as they approach, so with the little energy you have you look back and gasp softly when you see Daenerys and Alysanne are joining you.

“Maekor and the others are drunk and we didn’t want them to ruin it, so we came alone,” Daenerys shares before you can ask what she’s doing out here. “We didn’t want you to be alone. And father didn’t want you to be alone either.”

You sniffle as your heart swoons and you mewl as your emotions get the best of you. “Thank you, my girls.”

Alysanne wraps her arm around your shoulders and Daenerys holds your hand, giving you the strength you need to at last say the word to send Aemond off at long last.

“Dracarys.”

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