argumentative antithetical dream girl

After so long living in London, it was just a mildly annoying phenomenon, something that irritated you enough to throw you into a bad mood for an hour or two but not enough to ruin your day anyway. That is, until Roy finally has a day off and you have a meticulously planned outing you’d been looking forward to for months, and London spoils everything.

It was rare for you and Roy to have a completely free day together, with no other obligations you needed to worry about. It was rarer still for the forecast to look so beautiful for days, making hope bloom in your chest even when you know it’ll lead to disappointment.

And then you wake up to a crack of thunder, and it sounds like your heart breaking.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you grumble into your mug, watching as the rain splatters against the windows. 

“Maybe it’ll let up,” Roy tries to comfort you, his voice low and soothing as he bends to press a kiss to the top of your head. To prove him wrong, a bolt of lighting streaks across the sky. “Or maybe not.”

In no mood for jokes, you shoot him a glare, but seeing the way he just grins back at you makes your frustration melt.

“I had a whole day planned,” you whine, knowing you’re being ridiculous but in no mood to fix it.

“I know,” Roy soothes, and for the first time that morning, you take a deep breath. Looking at Roy across the table makes you feel all gooey inside. His hair and beard are cropped close for the summer, and as much as you mourn his longer hair, he looks perfect just like this too. His black t-shirt is rumpled from sleep, and his biceps show off the decades of training he’d dedicated himself to.

“It doesn’t even feel like summer,” you’re just in the mood to complain now, feeling down about having your plans ruined and looking for anything to make you feel worse, to wallow in the self pity that’s swallowing you whole. Luckily for you, though, Roy isn’t going to let that happen.

“Well, next time the weather’s nice, I’ll tell everyone at Richmond to fuck off and we’ll spend the day together.” He smiles at you across the table, and you can’t resist smiling back.

“Really?”

“C’mere, this spot’s perfect,” he says, peeling off the paved walking path and letting you trail behind. He had his sights set on a little patch of grass on top of a slight hill, where no one would bother you and you could still enjoy the beautiful day.

“Need any help?” You ask as you watch him riffle through the bags, searching for something he seems to have misplaced. When he straightens up again, curls slightly askew, it’s with a grin and red checkered picnic blanket. 

“Nope, just stand there and look pretty,” he instructs, leaving you fighting off a grin at his sweet flirting. The thing was Clark was that he didn’t try to fluster you, he never really thought twice about the sweet words that fell from his lips. He just loved you so much, it seemed silly to try and hide it.

You wait patiently, pointedly looking away from where Clark is spreading out the blanket and digging around in the bags. Summer in Metropolis could get stifling hot, with everyone in foul moods and the sun practically roasting the sidewalks. But it could also be beautiful, when there was a day like today, with the sun high in the sky and the weather perfect, and it seemed like everyone was floating on a cloud of pure happiness. 

At least, that’s how you felt, but maybe that had more to do with the company than the weather.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Clark instructs, even though you’re already facing the opposite direction. You giggle, but do as he asks anyway, going so far as to cover your eyes with your hands for good measure. You turn around slowly, and wait for the all clear.

For a moment, Clark just stands there and admires you. He wonders, not for the first time, how he managed to get so lucky.

“The anticipation is killing me,” you tease, and Clark snaps himself out of it before his thoughts can wander.

“Alright, open ‘em.”

The sight that greets you makes your heart melt, makes you feel like your body can’t possibly keep all of the love you feel contained. Clark has laid out a picnic blanket, and on top of it is a spread of all of your favorite foods. There are meals you’ve shared together, and snacks you mentioned once a few months ago, treats you remember from your childhood, and the drinks that Clark makes sure to keep stocked in his fridge.

It’s a display of all of your favorite things, but it’s also a display of love, of just how much Clark cares about you. To tie it all together, there’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers. With the sun shining down and the gentle breeze that keeps the weather from growing too hot, it feels like a scene out of a movie.

When you shift your gaze away from the picnic and back towards Clark, he’s got a nervous little smile on his face, as if there’s any possibility that you wouldn’t love it. You can’t seem to find the words, so you close the distance between you and kiss him softly. The gesture seems to take him by surprise, and when you pull back, his cheeks are tinged pink.

“You gonna come in the water today?” Finnick asks as he wades back to shore, saltwater dripping from his hair, running down his body in rivulets. You almost don’t catch what he says, you’re too preoccupied with running your eyes up and down his body. He notices, and answers with a wolfish grin.

“I might,” you respond with a shrug once your brain begins to work again. Finnick has crossed the sand to reach out, sitting down on the corner of the towel you’ve laid out. “Seems a little cold.”

While Finnick craves the sea the way others crave a drink, you’re perfectly content just sitting on the sand, soaking up the sun and the sight of him. You know he loves it when you join him, though, and that if you hold out just long enough, he’ll grab your wrists and tug you upwards, gentle yet insistent, before hurling you over his shoulders and racing down towards the water. You’ll squirm and pretend to fight back, only to melt into his arms as the water laps around your waist. He’ll hold you then, and close his eyes, like he’s never been happier.

That’ll come later, you’re certain of it, but for now you’re both in the mood to tease, to be childish in ways you were never allowed to be before.

Finnick disagrees with you, an insistent shake of his head that sends water droplets spraying.

“It’s perfect,” he counters, twisting in his seat to face you, to plant his hands on either side of your head and lean forward.

“It’s dripping on me, and it’s cold,” you argue back, a grin dancing across your features. The water drips steadily from Finnick’s hair, down the tip of his nose, off of his jaw, to land on your face, tiny droplets like gentle kisses. You’re not wrong, there’s a chill to the water, but the day has only increased in heat. Now, you’re in it for the love of the game. 

“I could warm you up,” Finnick practically purrs the words out, dipping himself closer to you until there’s only a fraction of an inch between your mouth and his.

“Throwing me in the water won’t warm me up,” you’re incredibly proud of yourself for keeping the back and forth going, especially with Finnick pressed so close to you. You’re rewarded for your tenacity by a laugh that warms you more than the sun ever could. Just when he’s about to close the gap, he stops in his descent and speaks instead.

“We’ll see about that.” Quick as a flash he hoists you from the ground, and you’re too shocked to even pretend to squirm in his hold. He splashes down into the water, and before you know it, the both of you are completely submerged. 

Egg, for one, has had Dunk’s feelings for you figured out before the hedge knight himself had been able to puzzle out the strange feeling he gets in his chest whenever he looks at you. The young boy does his best to pull the two of you together, or at least to get Dunk to stop staring at you and speak to you for more than a few seconds. Dunk is entirely resistant to this, and normally answers Egg’s gentle scheming with the empty threat to give him a clout on the ear.

And while you may not be as upfront with your knowledge as Egg is, you’re not entirely oblivious to the way the knight feels about you. It would be hard not to notice, what with the way he always seems to drift towards you, the way he can never manage to look into your eyes for more than a few seconds, the way his ears go crimson and he stumbles over his words whenever he speaks to you. And perhaps the kind, ladylike thing to do would be to put him out of his misery, to tell him that you feel a tug in the pit of your stomach whenever you’re near him.

But you also want to see how long Dunk’ll torture himself with this affection for you, how long it’ll take before he notices that there’s a reason why you sit so close to him, why you’re here in the middle of the woods with him and Egg instead of anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Really, you hadn’t expected him to take so long to realize, and now you’re starting to get antsy.

It’s endearing, the awkwardness he seems to radiate whenever he’s around you, the nerves coming off him like heat. Especially now that the days are getting warmer, and you’ve traded your long sleeves for something lighter, and the three of you stop and rest the horses far more often than you had when it had been colder, as much to give yourselves a break as the animals. 

Even though there are hours of daylight left as summer stretches on and on, you decide to stop for the day in a shaded field, somewhere near a stream so the horses can drink and you can cool off. Egg had taken off running as soon as he completed his tasks, leaving you and Dunk to watch after his retreating form with fond smiles. 

There’s a gentle breeze coming in from the forest that borders the field, and the feeling of the sunlight melting into your skin is far too tempting to resist, especially now that you aren’t sweating on horseback with the sun beating down on you. It seems softer somehow, in this field, but just as bright and warming. So, instead of following Egg to cool off in the stream, you remove the layers you wear for riding and stretch out in the grass, closing your eyes and tilting your head up towards the sun.

You can sense Dunk trying to decide what to do, if it would be better to leave you in peace and follow the boy or if you wouldn’t mind the company. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” you say, making up his mind for him. With your invitation, Dunk doesn’t hesitate to seat himself next to you, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. He’s quiet, like he’s still trying to decide something. With your head tilted up like a flower straining towards the sky, you don’t see the harsh rise and fall of his chest as he exhales sharply, but you can picture it. 

A few moments pass, and Dunk remains silent. You’re practically brimming with curiosity, with anticipation, so you take it on yourself to fracture the silence. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Even as you ask, you keep your eyes shut, and all Dunk can see of your face is your profile, illuminated by the sun like something sent from the Seven Above.

“You,” he answers simply, more honest than he planned. Maybe the fact that he can’t feel your gaze on him makes him brave, maybe he’s pretending that you’re not really paying attention. Maybe he’ll blame it all on the heat of the day if you questioned him on it.

“Your Grace,” Ser Barristan leans down to speak to the young queen, “perhaps these problems will hold until the morning. Everyone needs a respite from standing in this heat.”

Dany looks up at him with a grateful smile, and tries not to wince as she feels her skin peeling from her throne, even with the cushion. Ser Barristan leads her from the room, leaving Missandei to deal with sending everyone away. Her chambers are blessedly cool, and it seems as if a breeze has begun to stir. Perhaps the heatwave is breaking, and Dany wonders if there will be rain, gods know they need it. 

Ser Barristan leaves her alone with her cupbearers, and Dany is grateful for the silence after hours upon hours of listening to the complaints and questions of her people, her children. Still, she feels restless, as if the heat has seeped into her bones, and she considers sending someone to find you when there’s a gentle knocking on the stone walls of her chambers, someone announcing their presence. 

She whirls around, unable to hide her eagerness, and is met with the sight of you, sticky with sweat and breathless. Dany doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sight half as welcome, half as wonderful. 

“Your Grace,” you greet her with a slight bow to your head, even as your eyes stay locked on hers. Dany crosses the floor to reach you, to grab hold of your hand. She loves the way your fingers curl around hers, the firmness of your grip and the way you can never seem to stop your thumb from trailing along her skin. 

“I think it’s going to rain,” she says as she leads you to the balcony, missing your touch the second she drops your hand to lean out and look over her sitting. 

“That’s very fitting for you, isn’t it?” You lean yourself next to her, close enough that she can practically feel your body humming besides her but too far for your shoulders to brush.

Dany turns away from her city to look at you, eyebrows raised in question. 

“Daenerys Stormborn,” you clarify, and Dany can’t help but laugh even as a rush of heat completely unrelated to the weather overtakes her at the sound of your voice, curling around her name. 

Dany loves the way you pronounce the vowels, your voice tilting and curving in the Westerosi tongue. She’s grown used to Dothraki, the once harsh sounding language as comforting to her now as a familiar lover. Ghiscari is still far too guttural to her ears, and while many around her can speak the Common Tongue, it’s been far too long since she heard the Westerosi accent that colors your words. It’s as gentle and soft as silk, as your touch. 

“I should teach you Valaryian,” she declares, and your laughter dances through the stillness of the afternoon air.

“I already know all the important words,” you tease, before dramatically clearing your throat and saying, “Dracarys.”

Your pronunciation is all wrong, and Dany giggles, a smile splitting her face. 

“No, like this,” she says even as her joy stains her voice, curves her letters, “Dracarys.”

You nod as if you can hear the difference, and then Dany settles her hand along the curve of your jaw, the top of your throat. She feels you swallow, feels your vocal cords moving beneath your skin as you try again.

“Dracarys,” and it’s closer, much better than your first attempt but still rough around the edges. You seem nervous, unused to the feeling of not succeeding at something on your first try. It makes Dany’s chest ache, a warmth spreading through her ribs as she feels your jaw shifting against her palm.