#which always makes me think something big is coming up...

[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? 🥹🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[sunboki]

⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. a Christopher Bahng fiction

🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, non-idol! au, comfort, worry of unrequited feelings, slight angst, fluff, cuteness overload

WORD COUNT. 6.5k ☆ 34 minute read

WARNINGS. swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?), insecurity, usage of terms of endearment, mentions of inferiority, mention of vomit, reader is said to wear makeup on an occasion

AUG'S NOTES. this was a very soft and sweet opposition to Christmas Blues last year which, notably, was remarkably “blue” in nature. in the midst of writing i found myself worried this new approach to lighter, best-friend-to-lovers feelings would be too plain—but i had to remind myself this isn’t enemies to lovers, nor is it nearly as angsty as Christmas Blues!! though i hope their feelings can be both established and understood well, so thank you for sticking with me this far :) i hope this fuzzy piece keeps your heart warm during this cold winter<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.

or alternatively :

Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.

December 20th.

“Move your arm.”

Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.

A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.

Totally.

Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening. 

And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.

But pitiful most of all. 

“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.

“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.

“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly. 

A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.

“What if we became something more?”

When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.

But then again, it’s always been just that.

Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.

The small things.

So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.

A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle. 

Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.

Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.

As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).

So, yes, you’re thinking.

And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit. 

He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.

And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.

Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited. 

He’d be okay as long as he has you.

Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.

“Chris?”

Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.

“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.

Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.

But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.

At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.

“Can I listen?” 

Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.

And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.

You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.

It’s too easy to fall in love with you.

He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.

December 21st.

Enough. 

If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.

Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.

“Five dates.” 

Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.

By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list. 

Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.

”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.

“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.

Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.

”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.

The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.

But that’s a story for another time. 

Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember. 

“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”

You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.

He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.

”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”

”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”

Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.

“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.

Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.

As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.

But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—

“Can I kiss you after those dates?”

Jerk. For the second time.

”And if I say no?”

He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.

Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”

You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.

Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.

Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.

So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.

Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.

Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.

How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.

“Yes, you can.”

When those five dates are over, kiss me.

His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.

“Is that my shampoo?”

If anything, you feel as if you’ve been having dates over the years you’ve known Chris as he lists out ideas from a website on his phone. Except, yours weren’t touchy feel-y and certainly not regarded as “dates”, but simple things.

Dinners, falling asleep on his shoulder (something he remembers very well), baking together.

It’s a cold day, and after his hug that squeezed every fiber of sanity from your being, you now resorted to trying to figure out what that first date should consist of. 

The first of the five, pending.

“Ah,” Lips parting to exhale, you peer from the nearest window, watching hot breath fog up the glass whilst gazing out at vastly falling slow blanketing the ground a winter wonderland. A white abyss from your viewpoint.

“It’s snowing.” 

A chaste pause ensues.

“Might as well go out ‘n enjoy it, hm?” His voice, paired with a grin saturated in too much mischief for your liking resounds from over your shoulder.

Unable to react fast enough, Chris, sneaking up behind you without your knowledge, hoists you over his shoulder in seconds time—now (unfortunately) adorning a hoodie over his once bare torso.

Your shocked shriek rings about the apartment in reply.

“Out of the way! We’re goin’ outside!” Chris giggles victoriously, shouting to no one in particular as your fists beat at his back upon making for the door.

The faintest gust of frigid wind has goosebumps slithering up your skin—granting the man a cacophony of “No! Let me down!”’s he seems to soak up like praise.

Well, before relenting.

Because then again, who was he to deny you? To some degree it felt like every bone in his bone dragged him close to you, trailing after your footsteps like a lost puppy.

“One of these days,” Sighing heavily like that of an old man, a firm hand pats your thigh before you’re reluctantly flopped onto the couch, glaring up at him in a manner he deems too pretty to keep from smiling at. 

That same hand comes to hold your face, smushing up your cheeks and, in turn, earning plentiful laughter you simply huff towards. 

“Don’t pout—“ He whines, your heart rate spiking when another hand comes down towards your hair.

If there was any restraint of yours left, it would be relinquished instantly if he so much as touched your hair—

He flicks your forehead. And proceeds to slump down beside you.

“Oh you prick-“

His hand reaches to gently cover your mouth, bringing an index to rest on plush lips of his own. 

“No pouting, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh he’s going to get it. 

Playing you like a fiddle.

And damn does he do it well. 

.

.

.

Head tipping, your eyes flicker over his features—silently admiring such a side profile. With the perfect curve of his lips and hook of his nose, he could rival sculptures found in museums.

This was after trying to tackle him (to no avail, sadly) and curse his very existence (another fail). 

Then, the mediator came by in the form of a movie night and the small sheet of chocolate chip cookies warming in the oven, scent steaming the air with a mouthwatering aroma. 

Your first of five, initiated.

“Mm.. Don’t we have movie nights normally though?” The remark offered quietly, you shift closer to his body, pressing your right side to his, knees tucked beneath a blanket he’d arranged across either of your laps.

Love Actually plays on the screen ahead, but your focus couldn’t be deviating more.

Ever the attentive soul, Chris is equal in the shared admiration, honeyed irises fixed upon you in his peripheral prior to a careful finger lifting, looping a strand of hair behind your ear.

In turn, his gentle palm cups your jaw to tilt your head, sweeping an additionally stubborn hair from the other side of your face as well.

Your heart feels moments from bursting, and he looks at you as if you’re his whole world.

You are, but that was a matter unnoticed on your end.

It’s a quiet debate. Dangerous and fickle. Move too quickly and something might go wrong, hesitate and an opportunity may vanish to never be seen again. Do you kiss him? Is that how it works? Or is this a matter of “kissing on the first date”, treated like a taboo? 

More so, what happens next? After the kiss?

His eyes flicker upward to yours, lacking that boy-ish, charming smile he usually dons. Instead, he’s serious, calm. Then to your lips, like the melody of a slow song, flickering with the dips and pitches of the rhythm.

Leaning in, you can’t help but comply, and every thought within your mind numbs into nothingness—

Beeep!

A sharp, acrid stench makes your nose burn, face transforming into both realization and panic upon witnessing the tendrils of smoke curling from the oven.

“Shit!”

And after frantically racing to salvage what little remained of the cookies while Chris furiously fanned the smoke detector, your “date night” turned into a shared glance, laughter, and the both of you trudging to his bed for the night, leaving the remaining bit of Love Actually for another day.

So no, rest assured you didn’t kiss him on the first date.

Maybe tomorrow. 

December 22nd.

Y’know how Chris mentioned going out into the snow “one of these days?”.  

That day was today, apparently.  

“You don’t get it I’ll slip-“

“But you can hold onto me, yeah?” He laughs, squeaky still. Gloved hands find purchase on your hips, gently easing you forward where your back rests to his chest. His right hand shifts upward to rest against your spine, a feeling you have to swallow down wallowing in your stomach.

“Slow steps, I won’t let go.”

Don’t ever, you wish to say. Don’t ever let me go.

And not to keep me from slipping.

Maybe if you were ice skating or slow dancing this would be romantic, but the ugly, waddling manner you make down ice-coated stairs kills off any hope for swooning.

That is, until you do slip, and the man is a fraction too slow until you’re flat on your bum outside his apartment complex, heated from both annoyance and the knowledge far too many embarrassing pictures have been added to his camera roll just now.

In which.. a wonky, slightly-melting snowman comes to be not long afterward, neither of you willing to admit your creation is not “creative”, but horridly unsightly.

“I love it!”

Of course he does. Random pipes substituting as two arms and a carrot nose while Han’s fedora from 2016 awkwardly sits atop a head disproportionate from its body.

Your second date ideas offered a galaxy of possibilities, but after awakening late and coffee’s failure to open your eyes further than half-lidded, you figured today would mimic yesterday as a day spent at home.

He’d get some assignments done in the evening, and you’d probably turn on another Christmas movie while waiting to finish Love Actually in his company later on.

“We should come up with a name,” Nodding proudly at the aforementioned abomination, you cross your arms across your chest, your partner in crime brainstorming in a seriousness practically comical to the situation at hand.

“Hm.. something happy! I mean, look at his face, it’s happy, isn’t it?”

Mind you, cold, visibly dead extra coat-buttons are what stares back at you as its “eyes”, and you easily nod in feigned agreement as he takes ceaseless pictures of the thing with obvious delight, likely to send to friends and family alike.

The bottom snowball is melting, and a pipe has already fallen off what was supposed to be its arm, but Chris is beaming, and you'd rather slice off your own tongue than keep him from enjoying this moment.

Happy. 

You feel as if you’d do anything in the world to see him smile.

.

.

.

“Eh? Who’s that?”

5pm, and you’ll probably have to pummel the door open in the morning thanks to the blizzard-like conditions outside.

Among plenty of assignments he told himself he’d fret over in the evening, an unfinished paper sits in front of Chris while his thumbs twiddle along the keyboard of his phone, your chin hooked to his shoulder to glance down at the device—a habit of yours he finds himself unreasonably fond of.

Changbin came home early from the live-house, with most events cancelled from the cold and too little work to be done, there was no need to keep workers around. Dinner beckoned conversation and knowing glances from the roommate whenever you and Chris spoke, earning a scolding scowl while he simply grinned innocently in reply.

It seemed your love was obvious to everyone but you two. How tragic.

Though, amidst photos of both your earlier wipeout (a matter you don’t mention) and snapshots of the snowman he’s currently trying to send while seated at his desk, a certain name within the text catches your attention:

Mister Sunshine.

Chris chuckles sheepishly, your brows lifting in silent inquisition.

“It’s.. the snowman’s name. I named him.” He murmurs, the back of his neck doused pink. A facet of his embarrassment.

He named the snowman Mister Sunshine.

That smile of his making an additional appearance lies responsible for an internal scream to ring throughout your body, deafening your brain despite an external silence.

And in that moment, your feelings become harder to ignore than ever.

December 23rd. 

“You should get all pretty today.”

Your attention, once drawn to the different kinds of cookie-cutter molds, flickers up to him when he speaks. 

As it always does, hanging onto his every word as if fearful there’d be a day you couldn’t. 

Quizzically does your head tip in confusion, spurring the heat blooming by the back of his neck all the way up to flushed ears.

He waves quick hands, having been eyeing through the assortment of donuts Changbin brought home last night after his “buy one get one free sale” turned into buying a dozen at the shop by the live-house. 

“I mean, ‘s not like you aren’t pretty every day, but- y’know- like—“

It feels cruel letting him futilely try explaining, but gosh is he too cute.

And hearing him call you pretty feels too good to end abruptly. 

It also makes you wonder what happened to the smug-grin-wearing, playful person he could become at times. The one so confident and sure, now rosy.

An alter-ego sounded too far-fetched most days, but as for today… fairly accurate.

“What I meant is,” Turning, Chris extends the mug of coffee your way, heated glass warming your palms as you take it.

A part to your shared daily occurrences, routine. 

“I want to take you out tonight. We can go window shopping, see decorations, yeah?”

Perhaps the steam of your cup is what warms your cheeks, and very quickly do you come to recall you’re the one making him wait. 

He was willing to go all in from the start. And then you feel even crueler.

“Okay, tell me when to start getting ready.”

But you nod and pretend, because maybe you’re good at staving down things you know will come up anyway.

He’d always chided your procrastination.

.

Too long have you spent burning holes in your mirror with each scrutinizing glare, and the longer you stare, the worse what’s reflected becomes.

Chris had sent a small text proposing a forty minute window before heading out, in which ensued your frantic scouring around your room for both an outfit and coordinating accessories. 

Sure, you may have known the guy since your ugliest years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to spend some extra time on yourself, right?

Your third of five dates, and you should be bouncing up and down with cheerfulness, looking forward to “getting all pretty”, dolling up for an evening with your favorite person, your best friend. And, come recent days, your admitted love interest.

But you aren’t. You don’t feel cheerful, ecstatic.

And walking out to his awestruck form doesn’t feel revitalizing, and sure as hell far from a confidence boost.

“You look.. wow.” He gapes, drinking in every article of clothing, the way you’ve got the prettiest of ribbons in your hair a crimson red, your cute socks and warm sweater.

An angel, he wants to say. That, along with many things you’d slap him on the shoulder for speaking aloud.

Worst of all? He knows your tell-tale signs in and out. 

“Hey.”

His face seems to melt. Like crying, and it makes you want to cry. The sad, tiny crease of his brows, the puff of his bottom lip.

Worried.

“But, I mean,” Your voice chokes up, and you hate every bit of it, the emotions compiling to the surface—ones impossible to stave down.

You don’t feel nice. Putting on an outfit you both liked and thought you looked good in, fixing up your makeup, the little accessories to compliment certain colors, elements.

Yet, your heart still sunk when looking in the mirror, and now, looking at Chris, it feels like all that confidence is beginning to melt—salt sprinkled on the snow of the driveway.

Greater than that, it frustrates you. It isn’t his fault he’s attractive; beautiful, even, but every second by his side feels akin to a blazing inferiority, causing the already-chilled, flushed fingertips of yours to burn, your ears to grow unusually warm.

Like a child.

How irritating.

“Hey,”

His voice, like honey and pastries and all the bestest, warmest things when in need of comfort.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The endearment isn’t teasing this time, not even in the slightest. It’s soft and delicate, an ornate vase constructed of glass, capable of breaking from a mere breath. 

Standing outside his apartment, snow dappling the sky in endless flurries, it’s only you two in the world.

Your lip wobbles, but Chris always catches you before you fall.

“I’m the man honored to walk around with you tonight, hm?” He starts, thumbing away bubbling tears from your cheeks.

“You look too pretty for these tears, ‘don’t want to mess up your makeup now do we?” He cracks a feeble smile, smoothing down your brows and adjusting your scarf with utmost care from his mitten-clad fingers.

“Ah,” His face lights up with recognition. “You added the glittery eyeshadow.”

You can’t help but crack a laugh. Pitifully croaked, but there no less.

First day of high school and you’d shown up with a downright awful amount of glittery eyeshadow, looking similar to a human-disco ball with the sheer amount alone.

Chris, ever the kind soul knowing you since birth, gave you a two thumbs up, a tight smile, and a “looks great!” that’s lived as one of your best inside jokes even now.

Luckily, this time around the amount is agreeable, just above your lashes and shimmering avidly beneath falling snow.

“I did,” You whisper softly, gaze fluttering down to your shoes before flickering back up to him. “And um.. is it true? That..”

Oh this is embarrassing.

“I look okay?”

Perhaps if he says it, tonight you can believe it’s true.

This time he breaks your heart, with such a heart-wrenching smile on his face.

“You always look beautiful, ‘doesn’t matter how much you think you’re not, you’ll never be able to change my mind. Now let me take you out, yeah? ‘Can grab some hot chocolate,” He ushers, winding your arm to link with his as you make forward, his black trench coat swaying with the click of dress shoes, chilly nose finding sanctuary in a ruby-red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

Beneath the streetlights and dark skies, Chris could be a prince if he so wished.

That’s another thing you can believe is true tonight.

Curious eyes of awaiting children and scolding mothers litter the streets, tiny fingers pointing to toys through the glass, busied chatter and shared affection blooming within a once blue atmosphere, now dappled in ribbons of color.

The transition from monochrome, like shutters of an old camera capturing technicolor for the first time.

Or maybe Chris was the one responsible for each flourish of color, painting your world the prettiest of hues.

“Do you remember it?”

His voice, honeyed, accompanied by a plume of air in requite of a warm exhale evokes a skip to your step, catching your footing on the stone sidewalk with an awkward clearing to your throat.

“The things you used to want for Christmas?” He continues, and you chose to ignore the knowing smile on his face, gaze shifting upward in hopes of recollection, to no avail.

“Hm.. Do you?” Quietly offered, a change in attention grants you momentary escape from the spotlight.

Well, before it truly does become momentary.

He never has been embarrassed easily, you’d like to add. A matter speaking for itself in the way he automatically clings to your side in response, swaying back and forth whilst singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” you didn’t realize was blaring through overhead speakers above passing until this moment.

Predictably, he earns the bemused grins of passerby and your face (as an individual who does in fact get embarrassed easily, to your own dismay) growing fifty shades of crimson.

“Yah! Quit!” Though your efforts are as futile as your voice and it’s involuntarily chortled-ness, you smack at his hand no less.

Of course, he persists.

Until the sharp turn to a small, annually appearing hot chocolate truck ceases your complaining and his singing in synonymous tandem.

An array of memories come washing across you with each gust of winter wind, and you can practically hear the manner of squeakiness his voice used to be, the foam from whipped-cream topped cocoa sitting atop his top lip like a mustache. You’d always laugh at that.

When you burnt your tongue one year after the beverage was too hot and he remained resilient in his belief you could and would taste Christmas dinner.

You did not, but it was worth a try. Also worth seeing his big, hopeful eyes peek up at you excitedly.

Back then he was always shorter than you, until that fateful day in High school he arrived with a far taller stature than the pipsqueak you knew of most days.

A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one.

Seems his memory remains as sharp as ever, evident in the gentle squeeze he gives your hand—his you hadn’t even noticed was held in your own up till now.

“Get some, hm? My treat.” He quickly urges, watching you pad forward like a child to admire the menu in adoration, waving to the old woman you’d known since a child, always manning her tiny miracle of a truck. 

He would keep the fact he’d looked up the hours the truck would be in town to himself. That, along with the tiny heart drawn on the side of the cardboard coffee sleeve you had yet to acknowledge, one he discovers is the old woman’s doing, her knowing smile matching his own when he looks up for silent clarification.

Encouragement. 

Go for it.

He feels his palms grow clammy, internally thankful you weren’t holding hands at the moment(which was enough of a heart-attack inducing experience in itself).

The trace of lipgloss on the rim of your cup, the batting of those precious eyes.

Worst is, you don’t even know what you do. The little things compiling into something downright torturous.

And when you look up at him for that split second, his breath catches. 

Ah. 

He wants to kiss you. 

From the scrunch of your nose when you begin to laugh to the snowflakes already dappling your lashes.

Because loving you is easy, and then it’s not. Over and over again. He’s afraid, but his mind is fuzzy and jumbled with feelings, and that small bit of melted marshmallow on your bottom lip he finds himself longing to taste. Lick up the sweetness and sink his teeth into the plush skin–

The tiniest drop of hot chocolate clings to your lips, and Chris wonders if you’d taste like it too.

December 24th.

“Hm?” His hum of confusion falls upon deaf ears, too preoccupied with a call from your mom to take note.

Something must’ve piqued his attention, though you’d have half the mind to guess what.

That is until hanging up, and curious brown eyes boring into your skull from afar transform into this itch you can’t ignore.

“Chris.”

Like an annoying older brother, he is sometimes.

Then there’s that sheepish sort of sound, the “i-got-caught” giggle testing your annoyed facade.

“Hey now,” He begins after a moment, pointing an incredulous finger your way like you’ve said something outrageous, looking like some perplexed old man whilst running a hand through his hair in an odd, cheap rendition of exasperation.

He looks more like he’s choking, but you give full points for effort. 

“You haven’t put up your tree or anything? What are you, the grinch?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about. 

For context, your conversation minutes prior with your mother consisted of the formalities: “How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well?” which turned into the personal portions: “Classes? Boyfriends?”

As for the last question, you’d keep her posted. 

But what seemed to grab his attention most was the additional part where you not-so-discreetly told her you likely wouldn’t bother putting up decorations in your own place this year.

Granted, you spent most days at Chris’s anyway, Christmas as well. Why not skip the hassle to freeload?

Also, you weren’t aware this was chastising season, Mr. Bahng.

“You’re serious?”

Nope. All a joke, every bit.

“…I usually just stay here anyway..?”

Which was true! He knows this!

“Nuh-uh, ‘s gotta change. What if one year I go overseas to visit family and you’re here alone?”

Horribly fast, your stomach sinks, and you’re hasty to scorn the sensation.

This fear, innate and uncontrollable. That on a certain season, you won’t have that certain someone to spend it with. 

I won’t, you want to say; treat the words like some totally unrealistic joke, treat his argument like a fable.

The clapping of his hands wards you from your incomprehensible nightmare.

“Alright! Let’s go! We’re decorating your place!”

This year at least, he’ll be by your side.

So you nod, as you do to most things concerning Christopher Bahng.

Love makes a person so.. strange, does it not?

Maybe that’s just you. Or him, or all of it. Who knows.

Crunching of white sheets beneath your feet keep your head from falling astray, as if dancing atop dove feathers amidst your trek to the car.

Too many thoughts, too many questions likely to be left unanswered.

The moon, in her full, glowing glory blinks down from above as a feeble solace.

Of the most beautiful of love stories. For when her lover, Sun, grows tired of arduous laboring in the day, she will arrive to establish her night so that Sun may rest for another day. A night of waiting for the one most beloved to her.

It reminds you quite a bit of yourself, oddly enough, as frosted fingertips shuffle beneath your legs to bask in the passenger seat’s seat heater as a source of warmth.

Each exhale fogs up the windows as the engine rumbles to life, and it’s a wonder you didn’t have to scrape off ice beforehand.

“Mm, in Australia it’d be so warm since ‘was summer, even on Christmas Eve. I remember one year ‘got the chance to get out there during the Holidays. Jisung sent me a text saying it was four degrees celsius in Korea and he was wearing three jackets. Meanwhile, I was outside in a tank top with Berry in twenty-seven.”

His eyes adorn the same sweet crinkle of happiness, ring-clad index tapping an inaudible beat where it rests on your knee, the other finding purchase on the steering wheel as you continue onward through late-December snowflakes.

He lights up your world without even trying. His smile, his excited talking. The way his words grow shorter and shorter the more excited he is to explain something.

Nerd. 

You love every second of it.

“And what I said about Australia earlier.” Chris begins quietly, sparing you a glimpse. His palm squeezes your knee gently, and you want to shout, jump, do something to alleviate the scream wishing to claw from your throat in reply.

Since when have you become so susceptible, so easy?

Simple. Since you fell in love.

Or, more like when you realized you were in love.

This was nothing new, after all.

“You wouldn’t be alone here over the holidays. I’d take you with me.” His eyes squeeze shut momentarily in thought, tone this quieted whisper you have to crane to discern.

“Back in October, during my birthday. Do you know what my wish was?”

A wordless look of wonder urges him on, thumb smoothing along your skin in a tender rhythm, never to break.

“One of these days, I’ll take you to Australia with me. Home with me.”

“So my first love can meet my last love.”

The second portion is barely intelligible, as if it were a mere whisper in the night. 

You wonder if it was a figment of your imagination.

Nevertheless, the less-than-inviting (compared to Chris’s), pale glow of your flat’s porch light eventually comes into view, and either of you clamber from car doors with evident struggle—abundant layers against the chill making for an awkward toddle to your snow-muddled doorstep.

Quick to retrieve the boxes from your attic, the both of you get to work. Chris frets over shoveling snow from your front porch, and you set to Christmas-ifying the interior.

It’s domestic, almost. His humming from the front door to songs playing on the speaker inside, the slow transition from your usual flat to a festive explosion. 

Then, of course, the tree.

In which you awkwardly shift your weight from foot to foot while awaiting his assistance, only for you to make eye contact and want to shrivel into a ball and never come out.

Again, shy. It’s bizarre. 

“Hm.. You wanna put up the star?”

After far too long trying to figure out the logistics, a makeshift (albeit lopsided) tree resides in your living space, a few ornaments here and there clothing the sad excuse for a normally grand view. 

But it’s yours, together.

You think with that knowledge alone it could’ve been a single sprout and would have been your world all the same.

His traces, everywhere. Both of your hands clutching onto each one you can grasp.

However, spontaneity comes back to haunt you. This time in the form of his hands curling around your hips, giving you a chaste countdown before you’re lifted up to place the star on the very top.

Good luck not having a heart attack, huh.

Miraculously, you don’t. Neither do you combust or squeal or any of the wild thoughts racing through murky depths of your brain.

Instead, you’re placed on the ground once more, his index and thumb taking the side of your top to gently adjust back down where it had ridden up.

Like a gentleman.

Shoot.

He makes it hard, doesn’t he?

Leaning to prop his chin on your shoulder while you admire the twinkling lights, you’d like to believe it was a hallucination that he pressed the most imperceptible, tiniest peck to the clothed junction of your neck and shoulder before pulling away.

“C’mere,” His words fall a near murmur, having to lightly tug at your wrist to truly garner your undivided attention without blood rushing to your face.

As for him, he simply had to pull you from the tree for the sake of his own wellbeing, the sight of warm lights reflecting in eyes he’d easily get lost in making each swallow harder to manage.

That, and there was.. a surprise of a sort. The sweep of a hand on the way out from his apartment, the fretful (clumsy) fastening of this so-called surprise under the guise he was clearing your porch.

Which he was, respectfully.

Just with a little something extra involved.

Nonetheless, oblivious to his plan, you follow along, anticipating some sad copy of Mister Sunshine to be made from fallen pine needles and buttons.

So when he points upwards, nothing short of a roller coaster occurs in your chest.

A spider, a roach, something scary—

A mistletoe.

Right above your head.

He’s got this giddy, nervous grin wobbling on plush lips, eyes searching yours like some little boy seeking a reaction. And you feel like you’re staring at elementary schooler Chris all over again.

At his cheery face knowing he’d be getting ice cream on the way home, when you lied about being able to taste Christmas dinner with a burnt tongue. 

A single lightbulb flickers orange, illuminating the mistletoe residing just beside.

Finally not-burnt cookies sit in their container back at his apartment, Love Actually long since completed. Your snowman, named Mister Sunshine, occupies the complex’s front walkway, and too many mugs of hot chocolate have been downed these past few days to count.

When your own place gets lonely, a tree you had put up together keeps you company, so that those nights alone this winter won’t be so cold. 

“Can I..?”

Chilled temperatures nip at your nose, and you feel like crying listening to the softened manner he asks, the tentativeness in the way his hand reaches to cup your cheek.

The sound is more like a plea, and you’d be beyond embarrassed if it was anyone but Chris.

“Please.”

And beneath that mentioned mistletoe, Chris kisses you for the first time, and December 25th makes its slow approach above the horizon.

When becoming more grows scary, Chris holds your hand to remind you there’s nothing he won’t step into with you. No matter the doubt, the fear.

It seems this winter you won’t be lonely. Because you won’t be spending this Christmas alone, nor many to come.

He’ll make sure of that.

One day till Christmas, four dates till you told him you felt the same.

You never got to five anyway. 

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 1

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, drinking Wordcount: 5.4K A/C: another pregame treat!! need my girls to deliver tonight!! anyways, here is chapter one, this one is about to start a little slower and i'm sorry about that but i promise it'll pick up and get more interesting, i got big plans for this one y'all!! anyway please leave feedback/thoughts/reviews whatever for me, i love them :)

-

Before London

The Dallas roads are busy, stretching out for miles out into the horizon as I stare out the window. My lungs craved fresh air, itching to open the window. But I knew the air outside would bring no such relief, the humidity of this time of year already bringing me one step closer to packing my bags and making my way back to Connecticut. Everyone told me to turn the AC on, but I was much too stubborn and stuck in my ways. My dad would have come over himself and turn it off if he knew I was considering turning it on in April - much too early for his liking.

I had been here for a week now, seven long days. Each one making me more homesick. I missed my girls. I missed my team. I missed the normal weather and the East Coast. It was so bad I was on the phone with my dad every night, complaining. I knew as much as he loved me, he was getting sick of it.

“Paige, let’s figure this out,” Britt’s voice comes through the speaker phone, five garment bags sent by her laid out on the bed, ready to be opened.

“What do you even wear to this sorta thing?” I ask, speaking into the phone. My hands are opening one bag after another.

“Baby I dunno, you just gotta pick something. What kinda vibe do you wanna give off?” Brittany asks sweetly as I place my phone on the bed in front of me, pulling my shirt off over my head.

“I can’t think, it’s too hot,” I complain, rubbing my face. “I hate it here, wanna come back.”

“Paige, you gotta push through this. Try and look at it differently, at least you like your teammates!” 

I whine and lie down, my back hitting the soft cotton of the sheets. “Do you think they’d let me take my sixth year?”

“Oh my gosh girl you gotta pull yourself together,” Brittany laughs, which in turn makes me laugh too. I knew I was being dramatic, my team was great, the coaching staff seemed amazing. But it was my first time living alone, I didn’t know what to do with myself and all this energy I had. I felt like I was two days away from jumping off the walls.

Lou and Arike had both taken me under their wing, and the few joint practices we’d had with the team the past week seemed promising. Not good, but like there might be potential for something with hard work. I was well taken care of and grateful for it, but the thing is at Uconn I was spoiled. I got to live with my best friends. To spend every moment with them, get on their nerves and not worry because in the end they were my sisters.

“Where are you going?” Britt asks.

“Some sorta steakhouse,” I answer, rubbing my eyes.

“Boujee or like… Texas?”

I snort, grabbing the phone from beside me.

“It’s a nice place I heard. But Rike been here for so long she mighta forgot what nice is,” I joke sitting back up.

“Then go with the blue bag.”

Unzipping it, I find a pair of black shorts, and an oversized dark green crewneck sweatshirt. 

“Ion know about this Britt it’s a lil… boring,” I mumble looking over the outfit. When did I last wear dark green anyway.

“That’s why you dress it up girl! Wear a collared shirt under it, put on some chains, some nice shoes, trust it’ll fit the vibe, you don’t wanna be doing too much. Have I ever let you down?”

I sigh. I could see the vision the moment she started talking. “No you have not,” I reply. “I gotta start getting ready. Thanks again.”

“Anytime Paige,” she answers and we hang up. I know silence can’t echo, but it’s so overwhelming it almost feels like that’s exactly what it’s doing. Storrs was always loud, lively. Now I had it so bad I was even missing KK’s neverending rambling. 

Quickly putting on a playlist to get rid of the aching pressure on my chest, I begin to get ready, rapping along to a Drake song loudly - but who cares I live alone now. I sleek back my hair, pinning it into a bun - the one hairstyle I knew how to do. I put on some diamond studs, and take my time picking accessories, choosing just the right silver rings to match the chain on my neck, a cross hanging from it. Of course, Brittany had been right. The outfit was great, not too much for a nice restaurant but still totally me.

“Shit,” I mumble to myself when I check the time, realising Lou must be waiting on me downstairs. Grabbing a white cross-body bag I run out the door, quickly making my way down where, just like I thought, the brunette was waiting, tapping on the steering wheel impatiently.

“Sorry I’m late,” I yelp climbing into the passenger seat. Since I barely knew Dallas, Lou had decided it was best if she drove both of us.

Shaking her head, the girl driving merges onto the road swiftly. “Not gonna be making a good impression if we bring our rookie to the party late,” Lou complains.

I scoff, leaning back against the seat and tapping on the back of my phone, feeling butterflies grow in my abdomen. I knew I made good first impressions, that people seemed to like me. I wasn’t called the ultimate rizzler for nothing. But it was still daunting, I was about to meet all the people who worked behind the team, behind me just so we could do what we do. 

The past week had been so strange.The change in dynamic was drastic. I had become so used to being the older one, the one to call the shots, to have so much wisdom to give. Almost naively so. All of a sudden I was back to being the baby - the one who didn’t know anything, who had to depend on others. I thought I was prepared. But the transition was hard to navigate. I didn’t quite know how to act, if I was honest.

“Yo chill, I’m not even that late,” I chuckle lightheartedly, looking out the car window, my eyes trying to find something worth changing my mind about Dallas for.

“Ten minutes is too much, we gotta pick up Rike too,” Lou complains, hands on the wheel. It was only April but the humidity made it feel like summer. “Were you late talking to that girl?”

“What girl?” I ask.

“That girl from last night!” Lou laughs, elbowing me.

I shrug, like I had no clue what she was talking about. A complete lie. I hadn’t been thinking straight ever since I saw her.

“Ohh you mean that girl downstairs!” I say sarcastically. The brunette next to me sees right through it though.

“Never heard your voice get so quiet and shaky I swear,” Lou says, a blush setting on the apples of my cheeks thinking back to last evening. “You were fully stuttering.”

“No way bro!” I groan, biting my lower lip so as to not laugh. Though I knew better. I was definitely stuttering.

I hadn’t seen much of the girl, just her face poking through the door into the hallway. But something about her took my breath away, I couldn’t look anywhere else. It was Lou finally elbowing me that made me realise I had been staring at the dark haired girl. She was so beautiful it physically pained me to look away, but with a struggle, I had done so. 

But then she spoke. And if I wasn’t trembling before, the lilt of her voice had me weak in the knees immediately. It was deep, yet simultaneously sweet. Nevermind the accent that hadn’t left my head all night. Lou made fun of me relentlessly all night because apparently, my voice was shaking when I talked to her. I think she was full of shit.

“You were, I don’t blame you,” the brunette murmurs. “She was hot.”

I kiss my teeth, looking out the window. “Don’t matter, she could be Zendaya and I still wouldn’t get into all that.”

Lou looks bewildered, eyes flickering between me and the road.

I grin at her, shaking my head. “Nah I’m staying celibate. Scout’s honor. Got me that Natty last season.”

It was true. For the first time last season I had not been involved with any girl - and it worked out pretty well in the end. It got me the ring. Adapting to a new team, new city, new life was already hard enough without fucking around. Girls had a way of making everything complicated.

“You? Celibate?” Lou asks, her tone skeptical. I suppose she remembers a different Paige from when we were both Huskies. I had changed a lot though, grown up.

“Trust,” I nod as we park in front of a nice apartment building, Arike making her way out and into the car.

“Yo,” she greets us, and I nod into the rearview mirror, meeting her gaze.

“Sup my rookie!” Arike grins and squeezes my shoulder. “You ready for tonight?”

“Aren’t we just gonna eat and go home?” I ask but Lou and Rike are quick to shake their heads.

“Nah these things don’t end till late, we know how to party here you know what I’m sayin?” The girl in the back grins.

“Don’t blame you, nothing else to do here,” I complain half-jokingly. 

“Yooo not too much. You’ll grow to like it,” Arike laughs, grabbing her phone. “Just don’t drink everything people offer you today, got it?”

“Yeah, everyone’s gonna be trying to get you drunk,” Lou chuckles. “My rookie year they had me almost blacked out.”

“Almost? You were blacked out. We had to carry you to bed.”

I laugh and sigh, rubbing my jaw, my nerves stirring within my abdomen. “Great.”

-

The restaurant is buzzing with people, an entire second floor reserved just for the Dallas Wings employees. Arike, Lou and I show up fashionably late, but to my pleasant surprise everyone’s too busy huddling around the bar, lining up for drinks. I smooth over my green sweatshirt, already feeling the heat get to me. How the hell was I supposed to dress for weather like this? It wasn’t even summer yet.

I walk over to Satou, who’s grinning widely at me.

“Look at you, our baby rookie. Let’s get you a drink!” She smiles convincingly. I glance at Arike and Lou behind me, snickering amongst themselves already. So it begins.

“Feels wrong to drink at a team event like this,” I tell the taller girl, guiding me towards the bar. I was more used to sneaking drinks into hotel rooms, doing our best to hide them from the coaching staff. Guess this is what growing up feels like.

“Nah, don’t worry. Everyone’s chill here,” Satou laughs and orders us two beers before I have the opportunity to interrupt and ask for a Shirley. Reluctantly I grab the beer, cheering with the girl next to me.

“To the saviour of the Wings!!” She jokes and I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

“Sorry, but could you check if they are Manzanilla olives?”

The accent. I immediately turn my back on Satou, my body working before my mind can as my eyes scan the room. And then I see her. The girl from the apartment underneath mine.

She’s standing at the other end of the bar, holding a black clutch in her hand as she talks with the bartender. Her dark hair is down, in perfect waves, not one strand out of order. The dress she’s wearing isn’t red, but more maroon, shade matching the red of her lipstick to the hilt. The one-shoulder dress leaves her left one completely bare, and the golden jewelry sitting against her light brown skin makes her sparkle in the moody lighting. No words would do justice, I know that much. My knees nearly buckle at the sight of her. This strange girl whose name I didn’t even know, yet kept haunting my existence here in Dallas.

“Oh they’re not? Then nevermind the martini, could I just get a glass of Chardonnay please?”

If I had been nervous before, then it was nothing compared to the way my stomach was stirring now. Which is insane considering I didn’t even know this girl’s name. Hell, I better just avoid her tonight. I’m not on my a game. I should just keep my distance.

“Paige! That’s the girl!” Lou is half whispering, half screaming over the crowd, incredibly obviously pointing at the dark haired girl. To my relief she doesn’t notice, too busy swirling the wine in her glass around and sniffing it. 

“Shut up,” I mouth to Lou as she walks up to me, Arike on her tail.

“What girl?” Arike whispers, already eyeing every woman over my shoulder.

I give Lou a look, widening my eyes and telling her to keep her mouth shut. But of course, it fails. I had no power here.

“We ran into this hot girl in Paige’s building yesterday and Paigey here got all shy and nervous.”

Arike bursts out laughing, and I’m pretty sure my face was going completely pink at this point. So I sip half of my beer quickly, letting the girls get over their laughing fit.

“You done?” I ask in annoyed, eyeing the girls.

Gasping for air, Arike nods and grins at me. “Well go get her.”

“She can’t, she’s celibate,” Lou answers. The shorter girl standing next to her scoffs, clearly finding amusement in that.

“Yeah, good luck with that. You’re the new hooper in town, gon’ be drowning in pussy. I was,” she says, sipping her beer. “The rookie year is crazy.”

“Oh trust, she was drowning in it at Uconn too-”

“Okay okay, chill guys,” I interrupt the conversation, Satou standing next to us quietly and chuckling to herself. 

“So which one is it?” Arike asks. Glancing over my shoulder I see the girl from downstairs talking to some guy around the same age as her. Just as I’m about to point her out, Satou and Arike are waving that exact guy over.

“Yo Trey!! My guy!!”

All of a sudden he’s walking over with her. I feel my face going red, my breathing growing ragged, my eyes quickly flicking to the floor. She was like the sun, as much as I wanted to I couldn’t look directly at her - it might blind me.

“What’s up, my favourite girls!” The guy - Trey, apparently - says brightly and dabs all of them up. 

“Ahh and the prodigy!” He grins, turning to me. I lick my lower lip and smile back, offering my hand. “I’m the guy with the camera, you’ll see me around. Trey.”

I dab him up, ignoring the tingling on the left side of my body where the dark haired girl is standing, evidently feeling as awkward as I was. Except she was better at hiding it, looking around the room with an air of confidence.

“Well I’m the one with the basketball, you’ll know where to find me. I’m Paige,” I flash him my most charming smile. Everyone laughs at my joke, except the girl beside me. I quickly decide that perhaps getting drunk wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Oh this is Zari, she’s new from England, Linda finally hired someone to work on the social media shit,” Trey explains, pointing to the girl between me and him. I blink stupidly when I look at her. Somehow she was more beautiful up close which made my throat feel tighter. I quickly sip my beer again, looking to the ceiling. Fuck, pull yourself together. I wasn’t this superficial - feeling like this just because someone was hot. Who knows, she might be the worst person you’ve ever met.

“That would be me, hi!” She says when I realise I was barely listening to Trey before, completely not making note of her name. She shakes everyone’s hand, smiling kindly. Fuck, are my hands sweaty? Better wipe them on my shorts first. I gotta make eye contact - I’m sure a couple seconds will be enough. It might be all I can bear.

The girl turns to me, her right hand extended. I glance at it, gripping it gently. Her hand shake is surprisingly firm, but I barely notice, feeling as if my skin is on fire. The moment our eyes meet I look away, knowing that everyone and their mothers could tell I was blushing right now.

“I forgot your name,” is all that comes out of my mouth, so clumsily I wanna hide behind the bar and never come out when I realise how rude it sounded.

To my shock she’s not taken aback at all by my bluntness, instead holding herself with an almost regal air. I wasn’t sure if I was intimated or turned on - either way I was overcome with a desperate need to make her like me. Surely I was off to a horrible start.

Our eyes meet again. Hers are dark green, deep and rich like the pine trees back home. I can feel myself wanting to sink in deeper, to bask in their familiarity. To feel the sting of cold air and smell the snow falling from the sky and to bask in the scent of pine all over me. Before I know it I notice her glossed lips move, but my ears barely pick anything up. An I? And I think there was an A at the end? You gotta be kidding me.

“I- Ivanna?” I stutter. She chuckles softly, as the others around us snicker amongst themselves. Bitches. 

“No, darling, let’s try again,” she smiles, her tone so sweet it’s bordering on condescending. I fucking swoon at it. “Izara.”

I nod, not sure if the heat on my face is from how hot and humid it was inside the restaurant, or from the public humiliation in front of this gorgeous girl. I chuckle mostly to myself, rubbing my jaw and looking around to break eye contact finally. Far too distracting.

“Izara,” I repeat, noticing Satou, Arike, Lou and some of the others laughing at my clumsy behaviour. I was just begging Izara didn’t make note of why I was acting a fool. 

“Zari is better,” the brunette says, a slight teasing tone to her voice. I breathe heavily out my nose, trying to get the blush to settle from my cheeks.

“Zari, got it.”

“Took you long enough,” Arike teases, making everyone laugh, except Zari who just smiles at me.

“Guys, not all of us are used to the Texas heat. It messes with your head,” she says with enough authority in her voice to make everyone around us stop laughing and give me sympathetic looks.

“Uhh yeah, it’s hot,” I answer bluntly, my voice shaking a little as I rub my neck. On top of the mess I was, I could feel myself sweating. I have to get home as fast as possible. Or not home. But back to the apartment I was staying in for now, until the moment I could go back home to the East Coast.

“Shit, I’m Paige by the way,” I say, realising I never introduced myself to Zari. She scoffs, waving me off.

“Paige, it’s my job to know who you are,” she points out. It’s funny, and I want to laugh. But nothing comes out of my mouth, I’m simply unable to, her proximity leaving me completely discombobulated. So I just sip my beer.

“Right.”

-

Paige Bueckers hates me. The moment she met me I could tell. Maybe she was offended by the fact I didn’t recognise her last night. Figures, a star like her would have a huge ego. Still, I had one job tonight. To make her like me. And I had done the exact opposite. I could tell by the way she avoided my gaze, the way she barely wanted to shake my hand, abruptly pulling it away from my grip. She barely talked to me, wrapped up in a conversation with everyone besides me. I couldn’t afford to disappoint my boss, if I did it would be bye bye Dallas and hello London. 

I’m sitting between Trey and another colleague, Ava, both caught up in a lively conversation as I cut a piece of my steak, wrapping my lips around the fork and chewing on it. Glancing up from my plate, I see Paige throwing her head back as she laughs with her teammates, her entire demeanor so much more lively now that I wasn’t close to her. A slight irritation was growing in me, watching the carefree way she’s joking around with the people around her part of the long table. Who was she to make up her mind on whether she liked me so fast. I was the kind of person you grew to love. I’m sure she would as well.

“Okay everybody!” Curt Miller stands up clinking his glass with the cutlery. Suddenly everyone goes quiet, including the blonde. For a second our eyes meet, sending a strange jolt around my body. Blinking, I shift my gaze to the man, clearly ready to give a speech.

“Alright alright,” he laughs, “I just wanna thank everyone for coming here tonight. I was never good at these so let me keep it short. This is gonna be a big, exciting year and I’m so grateful to the Wings for giving me this opportunity. I know I’m a new face to some of you, but I’m in great company,” he grins and points to Paige. “And Linda here mentioned something about a new media employee too!”

Like on cue Linda stands up a few chairs to the right of me, nodding. “Yes Curt, we’ve got some young blood to help this year all the way from England. Izara here, should help us grow our social media reach.”

I smile, trying to focus on appearing together and poised as I smile to some people glancing towards me. 

“Awesome news!” Curt grins as Linda sits back down. “With two young talents I’m sure we’re gonna have a hell of a year,” he says, glancing at both me and Paige. I see Arike rub Paige’s shoulder, clearly excited and happy about how the lottery turned out for the Wings this year.

“Now since I’m boring everyone out of their minds why don’t you two say a few words.”

Pause. I feel a panic rise from somewhere deep in my abdomen. Don’t get me wrong, I had no issue with public speaking, no issue with performing. What I did have an issue with was improvising. I was the girl who planned, who made lists, who used to finish her essays the day before a deadline. With a plan I was golden, but to expect me to say anything, planless, was causing jitters. I was just hoping it didn’t show on my face.

Mine and Paige’s eyes meet, and I immediately know that I wasn’t as composed as I wanted to be. That she knew I was panicking. Bet this is just gonna make her hate me more.

Instead, to my surprise, she clears her throat and begins speaking with an easy confidence.

“Uh well, way to throw us under the bus Curt,” she jokes, immediately making everyone chuckle, including me. “Guess I know what kinda season this is about to be.” Another round of laughs around the table giving her time to scratch the back of her neck as she thinks. With a slight smirk on her face she continues.

“This is a big moment for me. I grew up with the sport, already knew I had a chance to go pro when I was eight. I’ve been waiting for a while to get to the league and to finally be here… It’s surreal. I feel really blessed, really grateful,” she says looking at her plate and then letting out a sly, quiet laugh. “Crazy that I’m drinking with the coaching staff right there, I’m so used to having to hide it.”

I chuckle with the rest of the group. There’s something about her, a smoothness, a charm that makes it impossible not to like her. Even improvising like this she seems completely in control, like she knows she’s got everyone wrapped around her finger. It’s impressive. I can’t look away.

“Geno didn’t let you drink?” Curt asks lightheartedly, making Paige’s blue eyes widen.

“He would’ve put belt to ass, lemme just say that.”

More laughter. Paige looks around meeting my gaze.

“Zari, I know you got that cold right? So maybe I should just speak for you so you have a voice tomorrow?”

Huh? I furrow my brows looking at her confused, but her eyes won’t budge, boring into mine. And then I realise. She’s trying to let me off the hook.

“Yes please,” I smile back, looking down to my lap. Something about the way she did that all for me, picked up on my nerves, found a way to get me out of it, was making my insides flip. You wouldn’t do that for someone you hate I suppose.

“I gotchu,” Paige grins, looking back to everyone around the table. “I think we’re both just really grateful for the opportunity and really excited for the season. Anyway, thanks guys.” 

Everyone claps and I do too, my heart warming at the way Paige Bueckers had just saved me. 

“Wait, you're sick?” Trey whispers. 

“Uh, a little.”

-

“Hope you feel better Zari!” Ava says as I wave bye, walking towards the exit.

“Thanks guys, I’m sure I will,” I say, knowing I felt just fine. Great even, after a few glasses of wine. As I step out into the evening, I hold my fur coat in my hands, too hot to put it on. To my surprise I see Paige standing right outside the restaurant, scrolling on her phone. Interrupted by the tapping of my heels, she lifts her gaze, the intensity of her blue eyes surprising.

“Hey,” she smiles, avoiding looking at my face again. She was really giving me mixed signals.

“Hi there,” I say, walking closer. “Thanks for rescuing me earlier.”

She looks at the parking lot, a sly smirk spreading across her face.

“Nah, you’re good,” the blonde grins, diamond studs in her ears sparkling. “Not a fan of speeches?”

I shrug, taking that as an invite for conversation. “No I can certainly be… If you give me approximately two weeks to prepare. Minimum.”

Paige chuckles, nodding to herself. “You’re that kinda girl huh?”

“Desperately so.”

She shifts on her feet, looking for something to say.

“That’s a good trait to have, I try to plan too but usually doesn’t last for longer than a week or two,” she explains. I nod knowingly.

“My brother’s a bit like that,” I sigh. I was already missing him.

Paige turns to me, looking for my gaze.

“You got a brother?”

I nod, “Yeah, he’s younger. Your age.”

She’s taken aback. “Hollup how old are you?”

“Turned 25 last month.”

“Damn,” she says before thinking. I scoff, my eyes widening, though finding amusement in her reaction

”Are you calling me old?” I ask with a serious tone, her face immediately going bright red. 

”No, no no, not at all. You look… great.  Amazing, and like. That’s not even old, I'm just trippin’. I just assumed you were my age but like a year is nothin-” she rambles, tripping over her words.

”Paige I’m taking the piss,” I laugh. She stops, looking at me confused.

”You’re what?”

Oh right, Americans. ”I’m joking around.”

She laughs. ”Taking the piss?”

I laugh too, the air immediately easing between us.

”I’mma start using that,” Paige chuckles, glancing at me. 

”You’re welcome,” I grin.

She scoffs. ”I didn’t say thank you.”

”You should,” I demand, more seriously, meeting her blue eyes. She immediately folds, blinking her long lashes.

”Thank you.”

I suddenly feel hot, warmth rising to my cheeks. I quickly look back to the ground, the intensity of her gaze too much right now.

”Hey, uh… I think we live in the same building,” she murmurs, watching the sky. Shit, she had recognised me, of course.

”Yeah… I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. I really should have,” I quickly explain, feeling a little abashed but trying not to let it show.

”No, I just meant, I ordered an Uber. You need a ride?”

Oh. So she wasn’t mad. She was offering me a ride.

”I’d love one. Are you sure?”

”Totally,” Paige answers, smiling at me softly. She fans her own face, trying to find any relief for the heat. 

”Shit it’s hot,” the blonde groans. ”Do you mind if I take this off? I got a shirt underneath.”

”Oh, no go ahead darling,” I tell her.

With a sigh, Paige’s hands grip the back of her green sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. As she does my eyes can’t help it, flickering over her lower abdomen where both shirts have hiked up, showing a sliver of pale skin and black boxers peeking out of her shorts. Something about it makes my throat go dry. I’m not exactly sure what. The feeling almost unfamiliar to me. 

”That’s so much better,” Paige groans with relief, fixing the white oversized button up, chains resting against her chest. I feel my ears growing hot, quickly averting her gaze.

-

She’s not horrible, on top of being gorgeous she’s fucking great - funny, sweet, charismatic. Would be so much easier if Zari was an asshole like I had hoped earlier. I could feel butterflies in my stomach every time she looked at me. That familiar warmth that I knew too well.

We walk to the Uber together, and I make sure I open the door for her - I didn’t know her that well, but I could tell she was classy. On a whole different level than me. 

I climb in after her, unbuttoning more of my shirt for some airflow. For a second I think I catch her staring, but I knew it was unlikely. She was definitely giving me straight girl vibes. Of course my stupid ass was ogling after a straight girl - nothing new to me. My eyes immediately land on her thighs, her legs crossed and pressing together as she sits next to me. Okay, get a grip Paige.

”So… How you liking Dallas?” I ask, unable to take the silence in the car. 

”I haven’t seen much of it, just moved the other day,” she answers, her voice low but smooth, I could’ve listened to her talk all night. ”It’s very humid.”

”Damn that jetlag gotta be hitting hard huh?” I ask, looking at her.

”I look tired?” She asks, offended. An immediate panic takes over, my hands gripping the sweater in my hands. Shit.

”No you look fucking great. I would’ve never th-”

”Paige. I’m joking.”

Oh. I let out a sigh of relief, chuckling awkwardly. I look out the window, shaking my head at myself. I really needed to chill.

”Taking the piss?”

She lets out a loud, bright laugh, grabbing my forearm. The gold rings on her digits sparkle as her long, manicured nails dig into the white shirt. Immediate goosebumps rising underneath on my skin tell me I’m completely fucked.

“Exactly!” She gleams, her smile wide. “You did so good.”

That. I need to hear her say that again. I clear my throat to interrupt the bad thoughts, feeling Zari’s hand move off me, skin tingling as the weight of her touch lifts.

We pull up to our apartment building, both of us climbing out.

“I can transfer you some money for the ride,” Zari suggests as I let her into the building, eyes falling on her ass just for a second. Okay, no. Look away.

“No, Ion need you to,” I tell her sternly as we begin to climb up the flights of steps, her heels tapping against the tile of the floor. The sound echoes off the walls until we stop by her front door, silence draping over us, making me painfully aware of the way my heart was pounding in my chest.

“Well,” Zari smiles, turning to me, her green eyes even more prominent with the dark makeup surrounding them. Only then I notice how catlike they are, sharp and alert. Challenging almost.

I wanna say something smart, something witty. Something to make her laugh, or blush. I’m rummaging through my brain for anything coherent at least.

“I’ll see you at work,” she says, opening her door. I was running out of time.

“You’ll know where to find me,” I stupidly let out. Zari turns to look at me one more time and nods.

“Don’t stomp too loud please.”

With that she gets in, leaving me there with nothing to do but blink at the closed door and notice the flutters around my stomach. Rubbing my jaw, I slowly climb up one more flight of stairs, mind spinning around the girl. Completely, utterly out of my league. It only made me want her more.

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @lupinqs @lovegalor333 @d3arapril @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @bueckersfive @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch

[stump-not-found]

i <3 creepy hallway

creepy hallway number one <3

alright time for more home life stuff . the bedroom scene came up as a way of trying to reintegrate the gold statue from earlier, since i just really love trying to find old elements and tie them in as plot relevant as time goes on . not usually planned, but it comes through during the editing stage, which is a fun game of deciding what scenes to keep, and which to get rid of . i wasn't so certain about this one, but i loved the idea of baby ford interacting with mabel, who's slightly older... i need to draw art of it, honestly . they're cute

it's really gratifying seeing people pick up on what i've been setting up as part of ford and the statue, the fact i was able to effectively communicate something going on means the world to me . the rest of the story is gonna dig into it more so i won't lay it all out here, but it really is so much fun . makes the whole writing process feel so communicative when people share thoughts and interpretations . especially when the scenes are meant to be read into !

we also get the closet yay . sure that's not gonna be important at all

writing the kids big blow up fight was a trip and a half . the original vision was a pretty shallow "we're stressed out and out grunkles should stop being mean to each other :(", just as a way to try and push forward the dynamics between ford and stan . that still exists, it's just a lot more focus being put onto the kids themselves . they're tertiary characters for sure, but i like thinking about their home life, and how that impacts them

one of the challenges is trying to have the fight feel fairly balanced between the two of them . shoutouts to my brother and wife for the full ass socratic seminar we had about threading that needle . how do you get a conversation where a young trans boy is trying to discuss his fears about his life and his body, and keeps getting shut down ? how do you balance that with a little girl who feels like it's her job to be the sweet, happy, emotionally intellegent adult in the room ? i'm happy with the end result but boy was it stressful

bill also wasn't gonna be here but i wanted more bill so . he got to come back . i really liked tying in nick with the spit to the little chats their having in the paradox dimension . love the lil hand pinch that was just a treat for meeeee, i get to be indulgent in my fics as much as i want . i also like the fact that ford is under some indescribable pain that entire time . they got a dynamic in this story that makes me laugh .

you know whats funny is i didn't even realize ship of theseus was a paradox writing a lot of the stuff about paradoxes . for some reason i just stumbled into that one . very funny . or, no wait -- i totally knew the entire time my brain is the size of three (3) whole apples

oh man and the entire lab scene i just loved writing . i love including bathroom breaks . i love dipper's poor hygiene . i love the fact the kids traded gold for soda, they're such perfect lil con men in training . and again the whole talk about star trek was so indulgent and fun

the brothers grew up queer in the 60's/70's and that's a major part of their arc . i hope to get across the ways they both hurt each other both as kids and adults . they still got so much to work on, and i just don't know if they've got the time

anyways creepy hallway bill time

favorite part:

“Clark.” Ford stiffens, stops. Looks up. “What?” “That, uh, captain guy. The one with the, he had the big, you know–” Stan gestures over his chest, puffing his pecs out a bit more. “Always had em out, shirt cut off or whatever. Got all hot and sweaty. Great hair.” “...Kirk?” Ford turns in his seat, slightly, to get a better look at his brother. Stan clicks his tongue, points his index finger in recollection. “ Kirk .” He repeats, and the image of the guy blooms in Stan’s head. Ford had a magazine with him on the cover, about as disheveled and beat up as a guy could look, shirt torn open. That particular mag went ‘missing’ into Stan’s stash, and he laughs at that old memory getting drudged up. “I, uh. Was a fan , back then.”

i just love how neither one of them can say what they're talking about out loud lol

Stan and Ford have a conversation, Mabel and Dipper get a bit absurd, and something gold is given meaning.

If you don't look, you won't see it fading.

[gardenwalrus]

Paul McCartney at Wings' Christmas photo shoot, 1979(?)

PaulMcCartney.com Q&A (19 December 2022):

Q: When you first released ‘Wonderful Christmastime’, did you think it was going to be a Christmas hit that would come back every year? Or does it surprise you that it’s still so popular now? Paul: I like the idea of Christmas songs purely because they only come around at Christmas! They remind us of the fun atmosphere of the whole season, and when I was writing ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ I was trying to capture that party aspect. I did hope it would keep coming back – which it has. Sometimes people will go into a shop and hear it a little too much, but I don’t care! I’m happy!

Q: We really wanted to ask you about this ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ fan theory that has gone viral on social media. The theory suggests the song is about people practising witchcraft, chanting ‘the moon is right, the spirit’s up’, and when someone walks in, they must play it cool and pretend they are ‘simply having a wonderful Christmastime!’. Is this theory true? Paul: Oh yeah. Well, thank goodness they found me out. This is completely true and in actual fact I am the head wizard of a Liverpool coven. (Paul laughs) Either that… or it’s complete nonsense. And you know it’s the latter! Q: This theory may have come from people mishearing the lyrics. Could you confirm if the lyric is ‘the moon is right’ or ‘the mood is right’? Paul: It’s ‘the mood’! This is the mood; I’ve gathered together the witches and wizards… I’ve got ‘the mood’, which is what we in wizardry call it (laughs). The thing is about this stuff, it’s so easy to convince half the people in the world. You do have to be a little bit careful! No, it’s ‘the mood’. And you know what, I’m thinking about Liverpool Christmas parties, that’s really all I’m doing with that song. “The mood is right, let’s raise a glass, the spirit’s up” – you know, all the stuff you do at Christmas. Particularly with my old Liverpool family parties. Q: You’ve spoken before about singing around the piano at parties in Liverpool, and in ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ the choir ‘sing their song’ - but do you have any memories of going carolling at Christmas? Paul: I can’t remember ever having done it, so I probably didn’t. The fun thing about Christmas carolling, that probably would have influenced my decision NOT to do it, was that my dad always used to make fun of them. He'd say, ‘Here’s a shilling to go sing in the next street’. He was not a big fan of Christmas carols. I quite like them! Q: Are there any Christmas traditions from your childhood which you have continued into adulthood, and shared with your own children and grandchildren? Paul: I have actually started some new traditions. When the kids were little, I suddenly thought there wasn’t the ideal Christmas record, in my opinion. There’s some great Christmas records like the Phil Spector one, and Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby on the old standards, but I just wanted an instrumental of all the tunes. So, I ended up recording one for the family in my studio. And Eddie Klein, my engineer at the time, helped me. I now have this album I pull out every year, and it’s a bit of fun for the kids when we’re carving the veggie roast. I’ll stick it on and it means Christmas is here. It’s quite a cute little record actually! But it’s just for the family. Q: Some fans already know this exists, it’s part of the Paul McCartney folklore! I think they’re hoping to hear it one day. Paul: I’ve often thought it’s good enough if people would like it released, and I’ve thought I could do it for charity or something, but never really felt strongly enough to make a decision. It’s just a family record, and I’ll pull it out again this Christmas. My main job is to carve the roast. That was one of the things I liked when we became veggie years ago. I said it would be nice for me to able to do what I thought of as the traditional ‘dad’ job, so that’s the carving of the turkey in the old days, and now it’s the carving of the veggie roast. I normally do that – unless someone gets in there first, and I get miffed! Steady on! So yeah, I put on the Christmas record, carve the roast, and then we do all the normal Christmas things. Christmas crackers and reading out all the terrible jokes and trying to really be happy with the little gift that comes inside, which is something you’re never going to use or keep. This is the spirit of Christmas! We mainly do all the stuff that everyone else does at Christmas time.

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Hi!!! Could you possibly do a fluffy Rhys x reader where reader isn’t really into pda but the second her and Rhys are behind closed doors she becomes physically affectionate with him? She will show affection publicly every now and then but likes to keep it private for the most part.

Touch starved

Rhysand x f!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings; none, maybe a bit suggestive?

Hello I hope you enjoy the way i wrote your request

Rhysand always enjoyed showing off, it didn’t matter where he was, he didn’t care about the occasion meaning that he would steal the spotlight even at someone’s wedding. So, when he found his mate, he wanted to show her off to the entire world. He also wanted to show everyone that she belonged to him. Imagine the shock when he realized that you don’t like to show your affection in public. He was devastated at first but after the first time you spent time in public for more than a few hours he realized how good it felt when you were alone, how more affectionate you became because you were touch starved. Like today… Nesta decided to celebrate her birthday at a tavern which was kind of odd, but everyone agreed since you wanted to make the day about her and only her. You were sitting next to Rhysand as you talked with Cassian and Mor. Your knee touching your mate’s under the table being the only action of love for the time being. Rhysand felt irritated and he could feel your desperation to touch him through the bond but being the stubborn female you were he knew that you wouldn’t budge. It had been more than 15 hours since the last time you two were alone and your body was literally shaking with need, your shy nature though dreaded the idea of touching your dashing mate.

“Y/n are you listening?” Cassian asked with a worried look.

Your eyes focused back on him, and you shook your head trying to put your thoughts in order. “Yeah… no… sorry I’m just tired” you sighed.

“Honey, you don’t look good maybe you should head home” Mor suggested softly and caressed your upper arm.

Rhys immediately turned to you with furrowed eyebrows “Are you okay love?”

“I think we should go home” you replied and glanced at Nesta who was having the time of her life with her sisters. “I think she will be okay”.

Rhys smiled and being the amazing mate that he is he stood up and grabbed your hand leading you outside while also saying quick goodbyes to his friends.

The moment you stepped into your shared house you sighed in delight and ran to your room to get changed.

“So are you really tired or you couldn’t resist me anymore?” Rhys smirked when he walked into the room making you wonder if he somehow planted the need in your head.

You changed into your nightgown and glanced at him. “Just tired” you shrugged and slipped in your bed.

Rhys stopped undressing and looked at you with a cocked eyebrow making you giggle.

“You’re such a bad liar” he gave you his feline smile and crawled on the bed.

“Come here” you opened your arms and legs for him to lie on top of you. When he made himself comfortable between your legs with his head resting on your chest you smiled and started caressing his hair with one hand and his bare back with the other.

He hummed and relaxed on top of you carefully though so he wouldn’t crush you.

After a while you lowered yourself and planted kisses on top of his head making him moan and tighten his arms around your middle. His scent clouded your senses, the scent of smoke and whiskey with just a small hint of something sweet made you inhale sharply while your hand trembled on top of his velvety skin.

“Feels so nice” he murmured, and you smiled.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Morning came and you woke up alone stretching over his side of the bed trying to find some of his familiar warmth. After a few minutes you huffed because it wasn’t enough and left the room in search for your mate. You tiptoed into his office where he was seated on his big chair, legs spread wide as he read a book.

“There you are” you said softly and approached him. He gave you a sweet smile and you took a seat on his lap.

“Hi” you murmured and rubbed your cheek on the base of his neck touching your cold nose on his warm and soft skin earning a chuckle from him.

“Missed me?” He asked and started caressing your hair with one hand while the other held the book.

“You know I can’t stay away from you” you smiled and wrapped your hands around his torso. “Wish I could stay here all day”

You felt his chest moving sharply as he let out a small laugh “then that’s what we’ll do” he replied and got comfortable.

That’s how you spent your day, on his lap prepping small kisses on his neck and chest while he read his book with a sweet smile on his face

@littlest-w01f , @zara-aliza08

[damn-stark]

Chapter 33 Ding dong the King is dead!

Chapter 33 of Moonlight

A/N- I hope you guys like it!!

Warning- PTSD, ANGST!!!, swearing, violence, blood, and 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- 549-561

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

There’s always something so beautiful about snow storms, whether it's big or small, quiet or loud with their howling wind, and delicate yet sharp icy flakes of snow all individually unique in design.

Maybe spending 25 years living in the cold and distant land has warped your mind into believing that the bitter snow falling over the piles of snow is enchanting and comforting, but it doesn’t make your statement any less true.

The question is would you spend any time outside in the storms like many of the locally born citizens do? No, you still crave warmth and a sun so hot that the only way to cool down is by being embraced in a cool and never-ending body of water—that has never changed in all your years. However, once in a while, when the winds aren’t as sharp and strong, you do like to walk into the swirling snowstorms to be a part of its dance. Is it perhaps a little mad? Some people don’t think so, they say you’ve embraced the Northern lands and its beautiful qualities. Whilst other people think you have gone completely mad for basking in such conditions. You, albeit don’t think so, in some ways it’s comforting. And you’re not the only one who thinks so it seems.

On your way to the Godswood, you come to a stop as you catch a pair of footsteps leading to the gardens. They’re slowly getting buried under the sheets of falling snow, but you don’t need them to guide you. You know the way and thus you take the path toward the gardens rather than following your original path.

Once you find yourself passing the archway that leads to the gardens, there in the center you find a young man hardly covered by any furs. Which is a bit daring, but he does say that he’s not bothered by the cold like you are.

In any case, you make your way to the young man, letting him hear your crunching footsteps so he can be aware of your presence rather than interjecting to gain his attention. When you fall by his side you steal a glance at his face molded into his usual state of soft melancholy almost as if he’s years ahead of where he actually is. You then follow his line of gaze to the statue that stands at the center of the garden.

You like to give credit to the bunch of Blue Winter Roses that surround the statue for stealing all the attention the vivid and enchanted garden has to offer. However, others insist that the statue steals the attention from the garden because it’s you.

Now you are a bit of a vanity, even in your old age, but your statue always has a way to make you feel flustered. Maybe it’s the meaning behind it because when you get reminded of it you swoon like a love-struck idiot. Or maybe it's because you look at the face carved on the marble stone and hardly recognize the young woman you look at. Whatever it is you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing yourself every time you enter the gardens

“Did your father do a good job at commissioning me? Or was he terribly off? From what you know I mean?” You finally break the silence and speak over the howling wind.

The young man, and your youngest child out of seven, Torrhen, tilts his head and then stretches his arm out to dust some snow off Astraea forever wrapped around your shoulder. “I think Astraea turned out smaller than she was.”

You snicker, and a warm and sweet smile that could melt the wall of ice tugs on his sweet face.

“Yeah well unfortunately the sculptor did not have enough material to sculpt her true to scale. Maybe as my dying wish, I’ll have someone sculpt her to size.”

Torrhen chuckles. “I’m afraid it would take up the entirety of our home,” he comments, making you shrug.

“You could move somewhere warmer.”

He scoffs lightheartedly, but then that smile that painted his face slowly fades away, making your own smile fall as you grow worried.

“What was it this time?” You probe as you gently cup the back of his neck to offer him some comfort since you know that his dreams and visions take a toll on him. More so now that he’s older and they get more vivid.

“Just…” Torrhen trails off quickly and drops his head to look at the rings around his fingers.

“If you don’t wish to tell me that’s fine,” you assure him as you cup the back of his neck. “Just tell someone. Your brothers…your friend. Just don’t sit on it. Keeping it all inside will eat away at you from the inside out.”

Torrhen slowly drifts his gaze to you, letting his glimmering eyes lock on you before he sighs and looks at you with sorrow.

“You may see glimpses of the future, but, my boy, you can’t change it. Don't tear yourself apart trying to piece it together.” You try to offer him some advice from what he’s told you in the past.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I can’t change it, but what if by not trying something changes? What if I doom the future? Should I not at least try in the same way I helped you when you needed it?”

Alys says Torrhen is a greenseer, and you know he’s also a dragon dreamer the same way Helaena and a few before him were. He’s cursed with the knowledge of the future, and of the past, and because of it he wants to be so much more than what he already is. Is it to silence his visions and dreams? Or is it to simply help in hopes he can change the unchangeable?

Maybe it's both, you don’t know. You just know that it takes so much away from him and it’s in a way that you can’t truly help him feel better.

“You can’t change the future Torrhen. Everything you see is a story,” you try to offer him some consolation. “You told me that. Alys told me that. And I will remind you again because it’s not your job to change the future.”

Torrhen sighs deeply and you slide your hand down to stroke his cheek.

“You already helped me get here, is that not enough?” You ask and hum softly.

“Did that not lead to change?” He quips and looks down at the snow as more snowflakes pile on.

“No,” you rebuttal. “You guided me. You shed a light on my already marked path.”

Torrhen keeps his head hanging and mutters. “If only I could have helped more.”

You sigh and cup his cheek to tilt his head up. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy. As hard as my past was, I have made peace with it now.”

“Have you?” He asks with genuine concern as his dark eyebrows knit together.

“Yes.” You nod. “All of it. I am haunted by some parts of the past, but I’m afraid I cannot change that. And it’s okay because I found my way through the noise.”

Torrhen hums and you add on quietly.

“Some people did not like the way it happened, but…”

“It had to be done,” he finishes for you, making you smile sweetly before you nod gently.

“Yes. Yes, it did.”

——

*NOW*

Twenty-five men were marked for death, and twenty-four of those men were killed for being loyal to the wrong man. You only took care of slaying one of those twenty-four men, but you wish you could have added a second to that list. If not more than five, at least a second man who was marked for death, but alas, you did choose poison as your weapon of choice for a reason.

Besides, Ser Cane says if people had seen you slay Aegon, everyone would turn against you even if it was deserved or not. Not because they love him; the smallfolk hate Aegon, and almost all of the people working in the Red Keep hate him too, but you’ve already committed a great sin they judge you for, and kinslaying Aegon would have only given the right excuse to go after you. Thus you let the poison take the credit for his death to let the people always wonder who gave him said poison.

The knowledge that he’ll die is your only consolation and the one thing holding you back from taking his life with your own bare hands. However, you won’t let the tightness around your throat loosen, not until you see his dead body, and see for yourself that he’s no longer breathing and his heart is no longer beating.

Until then you return to the royal apartments to take care of one last person before you can reach the throne, and that’s Alicent. The mother of the broken king and the one person still blindly supporting him after all this time.

You actually find her and her handmaidens on the serpentine steps heading back to her chambers.

“Alicent,” you call out even though you know she can hear the echoes of footsteps and rattling armor as you approach her with your men.

“Your Grace,” she responds quietly before she turns around and blinks as she goes wide-eyed at the sight of you and your men in your shining armor. “What’s the meaning of this?” She cries out as she takes a step down to get closer to you.

You tilt your head up and glance out the window as Astraea flies by to remain close to protect you if need be, and also be a menacing presence from the outside.

“I’m sure you have an idea,” you mutter as you take in the warm sunbeam that casts through the window. “You are not as dumb as you feign to be.”

Alicent scoffs as her eyes stay locked on your face finally giving an ethereal glow against the sunlight. Even though the silver chains cascade over your face and shine brighter, your beauty is far more spectacular as the grief and agony is replaced by pride, malice, and determination.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she snaps, pulling your head down so your eyes can fall on her once again. “Why don’t you tell me.”

“Your Grace!” A voice calls out from the bottom of the steps, followed by hurried footsteps that echo as they approach.

Once the guard finds you they hand you your Valyrian sword Blackfyre, and the Valyrian dagger your grandfather Viserys used to carry before Aegon got a hold of it.

“Thank you,” you tell the man before he scurries off and leaves you alone with Alicent once again. This time as she sees you hang the sheath around your shoulder, she lets herself grasp what’s going on and why the Red Keep has gone so quiet all of a sudden.

There is a moment where she wants to be in denial but then the men behind you depart from their spot and charge after her guards like a pack of ravenous animals. After her guards drop to the ground with their blood spilling over the stone steps she looks rightfully horrified. You can see her mind racing behind her eyes, but rather than asking for her last remaining son, the target of this coup, she asks about someone else first. “Jaehaera? Where is she?”

You hook the daggers sheath around your waist first before you reassure her. “She’s safe. She was taken to safety with my children and my brother. Don't worry, no harm will come to her.”

Alicent blinks repeatedly and lets out a deep and shaky breath. Silence then follows in which you don’t try and fill it. You let her gather her thoughts which is a kindness she doesn’t deserve, but alas, it does go with the punishment you have for her.

“And,” she quietly speaks up and brings her hand to her lips to gnaw on her cuticles. “Aegon?” She lets herself ask a question that has an obvious answer, but what mother would she be if she didn't at least try and be oblivious just once in hopes she’s wrong?

Nevertheless, you don’t answer right away, cementing that horrifying truth in her already battered heart. Instead, you unsheath the dagger and raise the Valyrian weapon to look at the reflection you don’t recognize looking right back at you.

“This is the dagger you used to go after my mother,” you interject, making Alicent gulp. “With this dagger, you demanded the eye of my little brother because he defended Jace and me from Aemond,” you mention and lean the tip of the dagger toward the scar on the side of your face that Aemond made that day.

“And sure,” you continue and twirl the dagger around as you break away from your spot and slowly start taking steps toward her. “Jace did take a blade first, and that wasn’t good, I admit it, but,” you sigh and snap your eyes to her from behind the chains that cascade over your face. “Have you thought that if it wasn't for your animosity toward my mother, none of this,” you say as you spin the blade around to also talk with it. “…would have happened.”

Alicent’s face falters from its grief to flicker on disbelief and more horror at the sound of your true words.

“Helaena would have married a good man,” you mention to pierce her heart. “A man that could have loved her, and a man that she could have loved. Aemond,” you pause, and your breath trembles as you think about him. “My Aemond could have met his daughters and could have raised his children. He would’ve been such a kind and good man if things had been different.” You say as you reach her and tilt the dagger toward her, making her grow stiff and start to take labored breaths as she thinks the worst.

“Daeron,” you scoff. “Would have still left to be someone’s ward, but he would be alive and not in two pieces—did you know that I intended to bring you his head.” You chuckle and watch her bottom lip tremble. “But I got hurt and his head rotted in my saddle bag. Which ruined it by the way. It was a good leather saddle bag too.” You pout and watch her quietly break into tears so you mock her crying face for a brief moment before you grow serious and pierce a menacing glare into her.

“So much potential wasted,” you scoff. “All because of your jealousy and your pride. You were Queen and you let yourself be puppeteered by men. What a shame your children had to pay the price.”

Alicent gasps as she weeps harder.

“And you,” she says in between gasps “Will you rule or let men rule in your stead?” She tries to counter spitefully in an attempt to catch you off guard, but you only smirk.

“My brother will rule. Not because men demanded it because if I wanted to I would have grabbed them by the balls and told them to shove it, or,” you snicker. “I would have burned them. Whichever fate they decided they wanted, I have a dragon and I am Targaryen with fire-made flesh after all, but alas, my dreams aren’t what they were two years ago. I’m tired,” your voice falters along with your smirk. “I just want to raise my children and grieve in peace.”

Alicent faces you with her chin up and trembling, but she still tries to keep herself poised.

“Anyway. If things were different Aegon would not be dead, but things aren’t different and he’s dead now.” You pause and take a step back to let her take a moment to process what you told her even though in the back of her head she already had started to grieve for him.

“You’ll be given the chance to say your goodbye,” you offer her kindness. “Which is much more than my mother had. Four of her sons died and she never got to see them one last time. They were all lost or eaten.”

“Gods,” she whispers and you glance back at the sunlight peeking through the window and shake your head. “No. There are no Gods. We were abandoned a long time ago. Put her in chains,” you change the subject and direct your orders at your men. “And bring her to the throne room. Ladies,” you direct at the handmaidens. “You may go. No harm will come to you.”

The flock of handmaidens offer you a shaky curtsy before they run off just in case you decide to take back your mercy. However, they would have been wrong because they aren’t your target. Your target is just what remains of the Greens.

“Oh, and Alicent,” you add in a much more serious and angry tone. “Just so you know, you will live on. If you don’t want to eat you will be fed. If you even think of a way to end your misery short it will be diminished. You will live the rest of your life in chains, and you will be living to regret the path you took in this life. Don't worry though…I’ll let you see your grandchildren so don’t mess that up.”

You nod slowly and let out a deep sigh as you hold her watery gaze before you let your men take her as you put the dagger back in its sheath, and then turn around swiftly to march toward the Throne room.

On your way there you pass by a green banner sporting a golden dragon and you're riddled with disgust and rage at the mere sight. Before, when you would pass by them, you would be riddled with the same emotions, but you could never do anything about them but grow angry and disgusted by the sight. This time you grab the edge of the banner and yank it off to signal the death of Aegon’s tyranny and the beginning of a new reign under the rightful King, who sports the original and proud black banner with the red three-headed dragon.

Finally, Aegon Targaryen, Second of his name, and his Green faction are dead. Finally, there will be peace in the realm, and finally, you may know peace as well…

Albeit…when you approach the Throne room. When you slowly trudge down the great hall, passing cold sunbeam after cold sunbeam with your eyes never parting from the lonely throne made of swords, you realize that you don’t know what peace really means.

You reach the steps that lead up the great throne and slowly ascend them watching how the sun seems to play a neat trick by smiling down at the Iron Throne with its bright and illuminating hue as if passing a message from the gods of their contentment. Yet you fail to feel that great thing because it costs so much to attain and you lost so much of yourself to take it back from the enemy.

If only your brother Aegon could claim his prize now so you may find peace and bless your sights by no longer having to see the throne so much blood was shed for, but alas, Aegon the Younger is but a boy. You have to continue laying your eyes on the Iron Throne and rule in his stead. At least until this noise of war and the aftermath of it is resolved.

“Your Grace,” you recognize your grandfather calling out as he walks into the throne room.

When you turn around you see him approaching you with a couple of his own men.

“Lord Corlys,” you greet him and climb down one step.

Said man comes to a stop at the foot of the steps and after a labored breath he shares what brought him to you. “All of Aegon’s men have been slain…”

You smile at the news, but he takes another deep breath, making your smile fall, and making you look at him with confusion.

“And the Riverlords are approaching the city gates,” he announces, perking the corner of your lips to a genuine and bright smile.

“That was quick. The thought of battle must have excited their spirits. Alas, they’ll be disappointed to know that there is no more fighting.” You scoff and peer back at Ser Cane. “Have it seen that they’re greeted properly and brought here immediately, I would like to greet them with their new king.”

Ser Cane offers you a comprehensive nod before he marches off to do as he’s told, leaving you alone with your grandfather to ask him one single question. “What of Aegon? The second?”

Your grandfather glances at Alicent in a far corner and then returns his gaze to you. “Dead. His body is being brought here as we speak.”

Your eyes flicker down and you let out a relieved sigh and nod gently as you let your mind and your heart progress the news. Not out of shame or regret. You could never feel bad for killing Aegon. The news just feels surreal that’s all.

No matter how much you thought of it, and even though you had given the news to Alicent before it could be confirmed, hearing that the man responsible for so much of your pain is at last dead and no longer here to terrorize you and the realm, is surreal.

“Have my brother brought to the throne room,” you direct at your grandfather. “I’ll greet our guests.”

Your grandfather hesitates, but he does as he’s asked, letting you descend the steps and stride out to the courtyard with an army of Velaryon men and houseguards at your back. It’s not to intimidate the Riverlords, but more so it’s a show of power to everyone who inhabits the Red Keep, and those Smallfolk who will sneak a peek inside the castle gates. You’re actually more than eager to welcome not only men who you spilled blood with, but also friends, and lately, you’ve been in dire need of friends who don’t scorn you.

It's why you wait for them at the courtyard with the castle gates open, and the house guards standing in parallel lines, because you want them to know that they are welcome, and because you want to show them as proper of a welcome as you can muster.

And once the Riverlords finally reach the castle gates, your stiff stance loosens, and your serious demeanor falls as a warm smile starts to spread on your face.

“Welcome!” You greet the Riverlords riding at the head of their endless train of muddy warriors.

“You stand in the presence of the Queen Regent of house Velaryon!” Ser Cane’s voice booms as he climbs off his horse and walks to you as you make your way to the Riverlords

“Here we came salivating at the thought of our next fight,” Lord Benijcot Blackwood is the first to interject as he hops off his horse and bows first before he meets you halfway. “But instead, we’re greeted by The Blood Hound not covered in blood, and saying that you are now Queen Regent. What’s that about?”

You flash him and the rest of the Lords behind him a proud smirk. “King Aegon is dead and the Realm is now under the rule of the rightful ruler.”

Murmurs are passed throughout the crowd and you can see that their faces start to brighten with excitement, but you cut them off before they can celebrate just yet. “Let’s talk inside, My Lords.”

The boy Lord offers you a sly grin before he turns and lets Lord Kermit and his younger brother Ser Oscar Tully greet you with a proper bow before you shake their arms with the same warm smile.

“I hope the greeting was to your liking.”

Lord Oscar huffs and shrugs cockily. “Ladies kissed our feet and threw their napkins at us.”

“It’s beats getting swung at as a greeting,” Lord Kermit chimes in, making you chuckle softly before you move on to greet the other Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands. After you’re done and intend to lead them inside, Lady Alysanne Blackwood, aunt to Lord Benjicot, and Lady Sabitha Frey, come forward tugging at leads.

“Your Grace,” Lady Alysanne, or Black Aly as she’s called, yanks at the lead to pull forward her prisoner, Ser Jason, whilst Lady Sabitha pulls forward none other than Lord Larys—“we came across these men past the city trying to escape by horse.”

You drop your eyes on the pair of men and take a long look at them before you step back and raise your chin to look down at them between your lashes with a cocky and malice look.

“My Lord. Ser,” you greet them both with a hint of amusement. “Why am I not surprised you tried to flee? Here I thought you weren’t going to do me no more wrongs, My Lord,” you spat and snap your eyes to the crooked man.

“As if you would have spared my life the moment you took back the throne in your mother's name,” Larys rebuttals correctly because it’s true, you were going to kill him the moment Aegon died.

“No, I wouldn't have spared you. That’s right,” you say without shame and start to stalk around the men brought to their knees. “But you tried to kill me and my children. And I would be stupid as to trust you. I do applaud your attempts at fleeing though, but alas, cockroaches are not immortal.” You snicker and then shift your eyes to Ser Jason and immediately scowl rather than look smug.

“Once a coward always a coward.” You huff and look up at the sky mere seconds before Astraea’s shadow casts the courtyard before she flies over and lets everyone know she’s close and ready for any command you might give her.

“Death by dragon fire is far too quick,” you interject and blink before you look back down at the men before you. “So another death sentence will be thrust upon you, and no, you may not have a trial by combat. You will, however, challenge your death sentence,” you explain and Lord Benjicot and the other lords and guards around you grow eager as they know what’s coming.

“In two days you will face each other in a bloody game where you will fight to survive.”

Lord Larys drops his head as all the color flushes from his face since he knows now that he’s a dead man.

“The first round is against each other and then the winner would face me,” you continue smugly and tauntingly. “But I did promise Lord Benjicot he would get to participate in the next game, so,” you sigh and flash them a wicked grin. “Be prepared.” You shimmy your shoulders before you peer back so your own men can come forward and take the prisoners to their dungeons.

“Thank you, my Ladies,” you offer Black Aly and Lady Sabitha before you take another step back to get a better look at everyone from the ground. “Now if you will all come inside with me, I have a few words and an announcement to share,” you let them know with a faint smile before you turn on your heels and march inside with the Riverlords, men and women you fought alongside with, Velaryon men, house guards, and Ser Cane, all marching behind you. Another and a more tremendous show of power that has passing servants reeling to the shadows, and has other bystanders catching their breath as they watch the great show of strength marching down the halls.

Now no one dares to sneak any dirty or judgmental looks your way with the army of bloodthirsty men at your back. They all make way for the Queen and her allies without realizing what’s happened, but all those who are clueless will know soon enough, and those who did have a clue about what transcended only get a firm confirmation when you all walk into the throne room and get greeted by the dead body of King Aegon Targaryen, and the mournful wails of the Dowager Queen.

For some, the body is harder to see than others, but they all know what they see. There’s no denying or asking questions, it’s really him. King Aegon is lying dead on a bier beneath the Iron Throne, and as you reach him you grow rigid and feel your breath catch in your throat.

Once again you’re struck with surreal disbelief. More so now as Aegon’s poisoned body is before your very eyes.

After all this time. After all the fighting, and after losing so much, there he is no longer drawing breath, and with no beating heart—you make sure that his heart is no longer beating by pressing your hand on his chest to prove to yourself that he’s really and truly dead.

It’s truly unbelievable how someone so terrible could have lived so long to terrorize the world, but now…now he’s dead, and your mother's ghost still haunts you.

You see her now too standing at the other side of the bier. Her blue eyes are stuck on you, but she’s not burnt like many times before. She’s as beautiful as she was the last time you saw her, but she wears a melancholy look on her face.

“Welcome,” you let your voice carry out throughout the hall as you remove your hand from Aegon’s corpse and pull your eyes away from your mother's ghost to look at your brother with his caretaker—“My Lords and Ladies. My fellow comrades, and everyone else who finds themselves here today,” you say as you slowly move away from the bier to approach your brother. “I know some of you came here expecting a fight, and I’m sorry that you were disappointed, but there’s no need to be upset because I can now offer you peace.”

You approach your brother and he finds you right away and leans toward you to stretch out his hands so you take him instead.

“I know it’s confusing as to how we achieved it,” you continue and finally face the attentive crowd. “But you don’t need to look far. It’s all of you who made it possible. It’s because of every single one of you that there’s at last peace in the realm, and the tyranny of Aegon the Second has come to an end! So thank you for fighting, and thank you for sacrificing so much. It wouldn’t be possible without you and what you did every day for the past two years.”

You offer them a proud smirk that’s illuminated by the sunlight casting inside.

“Queen Rhaenyra might not be here to bask in the triumph or proudly wear the crown on top of the Iron Throne, but her blood will,” you carry on and glance down at your brother Aegon, and caress his cheek as he rests his head on your shoulder. “The reason you fought so hard did not go to waste when she died, it lives on in him. Aegon Third of His Name. Queen Rhaenyra’s last remaining son will sit the throne as your King.”

Gasps fill the hall and you walk to the Iron Throne before you cut off the whispers already being shared. “I would have taken the title of Queen, but…” you pause and swallow thickly. When you reach the foot of the throne you face the crowd all before you and draw out a deep breath before you continue to address them. “I can admit that when my brother grows of age he will make a much wiser King. He will maintain peace with his wife Jaehaera Targaryen.” You nod and caress your brother's back as he refuses to face the crowd as he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

“They will make a great King and Queen with the guidance of wise men and women who have learned from the past. I know it and I swear it to all of you. So,” you roll out with a growing smile, and pride in your voice. “Ring the bells for Aegon the Second is dead, and cheer for your new king, King Aegon the Third!” You exclaim and flash them all a beaming grin.

The crowd does as you say, finding nothing wrong with your brother taking your place. They embrace the change with an explosive cheer and their feet stomping against the ground as they chant for their new King.

“LONG LIVE THE KING!”

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The exhilarating bloodbath you had promised in two days’ time unfortunately had to be delayed with so much aftermath to be handled.

For example, the garrison at Dragonstone was defiant to denounce the dead king. It took three days for them to finally give up and it was not out of their own will, the people working at the castle took up arms as they slept and killed some whilst they delivered others to Alyn as prisoners. You almost had to fly out there with Astraea to flush them out, but luckily people stood up against the traitors and returned the castle to its rightful king.

Next, since your brother is young and unable to assist in any way you’ve had to send ravens to Oldtown, the Reach, Casterly Rock, and Storm’s End, promising them pardons and safe conducts as long as they rode down to swear fealty to their new king.

And lastly, you had to deal with Aegon’s body as it was decaying faster due to the poison in his system, but you couldn’t be there. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of having someone else besides his mother attending his funeral. Nor could you give him a traditional Valyrian funeral, no matter how much Alicent asked, your pride and everything besides couldn’t permit him to be burned away with dragon flames. So his body was turned to ash by traditional fire, while other people besides his mother watched because Ser Cane says that the people hoped to witness the bad omens and hatred his reign brought burn away with him. After there was nothing left of him you had his ashes lost at sea so he may drown in darkness for all eternity.

After that was handled at last you could bring your focus back on your prisoners and the bloodbath you promised, making it like a disturbing reward after so many long days.

“Silence!” A speaker makes his voice loud and booming to silence the eager crowd of Rivermen, lavish Smallfolk, Velaryon guards and soldiers, and the men from here.

“You are now in the presence of her Grace, the Queen Regent of House Targaryen, Lady Baela of House Targaryen, and the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands!”

Applause and cheering breaks in the cold air that drifts through the crevices and gaps permanently marking the once great Dragonpit, but most of that shared excitement comes from warriors you fought side by side with, and men from your own Velaryon home. The Smallfolk made their discontent for you obvious with silence, displeased stares, and a cold stiff welcome.

However, you can be petty too, so you summon Astraea to accompany you; out of protection, intimidation, and well, now that the Dragonpit is ruined there’s room for her to sit behind you, so she descends from the thick grey clouds threatening to bring rain to the city, and forces those Smallfolk who refused to spare you any kind of kindness to clap and welcome you with a frightened and feigned excited welcome.

“Welcome!” You address the crowd. “And first off, thank you for joining me today. I know the wounds of war are fresh, and this may be the last place you want to be, so thank you. Now I promise—no I swear.” You flash a feigned beaming smile. “That I will not disappoint with today's trial.” You say with a grin before you look down at the guards below and offer them a quick and stiff nod that sends them away to bring out the prisoners in chains.

“Here before you,” you continue as you step toward the edge of the high designated and roped-off area to look down at Ser Jason and Lord Larys with a slow-forming glare—“…stand two traitors, Lord Larys who not only betray his Queen and his King by switching sides to where he deemed fit, but sent assassins to kill me and my unborn children.” You scoff and the corner of your lips form to a scowl, while the crowd share gasps of shock and disgust.

“And the other is Ser Jason Waters. My former Sworn protector who took the cravens course by turning his cloak the moment I needed him most. Perhaps if he had done his job and been braver, my mother would be here, but he…” you trail off and swallow thickly. “…turned his sword against me and delivered my mother, your new king, and me to our enemy.” You finish with disgust and dig your glare into him before you step back into the shadows to avert your gaze from his pathetic face.

“Thus for their crimes, they will face each other in a fight to the death. The winner will then face Lord Benjicot Blackwood, and if they win against him their life will be spared, but if they don’t then…” your trail and huff with a smirk since it’s easy to fill in your silence.

“Ser Cane,” you say over your shoulder, and right away your sworn protector approaches the edge to throw down two sharp metal swords for the prisoners to use.

“Guards take off their chains. Gentlemen take your weapons, and my beloved audience grab your seeing glasses, place your bets, and feast your eyes on the spectacular blood trial to the death!” You exclaim and thrust your arms out in the air, causing the crowd to fill with a blood-pumping and ravenous excitement that erupts throughout the Dragonpit.

“Oh,” you add and glance down at the men. “And gentlemen may you be the last.” You flash them a mischievous smirk before you step back to take your seat.

“Ladies, may you want to place your bet?” Ser Oscar Tully interjects right away as he pushes himself off his seat to lean in between you and Baela.

“This fight obviously already has a winner,” Baela counters as she looks over her shoulder. “To bet my coin on this fight would be an insult.”

“An obvious scam since Ser Oscar has obviously lost his earnings at the brothels,” you remark lightheartedly and look away from Ser Jason trying to show Lord Larys some mercy to twist around and look at the young man with a teasing smile. “Isn’t that right, ser?”

The young knight grows as red as his hair but he manages to quip. “Here I thought you were busy.”

You shrug. “I’m Queen Regent and you are my guest, I have to be informed of your whereabouts before they blame me for anything that may happen to you,” you rebuttal since Lady Alysanne Blackwood has spoken against you over Aegon’s death, calling it a coward's weapon. She nor any other discontent lord have outwardly pointed their finger at you, but they do suspect it.

Which in their case they would be right, but they don’t dare and accuse you.

“Hm,” Ser Oscar hums before Lord Benjicot bounces in.

“Fine then bet for me. Unless you think I might lose against your former sworn protector?” He presses with a quirked brow.

You scoff and pass him a faint smile before you turn around and face the arena below, catching Ser Jason still being reluctant to swing at Lord Larys—“I know you will win but I am Queen Regent, I cannot be seen placing bets.”

Lord Benjicot chuckles and grabs your shoulders before he looks at Baela. “You my Lady?” He probes.

Said woman glances at him and sighs before she hands Lord Kermit her bet, making the boy lord snicker and shake your shoulders before he looks at your sworn protector.

“You, my infamous Blood Hound? What way do you lean toward? Or does your ranking as the Queen Regent's protector forbid you from such a sin?”

Ser Cane keeps his eyes scanning the Dragonpit for any potential dangers, but he doesn’t keep quiet. “Oh you’re sadly mistaken my young lord, I have made no such vow. I placed my bet,” he says nonchalantly. “And her graces bet as well,” he adds in a quieter voice, making Lord Benjicot hit your shoulders before he laughs in your ear and then throws himself back to his seat.

Now as all your attention is on the prolonged fight you notice that the crowd is getting upset for the lack of a fight from either man. Thus without passing any command, and speaking from your intertwined connection, you have Astraea let out an annoyed roar, forcing the men to move forward and lift their weapons.

Nevertheless, anyone with a brain would see how this fight would end. It was a rather pathetic fight, but you didn’t want to give Lord Larys the satisfaction of a quick death. You wanted to make him suffer so you had him fight, and lose.

Yes, Lord Strong did try, he swung his sword, but Ser Jason is quicker and smarter given he’s playing with his life. The traitorous knight kicks in Lord Larys twisted leg, sending him to his knees before he lunges forward, and swings his blade across Larys neck to bring his life to a violent end.

The crowd immediately cheers, but they’re not enthusiastic about this fight. Nor are you. A faint proud smirk tugs on the corner of your lips, but that's all you muster, pride for the now-dead traitor. You’re not excited that Ser Jason won and you don’t want him to think you are, so you quickly proceed to clench your fists and your jaw as you keep your gaze on the arena below to await the next fight just like the rest of the audience.

The moment Lord Larys is being dragged off the arena, the crowd starts cheering for the young Lord Benjicot, unaware that they’re only stroking his ego and overfilling him with an almost boyish excitement.

“Good luck nephew,” Black Aly directs at the young lord, but he only shrugs her off.

“As if I need it!” He exclaims as he jumps off his seat and shrugs off his cloak before he walks down and stands before you.

“Your mother will be avenged and you will have your justice today, Your Grace.”

You offer him a sweet smile and stand to your feet to grab his cheek and then lean in to press a light feathered kiss on his other cheek. “Be careful, my Lord.”

The young man offers you a sheepish smile as his cheeks grow a light shade of pink that he hides by bowing his head. “Your Grace.”

You slide your hand off his cheek to let him turn away and eagerly descend to the arena. Once he reaches the last barrier he hops over it and lands on the ground, raising a cloud of dirt that he quickly breaks by striding forward.

“It saddens me to let such a talented man go to waste, but it also makes me glad that I’ll be the one to do it.” The young lord interjects as he unsheathes his sword and begins to slowly trudge around the traitorous knight like a predator stalks its prey as he grins and swipes his tongue over his teeth before he makes the first move by swinging.

Albeit Ser Jason quickly blocks his attempt just like the next, and the others that follow.

The young lord chuckles softly out of amusement before he shoves Ser Jason back, and then follows by thrusting his blade forward to try and pierce the traitorous knight. However, Ser Jason jumps to the side and captures his arm, and pulls him closer, making you hold your breath.

Lord Benjicot proceeds to slap his hand on Ser Jason’s shoulder and quickly thinks to headbutt the traitorous knight, letting you draw out your breath and rise off your seat as Ser Jason stumbles back whilst his nose starts to bleed.

After that the young lord doesn’t rest, he swings up, but Ser Jason throws himself back and swings his sword up, making the metal swords clash and ring against the silence. Ser Jason then proceeds to stretch his other arm out to capture Lord Benjicot’s wrist, making the young lord react quickly by pulling a dagger out and swinging, however, Ser Jason captures his wrist yet again.

“Come on Ben!” Black Aly exclaims as she rises off her seat.

And as if fueled by her encouragement the young lord snatches his dagger arm away from the knight's grip, and lets his sword go to twist his wrists and grab the Lord's hand. He then lunges forward to twist the knight's arm back.

Yet the man turns his body and tries to thrust his sword, but Lord Benjicot lets go and slides back, leaving himself unarmed and leaving Ser Jason the chance to win his fight now.

With that in mind, you slowly rise off your seat, catching the traitorous knight's attention and turning his face towards you.

“Yield boy,” Ser Jason warns the young Lord in between a deep breath whilst he keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze with a piercing and venomous glare.

“No,” Lord Benjicot seethes before he runs forward and swipes his weapons off the ground, forcing Ser Jason to turn around and once again face his opponent.

“You will die today Ser,” Lord Benjicot tells the traitorous knight before he kicks dirt up at the knight, clouding his vision so he can charge forward and swing low.

However, the knight had quickly shielded his eyes and slid back out of the way, leaving each other open once again. This time they proceed to swing at each other and once again they clash against each other's swords with each block. Neither can gain the upper hand until Lord Benjicot thrusts forward with great strength, managing to scrape the knight's side, but not knocking him down. The knight ignores his wound and twists down to swipe Lord Benjicot off his feet.

The crowd all reacts with gasps and you stand on your feet while you walk forward and hold your hands tightly together.

“Yield!” Ser Jason yells at the young lord, but the young lord is proud. Even more so as he’s facing his opponent, so he just flashes him a crooked grin and shakes his head before he raises his leg and kicks Ser Jason back to the ground.

When the young Lord pushes himself back to his feet he quickly stomps his foot on Ser Jason’s ankle, causing a crack to echo throughout the Dragonpit before Ser Jason cries out, providing a tense air that makes your heart start to race.

“Do it, Ben!” Black Aly cries out.

And so Lord Benjicot stomps toward Ser Jason’s side. You grab the rope and lean forward with your eyelids slowly peeling back as you grow excited and eager yourself.

“Come on, come on,” you whisper, hearing Astraea shift in her spot before she raises her head.

“I told you,” Lord Benjicot tells Ser Jason. “You’d die today.”

Ser Jason swallows back thickly and his breath shudders as he breathes out, but he doesn’t let his sword go. He looks Lord Benjicot in his eyes and lifts his chin, making the young Lord scoff proudly before he thrusts his sword down.

Nevertheless, just as the young Lord is going to pierce Ser Jason. The traitorous knight uses all his will to throw himself up and shove his own sword up as he also grabs a hold of Lord Benjicot’s collar and pulls him down against the tip of his sword.

“Ben!” Black Aly exclaims and runs to where you are.

“Heh,” Lord Benjicot chuckles, making you and Black Aly share a worried look

“Smart,” the young Lord praises the knight while he fixes his grip around his blade. “But. I. Will not. Yield today.”

Without moving his side away from the tip piercing into him, or adding anything else, Lord Benjicot presses his sword through Ser Jason’s unprotected belly and pushes deeper and deeper into the man’s flesh until he hits the ground.

You let out a breathless chuckle, but before you can catch Ser Jason’s reaction or anything else on that matter you’re called out with urgency. “Your Grace!”

You groan and snap around. “What?” You growl in annoyance.

The innocent messenger bows and then takes a breath before he shares what brought him here. “Lord Stark is approaching the city.”

Just like that, you lose all interest in the fight and Ser Jason’s death. Your heart comes to a sudden halt, and a surprised breath leaves your lips.

“H…how? He was still days away? How did you miss him and his caravan?” You throw your questions out of panic and sudden worry.

“We didn't,” the man says back in his defense so he wouldn’t get in trouble. “He’s coming alone with just a few of his men. He rode ahead of his men.”

Alone?

You nod lightly. “Okay. Thank you, I’ll return to the Red Keep now.”

The man bows his head and turns to rush back out, letting you turn to face the arena and make sure that Ser Jason is dead and that Lord Benjicot is okay and not dying.

“But a scratch!” The young lord cries out as he thrusts his arms in the air which only makes the crowd get carried away with much more excitement.

“Good,” you breathe out and turn to his aunt. “Lord Stark is approaching the city. Stay with Lord Benjicot while he has his moment and then join us in the throne room.”

Black Aly doesn’t argue besides your indifference. She nods and you then walk away to address the people you came with. “I know you all intended to celebrate Lord Benjicot’s victory, but Lord Stark is approaching the city, so our duty comes first, meaning we now have to welcome him as I welcomed you. So please if you will return to the Red Keep with me that will be very much appreciated,” you finish and walk ahead, making Astraea rise off her spot and flap her wings to ascend to the skies, and follow you as you make your way back to the Red Keep.

Once you’re in the throne room, Aegon is brought to you and the hall slowly fills with Lords of the Riverlands, your current Small Council, and others who are a part of the court.

Maybe that’s why the throne feels so stuffy? Or maybe one too many hearths are blazing?

You remove the silver chains you wore over your face and fell like a glistening veil, leaving your silver circlet on your head that matches the chest armor wrapped around you. Yet it doesn’t make it any easier to breathe properly (not like the chains were a problem to begin with).

Maybe it’s the chest armor itself? Maybe Vanessa put it on too tightly?

No. You just need to breathe. Breathe. Breathe…

After a while, as the sun is starting to set and shining brightly through the tall windows behind you, creating an almost mythical aura around you, the doors are opened and in marches none other than Cregan.

“Lord Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North!” The guard announces and you slowly let your eyes fall on his presence, noting right away that his grey eyes are hit by the same shining sun setting behind you, causing, for the first time in a while a warmth to unfurl over your chest, whilst your heart skips a beat as if reviving your withered soul before it slowly picks up its pace as he gets closer to the steps that lead to the Iron Throne, and that you stand on.

Now it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t blinded by the mere sight of your presence before the sun even hit his eyes, because he was. For so long he could only rely on words from the mouths of others to know if you were well or not, and words from strangers were never enough. They couldn’t compare to the sight of you before his very eyes. So now that he’s walking down the great Throne Room of the Red Keep, nothing interests him more than you.

You are the sole keeper of his attention; you and your flesh body untouched by any illness, or crippled by any wounds. You are the sole captor of his breath as the sun shining behind you makes you look divine, and your eyes giving off a sparkle without the touch of any light give his longing heart much-wanted relief.

“You stand in the presence of King Aegon of House Targaryen, Third of his name, and his Sister, the Queen Regent, of House Velaryon!” The guard shares and proves right the news Cregan had heard on the road. Now, the warmth that your presence spread over his heart fades, and he once again turns cold.

“Lord Stark, welcome to Kings Landing,” you interject loudly and with a genuine smile on your face. “I am surprised to have you here so early. It was said you still had a couple days left to reach the city.”

Cregan’s grey eyes bounce to your grandfather, Ser Perkin, Baela, and all the guards that stand in front of you and Aegon before he returns his gaze to you and makes his deep-set frown prominent.

When you notice you blink and swallow nervously before you drop your smile, and your own warmth washes away.

“The North Remembers, my Queen. I came here to make good on my promise to your brother Prince Jacaerys, by ending this war in favor of the slain Queen Rhaenyra,” Cregan’s voice booms while his dark eyebrows start to pinch together, painting his usual hardened expression on his face.

“You come too late, My Lord,” your grandfather chimes in for you as you take note of Cregan's voice and his grey eyes brewing a storm that chases away all the rest of the warmth he held for you just now. “For the war is done, and the King is dead.”

Cregan clenches his jaw and lowers his chin to pierce his cold glare at your grandfather. “By whose hand and at whose word, I wonder?”

Your grandfather doesn’t give his answer away with his eyes, instead he answers as he holds Cregan’s gaze. “By the Queen Regent and the rest of the small council.”

Grey eyes fall on you, and you try to challenge his hardened gaze, but your eyebrows falter and your eyes can never express the tension. Just yet.

“It seems you have a lot to say Lord Stark, and this may not be the place to say it for we will surely bore the court,” you interject. “Swear fealty to your new king and we may retreat to more private chambers.”

Cregan parts his lips to argue, but he sees that you’re right so he lets out a deep breath and walks forward to get down on one knee and reaffirm his loyalty to your brother King Aegon, making the tension only rise now that everyone knows what followed.

“Return the King to the royal apartments, have him continue his teachings,” you tell his caretaker, and then watch him be carried out with an army of Kingsguard surrounding him.

Once your brother has left the hall you turn to the audience. “You may go my Lords and Ladies of the Court,” you say before you then shift your attention to Cregan and the others. “Lord Stark and my Riverlords, follow me.”

When you file out, any attempt to get a word in between you and Cregan is blocked as Ser Cane follows at your tail and other guards accompany him. That’s if Cregan even wanted to try and talk to you directly before you reached your intended hall, he’s upset and it’s not hard to guess why.

Cregan is a proud man and even though his honor falters when it comes to you, when it comes to matters of his duty as Lord, that’s where he doesn’t falter. So even though you wished to speak to him, you don’t know if he wanted anything to do with you. And you can’t even read him because you’re separated by a barrier of men up to the point you reach the hall.

Now all you have in return is a high tension that lets you truly harden your face to mirror Cregan’s.

“If every one of you believes the war is truly done, you are sadly mistaken,” Cregan gets right down to business before the other lords can even finish filing in. “Others may have started the war, but I intend to finish it. I will continue South and crush all the remaining Greens who placed Aegon the Second on the Iron Throne, and fought to keep him there,” Cregan continues to share his plan with such a burning passion that he doesn’t often share with the masses unless provoked. Other times his fire would burn you too, but right now all he does is start to irritate you.

“First I will reduce Storm’s End, then I will cross the Reach to Old Town. Once the Hightower has fallen I will take my wolves north along the shores of the Sunset Sea to pay Casterly Rock a visit,” Cregan finishes expressing his passionate plan, leaving the other Lords untouched by his own flames.

“A bold plan,” Maester Orwyle says cautiously, but with no intention to back up said plan.

“Storm’s End, Old Town, and Casterly Rock are as strong as your own army, if not stronger.” Lord Kermit interjects with disagreement, gaining Cregan’s attention, and letting you share a speechless look with Baela. And even though you both haven't reconciled since your fight, you still have the instinct to look at one another to share your disbelief and her taunting.

“Neither castle will fall easily. If it all.”

“Lord Kermit is right,” Lord Benjicot echoes the young Lord, which brings your attention to Lord Benjicot and makes you realize that you hadn’t noticed when he returned from celebrating his victory at the Dragonpit, until the moment he spoke. You were so lost on Cregan to remember about him.

“Half of your men will die, Lord Stark,” Lord Benjicot adds in an attempt to warn Cregan, but he is in no need of it. He wasn’t as inexperienced or as young as they were.

“They died the day we marched, boy,” Cregan mutters in a deep and intimidating voice that again, would have made you burn and get all flustered, but right now, you find his persistence annoying.

“The killing has gone on too long,” your grandfather tries to ease the tension Cregan had bombarded everyone with. “Rhaenyra and Aegon are dead. Let their quarrel die with them. You speak of taking Storm’s End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock, my lord, but the men who held those seats were slain in battle, everyone. Small boys and suckling babes sit in their places now, no threat to us. Grant them honorable terms, and they will bend the knee.”

As if the words of peace have gone to deaf ears, Cregan presses his hands on the tabletop and leans forward to argue. “Small boys become large men in time. And a babe sucks down his mother's hate with his mother's milk. Finish these foes now, or those not in our graves in twenty years will rue our folly when those babes strap on their father's swords and come seeking after vengeance.”

Much one like the other, your grandfather isn’t easily defeated either. He talks in your stead as you choose to remain seated and silent to listen to the arguments thrown across the table.

“King Aegon said the same and died for it. Had he heeded our counsel and offered peace and pardon to his foes, he might be sitting with us here today.”

The crease in between Cregan’s eyebrows only grows deeper as he scowls before he spats back. “Is that why you poisoned him, my Lord?”

You don’t react. You can’t because it would give away the truth behind Cregan’s remark, and since he can read you with ease, you know he would gain the answer to his accusation that your grandfather ignores.

“Small wonder why you are called the Sea Snake,” Cregan continues as he glowers. “You may slither this way and that way, but, oh, your fangs are venomous. Aegon was an oathbreaker, a kinslayer, and a usurper yet still King. When he would not heed your craven’s counsel, you removed him as a craven would, dishonorably, with poison…and now you shall answer for it.”

You look at Cregan with confusion and share that same emotion with Baela and the other Lords before the doors burst open and Cregan’s men barge in pointing their swords at the guards with the intention to what? Take over? Do another coup? Take the power right from under you?

No! You have sat in silence long enough. You have let Cregan drag on and accuse and insult your grandfather, but you will not be made small. Not by him. And you surely won’t let anyone take your power. Not anymore.

“Enough!” You bark and slam your hands on the table to steal everyone’s attention. “Who do you think you are?” You hiss as you slowly stand up and dig your glare deep into his grey eyes that falter at the sound of your voice.

“Do I need to remind you who you are, Lord Stark?” you spat and slip away from your seat to start stalking toward him with Ser Cane passing you Blackfyre as he trails behind you. “You are a Lord. You are not King, nor are you The Hand. You are not a part of the small council. You are a Lord. You cannot come into my brother's castle and demand this and that, or throw accusations at his Lords. You cannot have your men barge in my halls like these are your lands.”

Cregan’s glare falters again as he feels taken back by your fire directed at him. You get angry at him, but never have you gotten this mad that you look at him with a threatening and burning glare, or talk to him like you don’t know him. So hearing and seeing you be so enraged at him throws him off, and has him pushing himself away from the table to watch your every move as he can’t help but feel more enticed by your show of power and fearlessness.

“You may be a dear friend, Lord Stark, but don’t mistake my kindness. I will arrest you as a rebel and if you still don’t stand down I will reduce your men to ash,” you roll out with ease, and this time Cregan snaps from his stupor. He mirrors the fire of your glare and also starts to stalk toward you, however, to anyone paying close attention neither of you are tense. Your shoulders are resting, and neither of your bodies scream the need to lunge for an attack even if you hold your Valyrian sword.

“Just as you reduced those innocents to ash?” Cregan remarks thinking you’ll falter, but you just hold your head high and defend what you did.

“I had the courage to do what was right for our realm. I brought security by burning away any chance for the people to rise up against the crown after they killed the dragons. I brought justice after they killed my brother and chased their Queen out of the city. I returned fear after they joined a false prophet. And I will do it all again,” you roll out of your tongue almost seductively. “So tell me, Lord Stark, do you want to meet the same fate?”

Cregan scoffs and you meet each other halfway, but your proximity doesn’t make either of you falter under the pressure of each other's warmth or tension that is quick to spring up as your lips are close, and your hands are closer.

“I want justice too. The same as you, My Princess. I made a vow I intend to follow not only as a friend to your brother but as Lord to my Queen. This war is not done. No matter what anyone says. Not even you.”

His eyes show a flicker of warmth, but it was quick to vanish as you don’t break.

“Are you babes in swaddling clothes, to be cozened by flowers and feasts and soft words?” Cregan then directs at the other Lords around the table. Those he wasn't accusing.

“Wars end when the defeated bend the knee and not before.” He berates them, and you tilt your head and keep your eyes on him as he’s looking away—“Has Oldtown yielded? Has Casterly Rock returned the Crown’s gold?”

Silence follows and you spare a glance at the other Lords, but immediately look back at Cregan to await the next words that will come out of his mouth just in case you need to take measures you never thought you’d use against him. And well, you also can’t keep your eyes away. His scent is intoxicating and his eyes tempting.

“The Stormlanders were beaten and don’t have the strength to field another army,” Lord Kermit protests, but nothing changes Cregan’s mind.

“Aegon sent envoys across the narrow sea, any of whom might return in the morrow with thousands of sellswords.”

“All of whom were sent offers of pardons,” you cut in, but Cregan just rebuttals.

“Queen Rhaenyra believed herself victorious after taking King’s Landing…”

You finally avert your gaze and clench your fists.

“Aegon thought he ended the war by feeding his sister to a dragon,” he continues and only infuriates you further. “Yet the Queen's men had remained, even after the Queen herself was dead, and Aegon was reduced to bones and ashes.”

“I said the war is over, Lord Stark,” you interject with spite and without looking him in the eyes. “Rise your sword against me if you dare to challenge the King's word, but I will not have you take control, nor intimidate my guests.”

Cregan’s eyes fall on you, but you don’t look up. You clench your jaw and keep looking away. A moment of silence follows where all you hear is Cregan breathing as he remains close.

“You are right, I am just a Lord. I don’t have much power here, so I demand to be Hand. I will question the people who might have had a hand in killing Aegon because I want the same as you, to get rid of any seed of rebellion before it can take root. What do you think people will do when they see that there are no consequences for poisoning a king?” He asks, but you don’t answer, letting him add on. “Besides, I intend to keep my promise to your brother.”

Your eyes start to sting at the mention and the softness of his voice, so you draw in a deep breath and look to your grandfather for guidance. And since it was between agreeing or bloodshed, he passes you a stiff nod, making you draw out a deep breath and roll your head up to meet Cregan’s attentive gaze.

“You will be my hand, but if you raise your sword against us again you will be punished,” you mutter before you face the others. “Meeting dismissed.”

Without lingering you pass your sword to your sworn protector and then turn on your heels to storm out in a huff, making sure Cregan noticed.

And of course, he did notice. He watched you leave and didn’t dare to miss a single step. He has the intention to follow, but with you as upset as you are he knows to wait instead. Even though you would have welcomed his company right away.

Alas, he doesn’t follow.

——

*LATER*

“How dare he come here and…” you trail off as you feel at a loss for words. “…he,” you grumble and shake your head out of frustration, letting Vanessa finish for you.

“<Vex you?>” She quips in Valyrian so neither the guards nor the servants would hear you and spread it like gossip. “Fluster? Or make you feel hot?>”

You snap your gaze to her and roll your tongue along the inside of your cheek to hide your amused smile. Vanessa however, knows you well so she nudges your arm and smiles proudly at herself since she made you smile

“Annoy me,” you quip and roll your eyes. “He comes here and tries to take command of the place as if he doesn’t know the struggles I already face by simply being a woman!” You remark and throw your hands out. “Had there been more men there I would have been shoved aside…” you trail off in a whisper as you lower your head to let out a deep sigh.

“No matter how good they are, men can still be inconsiderate and for Lord Stark, his duty comes first,” she tries to comfort you, and you listen to her, but you think about Aemond too; he could be selfish but he would have put you first.

“That’s right,” you whisper and draw out a deep breath to push that matter aside before you get enraged again. Instead, you bring up another matter. “I thought that I would take the twins and Aerion for a ride on Astraea…the twins haven’t met her and they’re getting older, I don’t want them to be scared of her.”

The corner of Vanessa’s lips tug up softly and her eyes widen with disbelief as you’re finally starting to warm up to your children.

“That would be a great idea,” Vanessa encourages you. “I could come with you to help you.”

You offer her a sweet smile and nod. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Vanessa mirrors your gesture, letting that be the last thing you see before you set your eyes on the Red Keep’s Godswood, and someone else; Lord Kermit Tully playing his lute as he sits against the Weirwood tree.

The moment the young lord notices you and your company trailing behind you, he drops his lute and pushes himself to his feet to bow your way. “Your Grace,” he greets kindly.

Once he stands at his given height, and you meet his dark blue eyes that appear almost black under the shadow of the Weirwood tree, you return his kind greeting with a warm smile. “My Lord.”

You then glance at the holy Weirwood tree with its bold red leaves, and then look back at Lord Kermit with his striking red hair and your smile widens. “I was taught that the Tully’s followed the New Gods, am I wrong?” You probe as you walk away from your train of people to be closer to the young lord who isn’t as young as his brother is; he’s actually the same age you are, but you still consider him young because you like to think you still are even after all the lives you’ve lived these past two years.

“No, no,” he shakes his head and lets out a nervous chuckle whilst he steps back and starts to grow as red as his hair. “You are not. We follow the Seven, but at home, I like going to the Godswood to find silence, or practice my lute where there are no others who I can curse with my awful playing.”

You chuckle and his eyes widen in disbelief, whilst he seems to only grow a deeper shade of red as you continue to fluster him.

“Then I apologize for disturbing your peace,” you tell him lightheartedly with a faint smile playing on your lips. “I will leave, but I need to tell you that I think you play swell. Now, and at the campfires when we camped together.”

Lord Kermit scratches the back of his neck and drops his head as he laughs nervously. “Well, I was drunk then so I don’t think it counts.”

You huff. “Drunk men tell true words. So I think the saying would go for your playing.”

Lord Kermit laughs and you giggle before you get closer with no true intention to actually leave. “You’ll have to play around a campfire soon so I can sing. All these duties have really stressed me out, I need to release it somehow.”

The young Lord's eyes snap up and his lips part with more surprise. “Are you sure that I would be the right man to follow your singing?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes of course.”

Lord Kermit scoffs softly and bows his head. “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

You offer him a wider smile and then turn to face the Weirwood tree, making the young Lord bend down to collect his lute off the ground. “I will leave you be—”

“No, stay, it’s really, truly fine,” you assure him and reach out without grabbing his arm. “I would like the company. I don’t mind. Without my brothers or my aunt, the castle is…really just too big and haunting.”

Lord Kermit blinks repeatedly in surprise, but after those swirling emotions pass he can’t help but smile softly as you’re welcoming his company. You, the Queen Regent.

“I also…want to thank you,” you continue and turn your head to have him in your sights. “When we were in that meeting you stood your ground and had my back when you could have sided with Lord Stark. I know he can be intimidating, so…thank you, My Lord. It really means a lot.”

Since the young lord keeps getting hit with surprises he doesn’t respond right away. His shoulders fall from their tense hold that you put them in whilst his eyes meet yours before he parts his lips. “It’s my duty to my Queen. And my King. Besides, I trust you. We fought together at Tumbleton. It’s not every day a royal fights with their armies, especially not ones made of Rivermen and Northmen, so having you there fighting with us while you were with child with twins no less,” he clarifies loudly so you can hear his awe—“was truly inspiring. I will always support you and respect you until the end of my days.”

Maybe it’s because after so much heartache and trials and tribulations all you want is someone to tell you kind words, or maybe it's because he’s sweet when he’s sincere, but your eyes water and your smile wobbles at his simple words. “Thank you, My Lord.” You whisper and inhale deeply as you look back at the face carved on the white-wooded tree.

“By the way, how are your twins? Your dragon took you and we never saw you until we arrived here,” he interjects in the short silence you left in your own awe.

“Fat,” you let him know giddily. “They have no wars to fight or meetings to lead, so they eat all day. They’re fat.” You giggle, making the Lord nod in comprehension and smile proudly.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it, and envious, maybe.”

You continue to laugh and just continue to heighten his disbelief.

“Well, you know you do have your liberties. Your brother sure knows how to use them,” you retort and he huffs and rolls his head away.

“My brother,” he scoffs. “He’s young and full of temptation. He also doesn’t have to carry the same weight I do as Lord.”

You hum and he mindlessly starts to rub his fingers together as he continues. “But I suppose as an older brother it doesn’t really bother me. In a lot of ways I’m glad I’m the only one cursed with the burden of Lord.”

Your heart skips a beat and your brothers come to mind. Not Aegon, your other brothers, the ones you grew up with.

“Yet another burden we carry as the oldest don’t we?” You whisper just loud enough so he can hear. “No matter what, we always want the best for them.”

“Like a parent,” he adds what you were thinking. “But I suppose this burden isn’t as heavy as the others.”

The corner of your lips pulls up and you nod slowly in agreement. You get ready to add on with a different comment, but then you’re interrupted. “Your Grace.”

You and Lord Tully turn around and you see Cregan walking over without caring to wait to be invited over. He just stomps over with his eyes hardened and focused solely on Lore Kermit.

“My Lord,” Cregan greets the young Lord in an intimidating way that makes the young lord grow stiff once again.

“Lord Stark,” Lord Kermit greets the man and bows his head.

“I pardon the intrusion, but I desire to speak to the Queen Regent, alone,” Cregan doesn’t waste a second to get right to what he wanted.

“Of course,” Lord Kermit gives in and turns to face you. “Your Grace.” He bows his head.

You offer him a sweet smile and reach over to take his hand in yours, causing Cregan’s eyebrows to furrow deeper.

“I hope we talk again soon and not just to share a song,” you tell him, making the young Lord's breath falter as he looks between your united hands, and your eyes softened and looking at him with kindness.

“Of course, your Grace,” the young lord agrees quieter and offers you a quick smile before he pulls his hands out of your grasp and walks away.

The moment he’s past you you face the Weirwood tree again with your hands clasped and your nose high in the chilly air, while Cregan watches the young Lord leave until he’s finally out of sight and no longer in earshot.

“No smile for me?” He quips lightheartedly as his eyes fall on you and he acts as if he didn’t just challenge you in that meeting room.

“Or do you plan to take a third husband? Maybe the third one is the one?” He adds in hopes of gaining your attention and getting you to smile and laugh, but you continue to avert your gaze and just draw out a long and deep breath.

“You made me look a fool in that meeting hall,” you remark without any sort of warmth.

“You’re upset,” he mutters and drops his head to gather his thoughts since you want to pick on the matter.

“Of course I’m upset,” you rebutt bitterly and snap around swiftly to face him. “You waltz in like you own the damn place and try to take it from under me, Cregan. Do I mean nothing? Do those deep insecurities I trusted you with not matter, huh? Because you tried to undermine me. You.” You hiss and hit his chest with the heel of your palm. “Out of everyone,” you then mutter softly as your disbelief overpowers your rage. “Why you?”

Cregan slowly faces you with his eyes caught in a storm and his eyebrows furrowed, letting go of any warmth he also walked over here with.

“Because there was injustice done in the Red Keep,” he remarks. “And I’m not talking about you burning part of the city, but the poisoning of the King.”

“The king?” You scoff and look at him like he’s spewing madness. “The King was broken. He was a usurper, an abuser, and a sick man—”

“Perhaps but he was still the King and your husband and you went behind his back and—”

“And what planned a coup?” You cut him off just like he cut you off. “Those are fair. That’s no injustice unless your loyalties were never with my mother.”

Cregan’s eyebrows pinch deeper as your words hit his ears. “You know that’s not true,” he defends himself and flashes you a second of disbelief in his grey eyes. “I am loyal to your mother, but I also know when an injustice has been done and so should you. Love or not poisoning a king rather than facing him is a treason that you should punish.”

You scoff and step back, letting him bury his eyes deep into your gaze and see what he failed to capture before. Your own part in the entire ordeal.

You don’t need him to throw you any accusations. You see him start to question if it was truly you or not with the way his eyebrows unfold and his eyes widen just slightly because you can read him too.

“Would he have not deserved it?” You ask without admitting to any of his suspicions that are growing behind his eyes. “Besides what was known about him, he also carried the crime of killing my mother. Right in front of me,” you say as you take your step forward once again so your heartache can be as clear as day.

“He killed his own sister. No amount of crying or begging stopped him,” you continue as your voice gets shaky and your eyebrows knit together while your eyes start to fill with tears. “He killed her. I saw her get eaten until there was nothing left of her. I screamed, I tried to run over and save her because I can withstand fire, but when it came down to that moment in time, all I could do was watch her burn to death, and then get eaten until there was nothing left of her but a single limb. A limb that I have not gotten back yet to burn by the way,” you add grimly.

Cregan watches you with pity, but it doesn’t change his mind. His duty still comes before his pity for you.

Thus you continue to try and sway his stubborn mind. “So tell me now Cregan if he did not deserve what he got? Would you not want him dead if you still heard your mother’s screams?” You ask in the same haunting way that you spoke in before, bringing a chill to the back of his neck as well as bringing a deafening silence.

“Because I hear her screams every day. I hear her cry out for help, but the thing is that she never actually cried out for help. It’s a figment of my traumatized mind,” you can’t help but cry. “And because my mind is so messed up I see her too. Her burnt corpse. And not just when I sleep, but when I’m awake. In dark and enlightened corners alike. I see her die at every waking moment of my life, and every day that she dies I die with her because the truth is that whatever was left of me died that morning with her. Every bit of who I used to be. My soul and my heart. So tell me if Aegon would have not deserved his tragic end? Tell me, Cregan!” You press him sharply.

Said man swallows thickly and keeps his eyes on you as he sighs and lowers his head. “He deserved to die, but not that way,” he keeps arguing, making you scoff in disappointment.

“Ask me then,” you spat and sniffle as you slowly raise your chin and point your nose in the air as you await his accusation.

“Was it you?” He asks and hides his own hurt over having to ask you.

You sigh deeply and look him in the eyes to lie. “No, but if you wish to interrogate me, do it. If you wish to question everyone in the Red Keep, do it. Do what you need to do, Lord Stark. Kill me if you have to, I have nothing left to lose anyway. It seems I lost everything I loved anyway.”

His lips part as a breath escapes him, while you steal one last glance at him before you turn away with tears crawling down your face and walk away.

“Wait,” he calls out, but you ignore him and keep walking as you keep crying quietly.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Cregan baby…

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[cxrsed-angel]

Once Bitten and Twice Shy

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!Reader, 18+

summary: Joel is uninterested in holdiday festitvies until he reunites with a familiar face who loves to spread the holiday spirit. Alternatively, Joel the Grinch is reunited with his Martha May Whohiver.

wc: 4k

warnings: Jackson!Joel, unspecified big age gap, smut (unprotected piv sex), fingering, a bit angsty, (sad and lonely old man Joel) the timeline kinda doesn't make sense but its not that important so just ignore it.

a/n: Here's a holiday fic for my last fic of 2024 <3.

Joe hated this time of year. The twinkling of Christmas lights decorated on almost every home and roof in Jackson, lights decorated around light poles, bows around the light poles. The community hosts holiday events for the children, people putting up their homemade holiday decor, and the whole town covered in snow, making it look like a scene from a Christmas movie. It's a time that’s supposed to be joyful, cheerful, and merry, but it was never that for Joel. Not since ‘03, Christmas hasn't felt happy around this time of year. It was always filled with pain, regret, memories he couldn't seem to forget, and mourning the things he’d never experienced.

At first, Christmas and the holiday season, in general, were hard for him after he had lost Sarah. He couldn’t help but think about all the times he had gotten her letters to Santa she had written when she was 3 and 4 or when she was “subtly” hinting at something for Christmas when she got too old for Santa. Or the time she saved up money to buy him a cologne and a new tool belt with the help of Tommy.

After that day, the day he lost her, he ignored anything having to do with the holiday, and this time of year, which wasn't hard to do in QZ, there’s barely any holiday spirit or festive decor, but that was increasingly difficult until he met you. You had gotten paired together for a run because Tess was sick, and ever since then, you were something he couldn’t shake, and you grew closer. For the two and half years he knew you, you had made the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes. He’d never say it, but you'd had let him allow himself to enjoy this time of year.  

You always hung up whatever festive Christmas decorations and winter decor you could find all over your shitty FEDRA apartment. Joel tried too hard to fight it, but the more time he spent with you, the harder that was. He often joked you were one of Santa’s last remaining elves on earth. He spent two Christmases with you. He remembers helping you hang up whatever you couldn’t reach.

“Joel… can you help me hang this nail.. it won't go into this shitty door!… he sees you holding the red, green, and white wreath you had found somewhere, trying to mount it on the shitty, broken, falling apart apartment door. “well I think you need might wreath hanger sweetheart…” he sees confusion flash across your face but only momentarily,” I can't just hang it on a nail…” Joel sighs before taking the wreath and hanging it up. He pretends he doesn’t enjoy your holiday spirit like he doesn't get happy when he hears the records and CDs of whatever holiday music you could scrounge up, like he doesn’t look forward to seeing your festive apartment every time he visits you. 

But that was before. Now, he can't stand the music, the smell of holiday baking, and warm homemade candles. Ellie would joke and call him the Grinch or Scrouge, but that was when Ellie talked to him. Now, he’s lucky if Ellie glances in his direction. But he had no one now, and he could spend time with Tommy and Maria, but since the baby had arrived, it had been hard for him to see Tommy as a dad. Luckily, Tommy knows his brother and tends to give him things to work on to distract himself, especially after he and Elie drifted apart. 

Tommy comes into Joel’s workshop. He sees Joel working, an old Linda Ronstadt CD playing barely audible due to the sound of Joel's woodcutter. Tommy bangs on another table lightly, grabbing Joel’s attention. He stops the woodcutter, looking up at his brother. 

“If it’s about the broken window for Mrs Anderson, I'm working on it,” Joel mutters from behind the woodcutter, starting it again but stopping when Tommy speaks again. 

“No...no, it's not about the window. I need you to do me a favor. Can you show someone to her place? She just got here; it's house #40. I would, but Maria is doing some town stuff, and I gotta watch the baby.” 

Joel sighs, taking off his protective glasses and trading them for his regular black-framed corrective lenses. He moves away from his woodworking table, looking at his younger brother with an unsatisfied stare.

“Now?” Joel grumbles under his breath, obviously annoyed.

“Yes, Joel, now... please,” Tommy asks, begging. He knows that asking Joel to do anything he didn’t want to do after November was a challenge. But Tommy really didn’t have anyone else, and Joel happened to be the closest person to ask for help. 

Joel once again lets out a sigh, once again showing his reaction to being unconvinced. Usually, he wouldn’t care, but now, whenever he's near the front gates, near the most decorated parts of Jackson, it gets hard to breathe. He gets the aching feeling in his heart. He thinks of you more and more, and he wonders if he made a mistake. He starts getting up to follow Tommy out of his shed.

 “Wow got a lady waiting in the snow? Such a gentleman, Tommy.” His voice full of sarcasm as he looks at his brother. 

Tommy lets out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes at Joel’s sarcasm, choosing to ignore it. “After this, you can go back to your woodworking hole for the rest of the day, I promise. It's just one girl; she should be waiting by the front gate. It should take a few minutes. Just be nice and welcoming, and then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the month.”

“Rest of the damn year,” Joel mutters under his breath, putting on his brown jacket, hat, and gloves, preparing to brace the snow and cold weather. “Gotta be a damn welcoming committee in fucking below 30-something-degree weather,” he mumbles as he walks out of the shed.

Tommy rolls his eyes yet again, hearing Joel's comment, before going in the opposite direction towards his house. As Joel walks down towards the entrance, he sees the decorations filled along Jackson's main road. His thoughts immediately go to you. 

I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye. 

Joel tried his best not to fall for you. He couldn’t love you. Not just because he was afraid of losing you but because you were too young and didn't need his baggage. But that got harder the more time he spent with you, and it worsened around December. Your cheerful smile was contagious. Hope gave him something he hadn’t felt since before the outbreak. Hope. Hope for a future with you. Even if it was in the QZ, you made it look brighter and more positive than it was. It made him love you; if he loves you, it's only a matter of time before he fails you.

One way or another, he can't lose you. Losing Sarah still felt fresh and recent, not 20 years ago. He doesn’t know if he could handle losing you, too, especially because of him. But Joel knows he can't hope, not in this world. It's easier to push you away and make you hate him. When Joel felt these feelings, he did the one thing he knew how to do: create distance. He went from seeing you multiple times a day to maybe once a week. Barely talking to you, he stopped kissing your lips and touched you less, but you still found a way to be around him. You still held his hand, sleeping in the bed next to him. 

“This…ain’t working.” Joel sighs, looking down still. Your back is turned, trying to warm hot chocolate; you managed to persuade him to get on one of his smuggling runs, up on the shitty stove in the QZ. An Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album playing on a CD occasionally having to skip a song cause of its skipping. 

“It's a paper snowflake, Joel. What are you talking about? How hard can it be? If you don’t want to do it, you don’t.” You sound confused but are still focusing on the stove.

 Joel sighed again before looking up at your back. “I ain’t talking about the damn snowflake.” 

It's the tone of his voice that causes you to turn around, the sense of dread in his words, the way he seems almost scared to say them. You turn, looking at him, and he can't even look up to make eye contact.

 “Then what are you talking about, Joel.” 

Joel finally looked up at you, and you knew exactly what he meant wasn't working, "Us. This. Whatever this is, it ain't working.” He got up from the small round wooden dining table.

What do you mean this isn't working? It's been working fine for almost two years, Joel!” 

“Well, it's not working anymore.” 

You look at him before taking the attempt at hot chocolate off the stove, last thing you needed was a fire, but you go back to looking at him for any explanation or further clarification about why this wasn’t working out for him when it felt so right for you. But he never offered one. 

“I can't. It's not….working,” he says slowly, tired. Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows this isn’t easy, but Joel cannot do this anymore. He can't let himself get attached to you. He convinced himself it would be easier in the long run.

He never said anything else. All he did was leave you in your apartment. Leaving you speechless and heartbroken. After that, Joel avoided you, or you were avoiding him, but each day, he saw you less and less until around the first week of January, when he noticed he hadn't seen you around at all. He asked around, even bribing FEDRA guards, and finally, one told him that you had escaped and left town with a group of a few other women. Joel had the realization that he’d probably never see you again. He knew you were strong and capable, especially if you had a group. He wasn't worried about you dying, but he had to kill you off in his brain to move on. Because if you weren't dead, then it gave him hope. 

Losing Sarah felt like strike one for him. The first time he felt his heart became cold and isolated, he lost the ability to smile, laugh, and even care. Until he met you at the QZ, it was hard not to smile around you. For the first time, he felt genuinely happy near you. He enjoyed your presence, the jokes you’d make about his age, and the warmth you brought back into his life. Then he ruined it and messed it up again like he failed Sarah. He failed you and lost it all again. Then Ellie brought it back with her jokes and outlook on life. Then again, he lost it. After that, he decided to give up and live the rest of his life in Jackson, mainly alone. 

Joel finally reached the front gate but didn't see anybody waiting. He looked around until he saw a figure in the barns, near the horses.

 “Tommy’s bright idea of leaving a girl out damn in the cold. Forcing me to be the goddamn welcoming committee, Jackson is small, but it ain't that small. Tommy could've found someone to do this…” He mutters to himself as he approaches the barn. 

Snow crunching under his boots causes you to jump at the sound, accidentally scaring you. He sees the girl turn around and instantly recognizes you before you remember him. He sees your eyes still shining, still young, still….hopeful. Not much has changed physically, but at the same time, he can tell something changed. 

Tell me, baby, do you recognize me?.”

It has been 3 years since you left the QZ since he had broken your heart and made his own even colder. He doesn't know what to say and realizes you don't even recognize him. His hair is longer and grayer now than it was. He has more wrinkles and glasses now. Probably put on more pounds now, having access to meals more consistently, not going on runs,  and having to walk miles every day. He can only imagine your thoughts on why this old man was looking at you in such a way, almost on the verge of tears. 

You reach a hand out to greet him and introduce yourself, hearing your name for the first time outside of his head in years, but he doesn't speak. He knew his voice would give away who he was, and he was scared of your reaction. He didn't know if you would be happy to be reunited or slap him because of the last time you spoke. He takes a deep breath before looking at your hand and then back at your face. Three years later, you didn't change much. You still looked just as beautiful to him as you did those years ago. 

“We…um... have met before.” He speaks slowly, knowing that once you hear his voice, you’ll recognize him. 

The second you hear his voice, you suddenly recognize the man in front of you, and shortly after, all the memories return. Memories of sleeping in Joel’s apartment in the QZ when you would get nightmares, memories of him teaching you how to properly shoot in the woods, memories of the first time you had kissed him. Memories of him ending whatever you two had back in the QZ. It all came back flooding your mind. You didn’t know what to say, react, or feel. You look at him for a bit, unsure what to say, so you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Joel? You have….um, you have glasses... Now. .” Those were the only words that came out of your mouth, the only sentence your brain could make. He let out a small laugh, happy you didn't slap him and cuss him out. He reaches for the frames. “Yea. It got hard to read tiny fonts, so… found a pair of readers, and there's an old eye doctor here,” Joel says painfully awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do next. A part of him wants to pull you into his arms and apologize for being an idiot all those years ago. More than anything, he wants to kiss you and tell you that he loved you then and never really stopped. 

“Well, um, I can show you to your new place.” He walks you over to the smaller houses since it's just you. 

“So, how long have you been here.” You ask as the two of you continue to walk in the snow. “About not that long, El- um, I had a girl I had to look after, but she’s an adult now and doesn't need me anymore, but it's safe, so I decided to stay.” Joel walks down, noticing the holiday decor. He can't help but point it out. 

“Bet you’d fit right in here and come at the perfect time.” You nod, agreeing, taking in the town's scenery, the lights, the homemade decor, and the children’s drawings, and you smile a bit. 

“Wow, it’s really pretty, much nicer than the QZ. You must be like a Grinch up on top of the mountain around here, huh? " Your joke makes Joel feel at ease. He laughs, looking at you, feeling like no time has passed. He walks further, approaching his house, snow covering the roof, absent of any lights or holiday decorations that the other houses in Jackson have.  

“No, I…join in…occasionally.”  Joel replies very unconvincingly, which makes you laugh as he opens the door, letting you in. 

“Sure, I bet you join all the festivities, Joel.” He leads you into his house, which looks how you would imagine a middle-aged man living alone to look.  You stand a bit awkwardly in his living room, unsure what to do or say, and find it hard to believe Joel was in front of you after all these years. “But if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again.”

You don’t know who started it, who leaned in first, who kissed who first. It feels like both lips were drawn to each other like magnets. Joel places his hands around your lower back as you close your eyes. His kiss immediately feels like home, safe and warm. Joel pulls away softly. He looks at you, afraid, like he was dreaming. You look back at him, just unsure. You were half expecting him to say something similar to what he said all those years ago, that he couldn’t do this again, yet your lips clash against each other, messily and desperate for each other. Your hands came to his face, holding his greying beard and pulling him as close as possible. 

He lays you down on his bed, hovering over you, kissing down your neck, pulling your shirt over your head, temporarily removing his lips from yours to take off your shirt. You shift, taking off your old sports bra you’ve had since God knows when. Joel feels what you’re attempting to do. He pulls off it, over your head, before his lips return to yours again. Your hands reach, grabbing up to his brown and grey curls.

“Joel….” you moan on his lips. His hands travel up your chest grabbing, squeezing your boobs, making another moan slip. His hand runs down to your stomach, down to your clothed core, rubbing it slowly.

“Joel, I've missed you so much.” He looks down, nods, and softly raises his hand to your face. He looks at you, and you can still tell he’s hesitated, nervous, even scared. 

“I've missed you too, more than you could know.” He kisses you again, but you pull away, sitting up a bit. He takes off his jacket, tossing it somewhere. His green flannel is next. You start unbuttoning it, but you feel his hands on your wrist, stopping you. Your eyes meet his.

“What…” You look confused as to why he stopped you. He had taken your pants off and wanted to have sex, or so you thought. You look at him, waiting for him to say something, but he never does.

“What, Joel? do you not want to-?” Your eyebrows frown, anxious, worried you had read into something. You had misunderstood. But he cut you off before you could finish your sentence. 

“No, I do. I do. Believe me, I do. It's just been a while since we’ve…since you’ve seen me?” Joel tries to explain, but you still don’t see the problem.

“Okay, but we did have sex back at the QZ….many times, so.. I did see you shirtless. What's wrong?” You sit up fully in his bed. Joel sighs, moving off from on top of you and sitting beside you.

“Yeah, well, that was years ago…when I was probably a few pounds lighter, sweetheart.” You suddenly realize what’s wrong. 

You raise your eyebrows, confused. “Seriously, Joel… you really think I’d judge your body because you're actually getting hot meals daily?” Joel looks at you, and your hands go back to the buttons on his flannel. This time, he lets you. 

“I'm serious, Joel. I really don't give a shit…about any of that.” You reassure him as you push his flannel off his shoulders, seeing the white t-shirt underneath it. Your hands go to the bottom of the shirt. 

“I'm just glad I found you again, and you’re not injured or…” You take a deep breath, thinking about the worst-case scenario. You lift the bottom of his shirt, and he helps you remove it.

He nods as you take his shirt off and kiss his chest. “Just glad you're safe, Joel. I don’t really give a shit if you look a bit different.” 

He lays on his bed, pulling you down on top of him, kissing you, his arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

“Glad you’re safe too, babygirl,” he speaks softly in between kisses, his voice is deep.

He reaches between your two bodies, unbuckling his belt and tossing it aside. Your hands goes to his jeans, unzipping them and tugging them off. Joel kicks the jeans off the bed. You feel his cock through his boxer shorts against you. You look down seeing the sizable bulge, you can’t remember if he’s always been this big, but he looks very big. Borderline massive, honestly. 

“Did your dick..grow, or is my memory just that bad?” you ask Joel. He laughs a bit, thinking you’re joking. But you’re not trying to rack your brain to remember if he’s always been this…thick.

 You hear him chuckle a bit. “Last I checked, it was the same, sweetheart.” you reach your hand on the waistband, slowly pulling his boxers down his thighs, watching his hard cock spring onto his stomach.  

Joel's larger hand reaches over yours, guiding it to his cock to jerk him off. You kiss his lips as you move your hand a bit faster. Joel moans against your lips before he moves away. Joel slowly tugs your underwear down your legs, and you kick them off, watching him grab the fabric off, tossing it with the gathering piles of clothes forming onto his bedroom floor.  Joel moves his hand off of his cock 

“Sweetheart, can I fuck you? Please, honey, I gotta be inside you.”

Joel slowly inserts his fingers inside you, feeling the wetness. His fingers curl up, fucking his fingers deep inside. Your head goes back against his pillow, feeling his finger's pleasure in ways yours haven't been able to, reaching places that you haven't been able to reach since you left. His fingers are larger and thicker than yours, making your eyes roll back. You moan out his name, missing the feeling of his name on your lips. You nod repeatedly. 

“ Please. Please. Joel. Please fuck me. I need you.” You moan, grabbing his arm as he thrusts his fingers deeper inside you. 

“Yea? Want me to fuck you.” His fingers slow down, and he presses his nose against your neck. You nod again, letting a moan slip out as he kisses down your neck. 

He moves his fingers, moving you closer and slowly pushing his thick cock inside of you. Slowly pushing the tip of his dick further inside.

You've slept with Joel numerous times in the QZ, he’s fucked you more than he can count, but this was different. You feel him slowly thrusting deeper inside you. Your nails dig into his back as you he fucks you, his cock reaching deeper inside you. This was passionate and slow. The making love you’ve read about. 

” Joel.. Joel. You feel so good.” you moan, feeling him fuck you deep and hard but still slow, like he was savoring, enjoying this moment.

“Missed you, baby. Missed you so fucking much thought I… 'd never see you again.” he looks at you watching your face frown, scrunching up in pleasure. Your eyes close, but he can’t take his eyes off of you. He doesn’t want to miss a moment, miss any more time of being with you, seeing you, touching you. It feels like no time has passed. He still knows your body like the back of his hand. Your moans fill the room. He’s memorized by you. he feels as if he closes his eyes, he’ll open them, and you’ll be gone, that this was a dream.

Your eyes flutter open, and you look up at Joel, pulling him closer. He looks down at you fucking deeper inside, and you feel the pleasure building up until you reach your release gripping onto his shoulders, your moans grow louder. 

“So close. Please, Joel, wanna come. Wanna come with you.” You whine, pleading with Joel as he fucks you deeper, nodding.

“Can tell you’re close, baby. Look so pretty like this full my cock.”

 He reaches between the two of you, rubbing your clit until you cum, moaning, crying out his name loudly. Joel is glad he didn't have any neighbors close enough to hear.

“Joel! Joel!” Fuck!” Joel watches are you come undone on his dick, the prettiest sight he’s ever seen. His thrusts speed up, not far behind you. Surprised he even lasted this long, considering he can't remember the last time he had fucked anything that wasn't his hand. “Where you want it darling,” he grunts between his moans. You barely register what he’s asking you properly fucked out. You whine at the overstimulating sensation of his cock fucking your sensitive hole. You open your eyes, looking up at him. 

“Inside…please, Joel want it inside me.” Joel uses every inch of his restraint to not come to the sound of your words, your begging. He shakes his head no. He had no intention of becoming a father of a newborn again in this lifetime, especially at this age. 

“You know I can't.” You whine, disappointed a bit, minds still a bit foggy from your orgasms. You look at Joel. 

“Don’t care, Joel.” He nods again, thrusting a few more times, moaning more before pulling out, cumming onto your stomach. He breathes heavily, looking at you, and he slowly moves from on top of you going to his bathroom. He grabs a towel, cleaning you off before joining you back in his bed. You instantly move closer, laying against his chest, and he puts an arm around you, kissing your lips once again. He looks at you for a bit before breaking the silence. 

“I love you.” The second he says those three words, you feel the air come out of your lungs. You didn’t know what to say or how to respond. You look at Joel, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes. He was telling the truth. You look back at him, trying to start your brain back up. You smile, nodding, knowing how hard it must’ve been for him to say those words. God knows it’s probably been 20 years since, yet here he was saying it to you.

“I love you too, Joel. I always have. I have never stopped.” You look back at him. He softly kisses your lips.

“I think they’re having hot chocolate and cookies or something in the square, " Joel says nonchalantly, sounding uninterested. Looking at you, he pauses before continuing. Maybe even an old holiday movie or…something like that.”

You can't help but smile widely as he mentions the holiday activity going on in Jackson. Was Joel actually mentioning something holiday-related?

You look at him, still smiling. “If you want to ask me, old man, you gotta say it.” You tease. All he manages is an eye roll before sighing. 

“Would. You like to. get hot chocolate and watch an holiday movie sweetheart.” joel asks cracking a smile as his hands rubs your back softly. 

“I'll give it to someone special.” 

[ikkyfics]

Adorable Kitchen Disaster

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: "Dave..." your voice nearly faltered. He smiled against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction, and placed a few more soft kisses there, each one slower and more provocative than the last. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low and clearly satisfied. "Am I distracting the chef?"

Warnings: just fluffy - Dave being a lovable disaster in the kitchen

Masterlist

The Christmas spirit was already in the air when you heard the doorbell ring. An instant smile appeared on your face as you left the cookie dough on the counter and went to the door. When you opened it, there he was: Dave Lizewski, wearing a comfy blue hoodie under a dark green coat. The beanie hid part of his messy dark hair, and the round glasses framed his big, warm blue eyes that always made you sigh.

"Hey," he said, smiling that shy, adorable way of his. He was holding a plastic bag filled with candies and treats. "I'm ready for the mission, chef."

You didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, you pulled him by his coat, pressing your lips firmly to his. Dave seemed surprised for a second but soon returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist and deepening the kiss. He still tasted like chocolate—because, of course, he always brought something sweet along the way—and the way he smiled against your lips showed how much he loved it.

"Wow." He laughed quietly when you finally pulled away, his face flushed and his eyes sparkling. "I think I'm going to come help in the kitchen more often."

"My parents aren't here," you told him, slightly out of breath, ignoring his playful comment. "They went to visit some friends. So, we have the whole house to ourselves."

"That explains why you're so happy to see me," Dave teased, but the way he bit his lip, shy and enchanted, only made him more irresistible.

You rolled your eyes, holding his hand and pulling him inside. "Come on, hurry up. The cookies aren't going to bake themselves."

The kitchen was a well-organized mess, with cookie cutters scattered on the counter and a bowl of dough ready. Dave observed everything with one eyebrow raised, leaving the "supplies" bag on the table.

"Wow, you're seriously letting me touch the food?"

"I'm trying to give you a chance," you laughed, positioning yourself next to him and extending the bowl. "Now take the dough and start rolling it out with the pin. Just make firm movements, forward and back."

Dave grabbed the rolling pin with both hands and shot you an amused look. "Seems easy. Like a video game. I'm great at this."

But within minutes, you had already spotted the impending disaster. He was pressing the rolling pin too hard, the dough was getting all crooked, and the effort was only making him more frustrated.

"My God, Dave, you're going to destroy everything," you said, laughing.

"I'm not destroying! Just... customizing," he replied, completely convinced, as he rolled the dough any which way.

With an amused sigh, you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his arms, your back pressed against his chest. Dave froze, surprised by the proximity, but let his hands relax when you held his wrists.

"Like this," your voice came out soft, almost a whisper, as you guided his movements firmly. "Calm. No force. Just... glide."

Dave let out a low chuckle. "Do you realize this looks like a movie scene? Like, 'Ghost' but the cooking version?"

"Shut up, Lizewski," you warned, but a smile escaped.

The truth was, the proximity wasn't helping your focus. You could feel his body heat through the hoodie, the rhythmic sound of his breath close to your ear, and the soft scent that always seemed to surround him. What had started as a funny moment quickly turned into something more intense.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Dave murmured, his voice deeper and lower, too close to your neck.

You didn't have time to respond because, in the next second, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the side of your neck. The sensation was so unexpected that you shivered, letting out a sigh.

"Dave..." your voice nearly faltered.

He smiled against your skin, clearly enjoying your reaction, and placed a few more soft kisses there, each one slower and more provocative than the last.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice low and clearly satisfied. "Am I distracting the chef?"

"You're distracting me," you replied, though not with much firmness, because the truth was, you were loving it.

"I don’t see you complaining for real," Dave teased, giving one last kiss before pulling away just enough to study your face. His cheeks were red too, but the crooked, loving smile remained. "Why do you have to be so pretty, huh? Can't even be a disaster in peace."

"Who says I want you to stop being a disaster?" you retorted, your voice full of amusement, but the look in your eyes was sweet enough to be hard to hide.

He smiled even more and leaned in to kiss you again, his lips brushing against yours so gently it felt like he was afraid to break you. You felt his fingers slide along the curve of your waist, almost as if he wanted to memorize every inch, as the kiss slowly deepened, stealing any remaining breath.

"I swear you're going to be my undoing," Dave murmured against your lips, his voice rough and low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Well..." you began, with a shy, daring smile. "At least we’ll get lost together."

His laughter was genuine, and he pulled away just enough to look into your eyes. It was the kind of look that made time seem to slow down — his blue eyes filled with affection, admiration, and something deeper, an intensity so pure that you didn’t know how he could keep it all contained in just that gaze.

"What luck I have," he replied softly, almost to himself.

Before you could respond, he acted on impulse. With a somewhat awkward movement, Dave grabbed your waist and lifted you up, making you let out a surprised squeal instantly.

"Dave! What are you...?"

But you didn’t even finish the sentence. The sudden movement made your leg bump into the open bowl of flour, creating a white cloud in the air that looked like something out of a cartoon. You burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands as he gently set you down on the counter.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he laughed, not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying the chaos he had just caused. His hands were now covered in flour, as were parts of his hair and the blue sweatshirt he was wearing.

"You’re a walking disaster, Lizewski." You laughed through your grumbling, trying to brush some flour off your face, but you were quickly interrupted when he leaned in again, his smile still dancing on his lips.

"I didn’t hear any complaints earlier." He said, and before you could respond, he sealed his lips to yours once more.

This time, the kiss was deeper, more engaging, as if he were trying to capture every bit of that moment. His hands slid back down your waist, a firm yet gentle touch, as if he were still surprised to be allowed this close to you.

You pulled him even closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours and realizing, once again, how he seemed stronger than you gave him credit for. It was a subtle strength, but it was present — a constant and charming surprise from someone who could still be so sweet and caring.

"Since when have you been working out like this, huh?" you asked, your voice slightly muffled between the kisses he was now spreading across your jawline and the corner of your neck.

"Since I started carrying my girlfriend around in my spare time," he replied with a proud smile, his voice lower and full of affection.

"How cocky." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the big smile on your face.

Dave looked at you again, his blue eyes tracing every detail of your face, and you felt your heart squeeze in a good way. He was still too close, your bodies almost touching, and the redness on his cheeks only made him more endearing.

"I’m serious." He spoke softly, brushing a lock of flour out of your hair with his fingertips. "I never thought I’d have someone like this... you know, someone like you."

Your heart melted instantly. You leaned in, pulling him into another kiss, but the moment was brutally interrupted by a strange smell and a low sound coming from the oven.

Both of you froze, eyes wide in unison, until you let out an "Oh no!" and gently pushed Dave off the counter.

"The cookies!" you exclaimed, rushing to the oven.

Dave stood still in the middle of the kitchen, still covered in flour, watching as you, somewhat clumsily, opened the oven and tried to save the cookies — already too dark to be considered edible.

"Okay, okay, I admit it," he began, trying to suppress his laughter. "Maybe the movie scene was too good to be true."

You shot him a sharp look, but you couldn’t hold back your own laugh either. The kitchen was a mess — flour on the floor, sugar on the counter, both you and Dave covered in white powder. But none of that mattered.

You sighed dramatically, holding the baking sheet as if it were a lost cause.

"I think we’ve lost this batch."

"It’s just proof of how irresistible I am." Dave shrugged, walking over to you and holding out his arms. "But hey, I promise the next one will turn out right."

"You really are a lost cause, Lizewski."

"And you still like me this way." He grinned widely, pulling you back close, as if there was no mess around.

And, to be honest, at that moment, there really wasn’t.

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[zorosangell]

I love your fics sm they’ve been getting me through my weekend! In honor of the cold and flu season, maybe a Zoro x Sick Reader would be cute ^^ (where of course Zoro is a big blockhead who doesn’t know how to care for someone who is sick but is too overprotective to not at least try).

⛥ﾟ・。 ham melon

synopsis: after you contract a rare, deadly disease, zoro has to take care of you... the best he can.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a lovable idiot, reader's a little nervous

a/n: love the love i'm receiving from some of you guys tysm. though i just wanted to remind some of you in my inbox that it is the holiday season, and while i'm writing these i am also getting my house and gifts together for christmas. so plz give me some grace lol. i am doing my best to work through my asks

"Zoro... honey... I don't think I can eat that," you rasped, breathing labored and voice weak as you glanced toward the man standing at your bed side. "I can barely keep down water..."

Eye wide, Zoro flushed with embarrassment, now feeling stupid as he glanced down at his hands, which held the bone of a comically large cut of raw ham melon.

And after he spent a whole hour looking for it, too...

'Dammit.'

"Shit..." he cursed under his breath, tossing the meat off to the side as he ran an anxious hand through his hair, looking around the room for something else to help.

Of course, fate had to have chosen the worst possible person in the world to leave you with.

"Alright, I'll... um... shit..." he frantically thought aloud, his hand coming to rest on his chin as he brainstormed more things to give you. "Tea helps people when they're sick, right? Do you want some tea?"

He turned to you for an answer, only to be met by your heavy wheezes, your chest rising and falling both slowly and deeply in an attempt to get as much air as possible.

Your eyes were shut, blankets pulled up to your neck for the body chills and rag placed carefully on your forehead for the fever—which was a whopping 104 degrees last he checked.

Moving closer, Zoro removed the wet cloth and placed the back of his hand in its stead, letting it rest against the painful flush for a moment before quickly yanking it away, worried.

"Christ, woman, your burning up! Tea's gonna kill you!" he winced, concerned, before quickly turning around and rushing toward the exit. "Here, gimme a second!"

Bursting into the kitchen, he bee-lined it for the cupboard and grabbed a glass, moving to get water out of the fridge.

Chopper and the others would have to hurry up if you were going to survive the night.

After docking on a mysterious, tropical island, you somehow managed to catch a rare disease—a disease that had a one-hundred percent fatality rate.

Naturally, the entire crew was worried, but an elderly woman from the town explained that a cure could be made from the large lotus flower that sat in the center of the jungle.

But, because there's always a catch, the jungle was teeming with dangerous animals and man-eating plants, thus making the trip a suicide mission.

So, Luffy and the others embarked on the journey, while your boyfriend was left on ship-watching and you-watching duty.

Though, it was clear that the crew was having a far easier time with their task.

"I got you some water," Zoro stated, walking back into the room.

Quickly, he took a seat next to your bed, scooping his hand under your neck and lifting you up, helping the cup to your lips as you drank.

"Thank you..." you mumbled, taking a few sips before allowing him to lay you back down. "M'sorry... m'such a pain in the ass."

"The hell are you talking about?" he raised a brow, placing the glass on the end table.

"Well... you never get sick... and it's my luck the one time I do, it's deadly," you looked down at yourself, slightly embarrassed. "Not to mention you probably had things you wanted to do today..."

"You talk as if I think you're a burden."

"Well—"

"That's stupid."

You piped down, slightly surprised by his blunt statement.

"There's no burden in this relationship. There's me... and there's you," he stated, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "You keep me sane... and I protect you... and both of us pick up the slack where we need it."

Seriously, he turned to you, eye practically peering through your soul.

"I don't date dead-weight. If that were the case, I would've never asked you out in the first place."

Gagged, you could do nothing but sit there, stunned to silence.

You didn't know he thought so much of the relationship...

Not that you were treating it was a fling, but that you didn't think your swordsman read so much into it.

"You're talking better. The fever must be breaking," Zoro yawned, standing up from his seat. "You need anything else?"

Quietly, you shook your head, and he let out a heavy sigh, allowing his shoulders to slightly sink before he flopped onto bed with you.

"Good... M'takin' a nap..."

"Zoro! I'm gonna get you sick!"

He grunted in response, allowing his eye to shut as he rolled over and dropped his head in the pillows, tucking his hands behind his head.

"You said it yourself... I don't get sick..."

"Well, I don't wanna risk it!"

"Just shut up and c'mere," he mumbled, looping his arm around your waist and jerking you into his side.

The moment you came in contact with his shirtless body, you nearly let out a sigh of relief, his warm skin doing wonders for your body chills.

'Maybe... a few snuggles won't hurt...'

"Five minutes..." you warned, groggily, resting your head on his chest as you inched closer.

"Mhmmm," he hummed in agreement, already half asleep.

Though, when the rest of the crew returned around midnight, the two of your were still in bed together, a mess of limbs and snores as Zoro held you close—his position that of a shield as his front cradled you in his arms, and his back shielded you from any outside dangers.

After Chopper administered your medicine, and Luffy ate the ham melon left behind on the desk, the crew left, leaving you both to continue your slumber.

Zoro, relieved that you were still alive, able to sense your breathing through his sleep.

You, relieved to know that your swordsman viewed you so highly, and saw you as anything but a burden.

[namu-the-orca]

Do you have any advice on how to begin drawing a cetacean? When I'm drawing terrestrial animals, I can break them down into simpler shapes pretty easily, but cetaceans are just Big Tubes and I'm completely stumped on how to start

(Disclaimer that my work is rather stylised, so I'm not looking for advice on photorealism! Just any advice you have in general. I admire your ability to understand and render these sausage-bodied beasts)

Hi! That's an interesting question. I have to admit I had to draw a couple of dolphins first to see how I actually deal with them when free-handing lol. So much of my work as of late is scientific illustration, where in many cases I can build upon my own older illustrations. The new pieces are always 100% new, but correcting a base - however poor - is easier than starting from scratch.

Before I go any further let me stress the eternal importance of references. I can draw a dolphin fine from memory but for it to be actually accurate I need references. I always use them. Especially when it comes to weird poses or angles, but even for illustrations I will reference 25-50 photographs. Use them, study them, find them. They are a resource not a cheat.

Also, years ago I actually started work on a whole series of dolphin drawing tutorials. Or rather, collections of notes and tips for different topics (anatomy, differences between males and females, colouration, variation). Looking at the files now I see I had actually written and drawn a frightening amount already. Perhaps I should try to finish them? Is that something people would be interested in? Anyway, it starts off with a word of encouragement, which I do want to share here:

Actual advice is below the cut:

ONTO METHODS - illustrations

I found that for me, my method depends on whether I'm making an illustration or a full scene painting. For illustrations - which are in flat side view - I actually embrace the sausage. I drew a dolphin for you and saved the steps of how I go about it.

And this is the first. I start with a sort of flat-bottomed airfoil shape, and then add fins and a beak in approximate locations.

Next is refining the appendages and giving a face. Shape and placement of appendages as well as eye and mouth line is all experience and/or reference work.

Then comes fixing what I messed up lol. I always make the head too big first try (would have been good for a baby dolphin though!). Using cutting/transforming/moving selections around I correct proportions to what feels correct to me (again, that part comes from having seen and drawn a lot of dolphins).

Add some markings and hooray we have a spinner dolphin! This is the part where I would seriously start consulting references to check all the details and proportions are in order. If you don't need (photo)realism you can skip that step and use refs further back in the process just to get the shape/idea/colour of the species you're trying to paint right.

MORE METHODS - for different poses

When it comes to dynamic poses, my workflow is completely different. I just start from the nose and build my dolphin from there. Because as said above, they do have anatomy. And I think the way the beak flows into the cheek, the eye bumps connect, then the curve of the throat, the attachment of the pectoral fin, the way the belly curved up towards the genital region, the slight bulge behind that, then the muscles of the peduncle which flow into the flukes - I think the relations between those separate parts are enough for me?

These are the little dolphins (and a porpoise) I sketched from memory. In all cases I started from the tip of the nose and built from there, with minimal or no adjustments/erasing along the way. It was very much outline work. Details on eyes, mouth, etc, would come later. The killer whale is a bit different and got way more detailed than the rest. With such a front view angle I do use some spherical shapes to break it down for the body and face.

Otherwise I've never really liked or used the method of breaking an animal down into shapes, it never felt logical or intuitive to me. My "method" (if you can call it that lol) just comes from having drawn a lot of dolphins. I don't know if it is necessarily helpful when you want to get a grasp of them when starting out. Regardless I do hope this answered your question somewhat and you could get something useful out of it!

Also, I realise now I mostly talked about "standard "dolphins - for whales/short-beaked smaller cetaceans/etc my process is mostly the same, except their heads just have different shapes.

[dis-astre]

BREAKDOWN OF LES MISÉRABLES IN FRANCE : ACT I

- they use the almost same costumes as the west end which... great bc sometimes france tends to make....... weird choices concerning their costume department for musical shows

- lots of projections for the decor, the set was very sleek, but they used it well

- javert was on point, props to the actor honestly he was one of the best thing of the show

- the actors in general were hitting those notes like craaaaazy, they were all so good

- the thenardier got me laughing uncontrollably, they were perfect and master of the house was *chief kiss*, people dancing on the tables, a lot of things were going on in the background which added to the chaos which was perfect

- master of the house is disgustingly perfect in french

- they were little kids in the audience and i don't think the parents were rlly aware of the show bc... well first the language is rlly crude (even more than the last french version), and they have sex on stage at some point in lovely ladies???? (honestly don't remember if this was in the west end version circa 2019 pls if u know enlighten me)

- the kids playing eponine, cosette and gavroche were so great they got a standing ovation and all

- for the confrontation, javert has a rifle and they basically play hide and seek like valjean hides from javert in the hospital and javert hunt him and the nurses are trying to help valjean (at some point one hides the gun under the bed of a patient and it's was funny)

- THEY MADE MONTPARNASSE SO GAY?????? LIKE????? bro was this big tall twink behaving like 💅💅🌈✨✨💃💅🌈💃✨✨💅 guuuuuurl, he was so coquette i stg, so that was fun

- les amis were >>> amazing, loved them sm ! it was really less gay and enjoltaire than the english production and overall the choices made were real different from what i had seen before and i loved that; i think it comes from the fact that french ppl tend to stay more "true" to the original work especially with such an important book as Les Mis but i'll explain myself more in act II

- in the beginning of abc cafe, R is drinking from a bottle and Enj just casually pass by him and grab the bottle before physically sitting him down

- R proceeded to try and grab the bottle from everyone and they were all exchanging the bottle to get it away from him

- he also was ALWAYS talking and laughing with les amis and making jokes like trying to shake hands with one of them and then retracting his hand last moment, childish plays and so cute to watch them laugh and interact like that

- when enjolras started talking, R stopped everything and put his chin in his hands and started looking at him with stars in his eyes and the biggest smile (he was so hot pls help) and that was so cute

- "marius you're late" was said in the most annoyed french tone and i love it

- after R verse and "it is better than an opera", everyone was clapping and enjolras was sulking in a corner, and one of the amis (presumably combeferre) went "OH SHUSH" in the most Dad Voice ever to shut everyone up and proceed to motion to enjolras to come back and talk

- R casually jumping on chairs

- R never got his bottle back so he proceed to open a book, read it and tried to show everyone what he was reading and talked about the book; and idk i loved that yes show how much of a yapper and actually a smart man my guy is

- i finally got to hear what they say for the "general lamarque is dead" part bc it's never on any album and it's really so close to the english version, except instead of saying to R "do we have the guns we need?", enj say something along the line of "R put the bottle down and chose a weapon" and R goes basically like "oh no needs my breathe will kill two in one blow" so pretty close to the english verse and i love it

- do you hear the people sing was amazing with the new lyrics

- they changed a lyric in one day more and i'm so SO glad they did bc i HATED it, so basically in french we have "you" meaning "tu/toi" as like a singular individual or you say "tu/toi" to a close person; and "you" as "vous" as like more than one person or you say "vous" to someone you don't know/respect. and in the original version for "my place is here, i fight with you" marius say "ma place est là, auprès de toi" and now he says "auprès de vous" and that's SO MUCH BETTER bc the original lyric is like... who tf is "toi" bc it's not a plural so is it cosette ?? which is inaccurate, or is it enjolras ?? which doesn't make any sense at all bc he fight with all of les amis, not just one ??????? so yeah, one of the best lyric change they've made

anyway here's some pro shots and i'll make a part II later for act II byeeee

[andro-dino]

Tired and sick, may I get some Once upon a withlight headcanons to ease my weary soul?

aaa hope you feel better soon snuggles 🫶

this is one I actually have to put a little brain power into bc I actually haven’t thought super hard about this

- I think kremy and Gideon never verbally apologize to each other after a fight, both of them are way too prideful and awkward for that. Kremy I think would take it like a mom who cuts up fruit for you instead of apologizing. He doesn’t explicitly acknowledge that anything happened or is wrong but Gideon will be moping in the corner and kremy will be like “I made dinner, are you gonna come eat with me or what?” and instantly all is resolved. On Gideon’s part, I think it’s a combo of big sad puppy eyes and acts of service, just constantly going out of his way to do things for kremy to try to make up for it. I think gid does that a lot just anyways but he goes especially hard on it when he’s trying to apologize after a fight

- also coalecroux focused, these guys are so weird about physical affection. it’s either they are extremely awkward and strange about it or they are literally inside each others skin, no in between. Like I think with these two having been together for as long as they have, they have very naturally gotten super used to constantly hanging on to each other and having their arms wrapped around each other like second nature, neither of them even really realize they do it, but the SECOND anyone comments on it or causes them to think about it for even a second, they are instantly ten feet apart from each other and all awkward and sputtery about it. freaks, I hate them (affectionate)

- Frost is the kind of person who will appear to be completely doing his own thing and not paying attention at all when other people are talking but he is actually extremely engaged in the conversation, he just doesn’t feel the need to hold eye contact or stop doing what he’s doing (which is probably like reading a book or something similar which would appear to hold all his attention). Gricko is the most used to this and entirely unfazed by it but it takes most others a little while to understand it

- Gideon and Twig scheme about pranks to pull on frost together. Either that or just ganging up to make fun of him (affectionate) in general

- Twig tries to help show torbek how to clean and take care of his fur a little more. He’s not particularly good at it on his own but he’s trying and he appreciates it immensely

- frost. Kitty tendencies. he tries like really really hard not to show most of his cat qualities very often bc he does not want to draw attention to them but he has found himself making biscuits around people without realizing more than once

- Hootsie with each of the different krew members I think are all very fun dynamics. Frost is father #2 to her and will usually be the one taking care of her if gricko cannot as he is generally the most responsible and capable when it comes to taking care of her, though he will definitely sneak her more rat snacks than she’s supposed to have. Kremy is like the rich gay aunt who will absolutely spoil her rotten if given the opportunity. He never means to but he can never resist doing so. He will go full Karen mode to give her the world. I imagine hootsie in Gideon’s care like one of those movies where the plot revolves around a babysitter and the kid their watching going on a big wacky adventure and needing to get home before the parents do, and no matter zany the hijinks, they will always get back home and act like absolutely nothing happened when the parents do get home. He is one of hootsie’s favorite to play and cuddle with but he should probably not be solely responsible for her for extended periods of time. Torbek and hootsie are like bffs and also are great cuddle buddies but similarly he should never be left solely responsible for her it would not go well.

[starrycassi]

Zaunite Sign Language

We see in the show that touching foreheads with one another seems to be a very intimate thing to do for Zaunites. It is not necessarily romantic, but signals to a deep, strong bond between those who do it. Well, since Zaun was clearly a mining town, I think this habit comes from those times. We also see Felicia putting her fingers to her forehead as a way to greet her children, which could just be coincidence but I am insane and refuse to believe that coincidences exist in this show.

I think that, as deeply clothed as miners have to always be, letting someone else touch your forehead and general face eventually became a sign of intimacy between them, since it was one of the completely exposed areas of the body. Now, I know we see young Vander and Silco with not-so covering clothes (edit: yeah they put on those big ass coats. for some reason I forgot while writing this lol), but I’m being a bit more realistic here. I have family that lives somewhat close to Mina del Limón, which is a mining site here in Nicaragua, and people usually try to cover themselves up to avoid getting dirt directly on the skin, since a lot of the times this not only gets them dirty but ends up in mean rashes or other sorts of skin infections, depending on what layer of soil they’re working on at the moment.

All of this to say: I think Zaunites have a lot of signs that involve touching your forehead and involve only one (the other one usually busy with a tool or doing something else), since the noise in the mines would make spoken communication difficult and you can not just stop and walk over to someone in the middle of an excavation and signaling on other parts of your clothes would be harder to see if your hands are covered with soot, since their main light source would come from the helmets, ergo: their forehead/face would be the best illuminated part of their bodies. I headcanon things like touching up their index and pointer finger to their foreheads to then flick them up would mean things like “I’ve got you”, dragging their finger across their entire forehead “This is over/We can leave”, dragging their fingers from top pf forehead to tip of nose would be “I’m down/Can’t keep going/Help me/I need assistance” and so on. In a lot of circumstances where normal communication is stunted, languages tend to develop in other ways (like the Silbo Gomero, a whistled language in Canary Islands developed due to the distances)

I also think that, eventually, this evolved in Zaunite Sign Language (in a similar way to how Nicaraguan Sign Language evolved), which is what I personally Isha as being able to speak. I think almost everyone would know the very basic signs, since their parents teach them before they start going to work (and we see a lot of children working, so, very early) and these children would eventually teach their peers, even the ones that don’t work on the mines, so it’s a fairly widespread way to communicate. Add to this the time after the revolution, where a lot of miners would surely need to go into hiding for a time if they survived, or even before that, when they were planning and could not risk people hearing them — those would be circumstances that would surely foster and improve these signs!

I don’t know, I just really like linguistics and am a huge sucker for the development of cultural communication methods. Does this make any sense. Does any care. Should I expand on this. I mean I probably will because this blog has become a warped version of my journal but I still have to ask. To be polite.

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 35

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Grian's pov*

You are still not allowed to go out as Cuteguy. You don't get why you have to wait so long to start doing hero stuff, was what happened at that inauguration thing really that bad? You doubt it.

Scar tried to cheer you up which was... weirdly sweet? Luckily for everyone you still have a few other ways to pass the time and won't get bored for a while...

...You go out as a Poultryman as soon as you can... what can you say? There is only so much staying still and being nice that you can take. Jumping roof to roof, stopping crime, It's just so refreshing.

You look down to the streets and see an hint of fire...oh! That's Flame! First time you have seen another vigilante around... thinking about it, it makes sense considering how big of a city it is...still, weird considering how many times you have stumbled on both heroes and villains by going out like this.

You open your wings and gently glide down to the ground...before snapping them close and dropping next to him.

"Hello there Flame!"

"Oh! Poultryman right? Didn't expect you to be here for this.''

"That's me! So, what's going on?"

"Oh, you don't know? There is a group of guys robbificating the mall like right now."

. . .

Rob...bificating? Wait, mall? Again? Why is this mall coming back so soon? You didn't think it had enough relevance to be robbed.

"The mall?"

"Yep, are you in for some ass kicking?"

Well, you know the mall is not yours but after yesterday It feels personal for some reason. Also kicking ass is always fun.

"Of course I'm in!"

And like that he just starts going,doesn't even wait for you... Mean. Of course you keep up though since you can fly but still, unappreciated.

You are at the infamous mall and- Ohhhhh right, the mall has a jewlery store, you were kinda wondering why someone would want to rob a clothes store or... figurine store at gun point. That does explain a lot actually.

As soon as you land they start shooting at you, are all mortals so trigger happy? If you were alone you would just take the bullets head on but all these guys are watching you and Flame is here and you aren't going to reveal your divinity to him like this...so you wave your hand when nobody is looking and their gun happen to suddenly stop working at that exact time... so weird and lucky for you.

Flame looks to you.

"Their guns are jammed, this is the best shot we have"

"Don't need to tell me twice!"

You jump on them, they shreak as you do...you hear Flame snort behind you as you land on them and push them to the floor, by the raising temperature you can tell he's joined in as well...you two do make a pretty good team it seems, something to keep in mind.

As the sirens approach and you begin to leave Flame stops you, silently he gives you a card with an address and a time written on it. Huh. Before you can ask about it he waves and leaves... You don't fly after him and he gets away. You are going to have to check this out aren't you? Fun! You are interested by what this could possibly lead to, you hope It's something fun...like arson! He even has the perfect power for it, it would be such a waste otherwise...

Oh well, no time to think about that now! You still have other stuff to do right now... not before trowing a few eggs behind you though, you are not forgetting that, It's very important to your branding.

You read the card a while after. The 26th? It's the same day as the movie marathon... Funny how life can be, huh?