#(AND SHE'S SPOONING /HIM/!!!!! SHE'S THE BIG SPOON!!!!!!!!)

[satoruswifeyyyy]

taking care of sick toji (drabbles)

masterlist

requested by @totallygyomeiswife

toji fushiguro swaggered into the house like he hadn’t just been caught in the middle of a monsoon. his black shirt clung to his skin, droplets of rain sliding off his ridiculously muscular frame, and his hair was a dripping mess.

he looked like a drowned cat—if the cat was six feet tall, stupidly attractive, and had the ego the size of japan.

you, meanwhile, took one look at him from where you sat on the couch and sighed dramatically.

“oh, wonderful. the storm dragged in an idiot.”

toji scoffed, kicking off his boots with a wet squelch. “relax, mama. i’m fine.”

“no, you’re soaked. go take a warm bath before you get sick.”

he smirked, running a hand through his wet hair. “cold’s got nothing on me, babe.”

megumi, all of five years old and already sporting a permanent scowl, deadpanned, “you’re literally shivering.”

“am not,” toji shot back immediately, despite the visible tremor in his hands.

tsumiki, the true voice of reason, crossed her arms and frowned. “papa, listen to mama.”

“pfft, what’s the worst that can happen?” toji waved them off and flopped onto the couch like a wet rag. “i’m built different.”

you stared at him for a long second before shaking your head. “alright. don’t come crying to me when you—”

the next morning.

toji fushiguro, walking muscle and self-proclaimed immune-to-sickness warrior, lay sprawled in bed with a raging fever. his face was flushed, his usually sharp green eyes were bleary, and his entire existence radiated pure, unfiltered misery.

you stood over him, arms crossed, smug as hell.

“good morning, ‘built different.’”

toji groaned. “don’t.”

“oh, no, no, please, let me say it.” you cleared your throat. “i told you so.”

he let out a suffering sigh, turning his head into the pillow like a dramatic teenager. “leave me alone.”

megumi climbed onto the bed, looking down at his father with an expression that was far too judgmental for a five-year-old. “so. turns out you can get sick.”

“shut up, brat.”

tsumiki giggled from where she sat beside you, holding a cool towel. “papa, mama says you need to drink something warm.”

“i don’t need—”

you pressed a spoonful of soup against his lips, cutting off his protest. “open up, big guy.”

he scowled. “i can feed myself.”

“oh? can you?” you raised a brow. “because you look like you’re five seconds from passing out.”

megumi nodded sagely. “he does.”

“traitors,” toji muttered, but he begrudgingly let you feed him.

“wow,” you teased. “toji fushiguro, feared bounty hunter, being spoon-fed by his loving wife. how adorable.”

his face, already red from the fever, somehow managed to darken. “y/n.”

“shh. say ‘ahh.’”

“this is humiliating.”

“this is necessary.”

tsumiki, ever the responsible one, patted his forehead gently. “mama’s just taking care of you, papa.”

toji sighed, accepting his fate. “…you guys suck.”

megumi poked his arm. “we’re the only reason you’re still alive.”

“…fair.”

you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his burning forehead. “next time, listen to me.”

“yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, eyes already slipping shut as exhaustion took over.

megumi pulled the blanket up to his chin, and tsumiki tucked in the edges. you smoothed back his messy hair, smiling softly.

yeah, he was an idiot. but he was your idiot.

a/n: honestly i am kind of disappointed with this one :( this didn't slay as much as i wanted it to. and i know I AM SORRY 😭🙏 for not posting.

[hyperfocusthusly]

Sweet things

@bucktommyfluffebruary - day two prompt ‘cooking together’

Notes: established relationship, domestic fluff, Tommy is too busy staring at his boyfriend to be an effective sous chef | Rating: G | Words: 700

[Read on A03]

——-

“Sorry I’m late!” Tommy calls through the house, “there was an accident, traffic was a nightmare.”

“That’s okay,” a familiar voice calls back. “I had to start without you.” Tommy comes into the kitchen to find Evan whisking a bowl of egg whites. “Need to keep on schedule so it has to bake and cool before we put it together.”

Tommy half remembers the 20 minute run down of why you have to let a meringue cool slowly, something to do with sudden temperature change causing cracks? In his defence he had been half asleep at the time, laid out on the sofa with Evan’s fingers carding through his hair.

Ever since Athena had assigned them the dessert portion of the menu for their barbecue this evening Evan had been spending every spare minute searching for the perfect thing to make. Several internet deep dives, three new recipe books and countless conversations later he had come to the conclusion that a pavlova would be perfect for the job.

“It’s the best of all things.” He had explained one evening, plastered against Tommy’s back while he did the washing up. “It’s crunchy and chewy, sweet but if you choose the right flavour crème, I was thinking passion fruit, then it’s not too sweet. Plus it’s light enough for after a big meal, perfect for a summer barbecue.”

Tommy comes around the kitchen island, rests his hand on Evan’s hip and presses a quick kiss to the back of his neck.

“Hope you didn’t do all of my jobs for me. I want to look Hen in the eye and tell her I helped make this thing, I’m pretty sure it’s high on her list of things she doesn’t believe are possible.”

Evan laughs,

“I need you to separate some more eggs, 3 yolks should do and then they need to go on a double boiler-” he shifts out of Tommy grasp, pulling the scales out of a nearby cupboard and measuring sugar into a bowl.

“I thought we were making meringue.”

“We’re making a pavlova, three key components; meringue, crème and fruit.”

“Oh yes of course, how could I forget the three key components.”

Evan pulls a face of mock shock at Tommy’s sarcastic tone.

“How indeed” he reaches up and taps the recipe card taped to the cupboard. “All the instructions are there if you need them.”

Tommy separates the eggs carefully, and puts them in a double boiler on the stove. He is stirring them gently when he feels Evan’s gaze boring into the side of him.

“Can I help you with something?”

Evan waggles his hand in the direction of the drawer Tommy is stood in front of.

“Can you pass me a spoon?”

“Sure.”

He digs one out and gives it to Evan, their fingers brushing over the handle. His gaze lingers on Evan for a moment too long.

“You know you have to stir those constantly right?”

“Mmm?” Truth be told, Tommy is a little less focused on the steaming bowl and more on his gorgeous boyfriend. He feels a bit lost with the way the afternoon sun is catching the lighter tones in Evan’s hair, lifting the golden tones of his skin.

Evan reaches over with the hand not currently occupied whisking egg whites and closes it over Tommy’s wrist, forcing him to stir the mixture.

“If you don’t they will scramble.”

“We can’t have that.” Tommy murmurs softly, still entranced by the way the light makes Evan’s eyes shine, picking up the different shades of blue in his eyes and making them sparkle.

Evan catches Tommy’s eyes and stops for a moment, his trademark frantic cooking energy slowing down as he looks at Tommy. He knows realistically that 24 hours is not a hugely long time to go without seeing someone but the way he feels immediately lighter under Tommy’s gaze makes him realise how much he misses him when he’s at work.

“Sorry,” he mumbles “I didn’t even say hello.”

“That’s okay baby, I know how important the structural integrity of meringues is to you.”

“You’re important to me too.”

Tommy smiles and Evan thinks he may never get tired of seeing it.

Tagging some beloveds (as always let me know if you want to be added/removed);

@leashybebes @livelaughlou @loucifersbitch @dark-alice-lilith @mmso-notlikethat @laundryandtaxesworld @bucksaiga @littlepaws9 @sad-girl-hours23 @evansbuck-ley @jamieroyjamieroy @typicalopposite

@moonydanny @teenmaximoff @bucksboobs @ohithankyou @bi-bi-buckleys @rubydaiquiri @hellion-child @aringofsalt @sweaters-and-silly @theotherbuckley @comfortingevanbuckley @epiphainie @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard

@sunnywithachanceofbi @desert--moonchild @blitzynatural @actuallyitsellie @big-urchin-energy @fyrehose @buckleyskinards @owlgirl495 @honeyloulou @setmeatopthepyre @salty-autistic-writer @thecarrott

[ratb0yyy]

SLEEPING HEADCANONS

SQUID GAME 2 x READER

Genre - Fluff

Reader is G/N!!

Characters: Hyun-Ju, Se-mi

a/n : this might be OOC, I'm so sorry if it is !!

Cho Hyun-Ju / Player 120

• Most of the time, Hyun-Ju is the big spoon

• This is because it makes her feel like she's protecting you and keeping you safe in a way

• She'll very rarley be the little spoon

• If you insist on being the big spoon, she'll allow it and won't mind too much

• Hyun-Ju also LOVES to hold your hands in hers when you guys are sleeping

• Hyun-Ju falls asleep pretty quickly

• If you're not the type of person to fall alseep quickly, or you have insomnia, she will try her best to help you sleep

• She would play with your hair, or your fingers and talk to you till you fell asleep

• Hyun-Ju also wakes up pretty early

•She'll let you sleep in if you guys don't have something planned

• If you guys do have something planned, she will hold your face in her hands, and whisper softly, with a soft smile on her face: "s/o, it's time to get up.."

• When you wake up all groggy, she will push your hair out of your face and place a gentle kiss on your forehead

• Hyun-Ju loves to make you breakfast in the morning !! (she also just loves cooking for you in general)

Se-mi / Player 380

• Se-mi doesn't mind what position you guys cuddle in, she also doesn't care much for cuddling

• But, when she does want to cuddle, she likes to lay on your chest and listen to your heart beat

• She's not one to fall asleep quickly, so if you're like her she won't know how to help you sleep

• You and Se-mi probably stay up late alot

• If you guys are up late you're normaly just watching TV till you both fall asleep

• Se-mi also rarley gets up early in the morning (mostly cause of staying up late..)

• She would probably want to stay in bed and cuddle for a couple more minutes before getting up

•"We should probably be getting up.." You say, sleepiness still in your eyes

•"Yea.. yea.. Sure.. Just a couple more... minutes..." Se-mi responds, with no intention of getting up anytime soon

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

• Dae-ho LOVES cuddling with you

• He doesn't care what cuddling position you guys are in

• He will hug you so hard when cuddling 😭

• Dae-ho usually falls alseep pretty quickly

• The only time he doesn't fall asleep quickly is if he's having bad memorys during his time as a marine

• When he can't sleep you'll ask him if he wants to talk about it and get it off his chest

• If he doesn't want to talk about it you guys will talk to eachother and watch your guys' favorite TV show or movie together (cuddling obviously)

• Sometimes he'll have panic attacks in the middle of the night due to nightmares reminding him of the trauma he endured as a marine

• When comforting him, you reasure him that everythings okay and that he's safe

• When you hug him and run your hands through his hair and he will slowly calm down

• It takes Dae-ho a while to fall asleep after these panic attacks

• Dae-ho is definitely morning person, so expect to be waking up early every morning 🥲

• When he wakes up he loves to admire you while you're still sleeping

• He just smiles to himself, thinking of how lucky he is to have you

Choi Su-bong / Thanos / Player 230

• Choi is sleeping on top of you 😭

• He is CLINGYY

• If you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night he will refuse to get off of you

• Choi doesn't fall asleep very fast, he likes to stay up late

• He prefers to stay up late with you but doesn't mind if you go to sleep before him

• He's a pretty deep sleeper, so good luck getting him up 😭

• Literally refuses to get up if you try to wake him

• He'll pull you back into bed and hug you, nuzzling his head in your neck

• "Lay with me for a little whilee.." he whines

• "How long is a little while?"

• "Just a couple minutes.." he answers, smiling

• That couple minutes turned into an hour.. 😶

Nam-gyu / player 124

• Nam-gyu goes to sleep pretty early

• He won't force you to go to sleep with him but he'll ask

• He doesn't really like going to sleep alone

• He can stay up late but prefers not to

• If you're someone who stays up late, he might get a little worried about you staying up too late

• Nam-gyu's pretty clingy, so any cuddling position is fine with him

• As long as he's touching you in some way, then he's happy

• Nam-gyu prefers to be the big spoon over little spoon

• If you want to be big spoon he'll refuse at first but then he eventually gives in to being the little spoon (he seceretly loves it)

• Nam-gyu will also play with your hair

• He's probably waking up before you

• He'll let you sleep for a little long before he gets lonley and decides to wake you up

a/n : sorry if this is buns 😭 this is my first fic

[ilovegyokeres]

Celebrity Crush- Kenan Yildiz

Genre: Romance, Comedy, Celebrity AU

Summary: During an interview on The Tonight Show, actress/singer Y/N confesses that her celebrity crush is Juventus star Kenan Yıldız.

The energy in the Tonight Show studio was electric, the audience buzzing with anticipation as Jimmy Fallon grinned at you from across the desk.

“Alright, Y/N, we’re about to play a game we all love—Answer or Eat!”

The crowd erupted into cheers while you laughed, shaking your head. You had seen celebrities suffer through this game before, forced to either answer deeply personal questions or eat something disgusting. Now, it was your turn.

“Okay, so we have some great options here,” Jimmy said, motioning toward the tray of nightmare-inducing food. “We’ve got a sardine smoothie, pickled pig’s feet, and—oh, this one’s special—hot sauce so spicy it made The Rock cry.”

Your eyes widened in horror as the camera zoomed in on the fiery red sauce.

“Oh my God,” you groaned. “I already regret agreeing to this.”

Jimmy laughed and picked up a card. “Alright, first question! Who is your celebrity crush?”

The audience immediately erupted into “Oooohs” while you covered your face with your hands, shaking your head.

“Jimmy, come on,” you groaned. “That’s not fair!”

“Oh, it’s very fair,” he said, smirking. “You can either answer… or you can take a nice, big spoonful of the hot sauce.”

You turned toward the crowd for help, but they were fully invested in the drama, chanting, “Answer! Answer! Answer!”

You exhaled, weighing your options. If you answered, it would be everywhere—trending on Twitter, reposted on Instagram, probably even dissected in football forums. But if you didn’t answer, you’d have to eat the hot sauce from hell.

Sighing dramatically, you decided to just go for it. “Okay, fine. My celebrity crush is…” You paused, milking the suspense before finally saying it.

“…Kenan Yıldız.”

The crowd exploded.

Jimmy threw his arms in the air like he had just won a championship. “YES! Juventus’ golden boy! I knew it!”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Oh, come on,” Jimmy teased. “Young, talented, ridiculously good-looking… I mean, I get it.”

You shot him a look. “You’re making this worse.”

Jimmy ignored you and turned straight to the camera. “Kenan, if you’re watching this—bro, do something!”

The audience screamed in laughter, and you knew in that moment… this was going viral.

Thousands of miles away, in Turin, Italy, Kenan Yıldız had just finished morning training when he walked into the Juventus locker room. He grabbed his phone to check his messages—until suddenly, he noticed something strange.

His notifications were insane.

Instagram DMs. Mentions on Twitter. TikTok edits of your interview already spreading like wildfire. His teammates’ group chat was blowing up with messages.

Manuel Locatelli: KENAN. WAKE UP. CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

Federico Chiesa: Bro, why is a Hollywood actress calling you her crush on live TV???

Moise Kean: Damn, Kenan, you got Y/N crushing on you?

Kenan frowned, confused. “What the hell are they talking about?” he muttered to himself.

Then, Nicolo Fagioli—one of his closest friends—came running up to him, phone in hand.

“Kenan, look at this.”

Kenan took the phone, and there it was—your clip from The Tonight Show, already trending.

He watched as you laughed nervously, as Jimmy Fallon teased you, as you literally said his name on international television.

His jaw dropped.

“No way,” he muttered.

Fagioli grinned. “Dude. She has a crush on you. Like, the whole world knows now.”

Kenan stared at the screen, watching the way you blushed when you said his name.

She likes me?

A slow smirk spread across his lips as he replayed the video. His teammates gathered around, hyping him up.

“Kenan’s Hollywood now,” Chiesa joked. “You gonna DM her or what?”

Kenan leaned back against his locker, pretending to be nonchalant. “I don’t know… Should I make her wait?”

Moise Kean laughed. “Bro, if you don’t message her, I will.”

That was all it took. Kenan grabbed his phone, opened Instagram, and went straight to your DMs.

Your DM from Kenan

Later that night, you were lying in bed, scrolling through your phone. The internet had lost its mind over your interview. Fans were making memes, football fans were freaking out, and Juventus supporters were already shipping you and Kenan.

You sighed, shaking your head. What have I done?

Then, a notification popped up.

Kenan Yıldız has sent you a message.

Your breath caught.

Heart racing, you opened it.

Kenan: So… I’m your celebrity crush, huh?

You covered your face with your hands. Kill me now.

After a moment, you typed back:

You saw that, huh?

Kenan: Hard to miss when the whole internet is talking about it.

You hesitated, then replied:

Well, I guess I could’ve just eaten the hot sauce.

Kenan: I’m glad you didn’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have an excuse to message you.

Your stomach flipped.

Before you could overthink it, you typed:

So what are you gonna do about it? ;)

There was a pause, then—

Kenan: How about dinner? My treat.

Your eyes widened.

You stared at the message, heartbeat pounding. Was this really happening?

You finally typed back:

Only if you promise not to bring up the interview.

Kenan: No promises.

And just like that, your celebrity crush was no longer just a crush.It was the beginning of something real.

[abbysgolf-club]

ABBY ANDERSON headcannons

TW :: NSFW and SFW hcs! body image mentioned, not proof read sorry chat... ❤️

Abby is always the big spoon, she loves feeling herself wrapped around you, the way your bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

Abby will always make sure you're comfortable during sex, giving you pillows, words of affirmation and making sure you're nothing but pleased the whole time. (although sometimes she'll be rough as fuck)

When you guys have an argument, she'll give you the best hate sex you've ever had, leaving you begging for more afterwards, pleading for her and telling her you're hers, she'll kick manny out of the dorm for this, telling him to "go sleep with the scientist chick again"

She's a good cook, and sometimes she'll cook but she loves the food you make for her so much more, even if it's terrible.

Abby likes chubby girls. She wants something to be able to grab onto. skull crushing thighs she can bury herself in for hours a night. stretch marks she can kiss and love.

No matter how much you bring yourself down about your weight Abby will compliment you like there's no tomorrow. She'll make sure you know your worth and you mean the world to her.

You guys have polar opposite music tastes, but she taught you to love deftones just how you taught her to love green day.

Sometimes youll look up at the stars together, in a comfortable silence, being grateful for eachother in the shitty, infected ridden world you live in.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

HI I wanted to request like, size different and first time with Dave, but maybe like, reader is at his house or something and she has a tendency to steal his stuff (probably bracelets, cuffs) Dave finds her in one of his shirts and it drives him wild. I leave it up to you but also I really love your writing!!

A/n: I KEEP STARTING FICS WITH MOTIVATION AND RIGHT AS I GET TO THE SMUT I LOSE IT 😫

Warnings: smut, size difference, rough sex, manhandling, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

He looks fucking ethereal 😩

Dave caught you stealing his things more times than he could count, but he didn't mind since you almost always returned them and it was always just little things; a bracelet here, a brush there.

Of course he knew he was bigger than you, he was bigger than a lot of people. You'd use it to your advantage when you were in bed with him doing domestic things; laying on top of him, letting him spoon you, playing with his hands. You'd use him for warmth and he knew it.

So Dave knew he was bigger than you, he just hadn't realized how much bigger, and he definitely didn't realize how much it turned him on until he walked in on you getting ready for bed in his shirt.

You hadn't been seeing each other for that long, Dave had hired you to watch his house while he was on tour but he quickly grew a fondness for you. Instead of paying you he just let you live in his house, which made the relationship work great.

Earlier while you were making breakfast, part of your daily tasks, you realized you were running low on groceries. Your plan had been to clean all day and you hadn't factored in any time to leave so you made a list and asked Dave to get food on his way back home.

You were helping him get everything put away, it was late and you were tired, Dave could see you struggling to keep your eyes open.

"I can finish the rest." He said, pulling you to his side and kissing your forehead. "Go get ready for bed, you can barely keep your eyes open." He gave you butt a gentle pat and sent you on your way upstairs to your shared room while he finished getting everything put away.

When he was done he went upstairs, expecting to find you already crashed in bed as usual. He didn't think to check the bed before he went to the bathroom, the lights were off and the pillows resembled you in the sheets enough.

He froze in the doorway to the bathroom, seeing you brushing your teeth at the sink in nothing but an old band shirt of his. The way it draped over your figure, the sleeves coming down around your elbows.

You spat in the sink as he came up behind you. "What do you think you're wearing?" He asked, tone dark and voice gravelly as he spoke.

You blinked at him through the mirror, looking over yourself tiredly. "Beatles." You mumbled.

"I see that." He said, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. "I meant, what are you doing wearing my shirt?"

You stared at yourself in the mirror a moment longer, running your toothbrush under water. You shrugged and set your brush in its place, taking a swig of water and moving it around your mouth before spitting it out.

"It's big." Dave hummed in agreement, eyeing your body closely through the loose fabric. "And comfy... smells like you..." You turned around in his arms to face him, shoving your face in his chest and wrapping your arms around him.

Dave lifted you up with ease, hands cupping your ass so he could carry you out of the bathroom and to the bedroom.

He laid you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. "You're tiny." He mused, kissing the tip of your nose.

You chuckled softly. “That’s mean.”

“I mean it.” He said, leaning closer and pushing his face into your neck. “You’re so small… how has no one broke you yet?” He pushed his hands under the hem of the shirt you wore, tracing the curve of your hips. “I should just be grateful that I get to do it, huh?” He asked, tugging your panties down.

You were tired and debated telling him to stop, but you also knew how caring he could be, and how easily you fell asleep when he made you cum.

You lifted your hips to help him take your panties off.

He ran his hands over your legs after tossing the small garment aside, cherishing the feel of your supple skin on his rough callouses.

He pulled his hands back and threw his shirt off, followed by his jeans and boxers. It’s not that you hadn’t done anything, of course you had, just not sex. Blowjobs, handjobs, mostly Dave was doing it to you because he liked hearing the noises you made, the small whines and soft moans.

Dave got off to making you feel good, it wasn’t a secret, but right now he wanted nothing more than to use you.

He ran his hands over your legs once more before hooking them under your thighs and pushing them up to your stomach, knees at your chest.

Your eyes widened and you yelped when he manhandled you, pushing you into the mattress with his weight. He smiled down at you. “That’s just perfect.” He mused. “Now hold them there for me.” You were hesitant but did as he ordered, holding yourself open for him.

Dave ran a finger through your slick folds, gathering your wetness and pushing a finger into you. “What a sweet thing, already so wet and I haven’t even done anything yet.” You clenched around his digit, biting your lip.

He pulled his finger back out and moved over you, lining himself up with your hole and pushing in, watching you writhe underneath him.

He brushed your hands off yourself and held your thighs tightly, mercilessly pounding into you as your moans filled the room.

You expected something sweet, the normal Dave that would talk you through it and focus on how good you felt, not the Dave that stared at the bulge in your stomach and pressed his palm down on it, not the Dave that squished and pushed and forced you into new positions.

Still, that look in his eyes, the way his lip curled. You called out his name, begging to cum.

“Aw, pretty girl thinks she’s good enough for that?” He grunted out, hips slamming into yours at a brutal pace. Your body was flushed, a thin layer of sweat covering you. He leaned down, hooking your knees over his shoulders.

His thrusts got faster, more desperate. “Fuck,” he grunted. “I fill you up so good, you’re so fucking tight.” You whined, clawing at his shoulder and burying your face in the crook of his neck, his thick hair covering you.

“Every inch.” He mused. “Every single fucking inch of you, mine.” His kissed along your neck, not slowing his pace. “All fucking mine.” He bit down on your neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your eyes rolled back, unable to stop yourself from giving in to the pleasure he was giving you. You moaned out his name, body melting into the mattress.

He let you ride out your high, coaxing you through it as he always did with praised and words of affection. “There you go, just let it out, darling, let me make you feel good.”

However, when you were twitching as you came down from it he didn’t stop. He pulled away for a second and flipped you over, forcing your head into the pillow and holding your ass up for him. “Pretty bunny.” He purred, leaving a last kiss on your shoulder before thrusting into you again.

[lexirosewrites]

A sequel to my nugget #4 ficlet from last week

Baby Jim is a sweet little guy, he starts sleeping thru the night much more quickly than his siblings did, rolls over fast because his siblings r always showing him how, but then... he starts teething at 8 months and it's like a dam is unleashed, for the first time the tried & true teething tricks steddie used w their first 3 pups aren't working the same & poor baby Jim is up at all hours crying in pain & his crying makes the older siblings cry bc they can scent the pain his milky baby scent, then because he isn't sleeping he cries more & eventually it makes Steve cry from exhaustion & frustration & feelings of not being a good mother to his pup & Steve crying makes Eddie cry & the whole house devolves into a weeping mess, the other parents of the party also find themselves at a loss because their own advice doesn't help for very long

Enter: Mrs Amelia Harrington. She divorced Richard not long after steddie registered their mating and reconnected w her son rebuilt their relationship and is now the extravagant well traveled grandmother who always brings gifts for her grandchildren & child & son in law, and she might live in Vienna most of the year now but she still makes time to visit at least once a year. Well Steve warns her about the teething issues on the drive home from the airport & Amelia simply hums.

They get everything inside & poor baby Jim is crying not long after she arrives, she asks what they've tried & Steve starts crying as he explains: Jim rejects every teething toy they give him after an hour at best, his parents scents don't help for long enough for Jim to sleep properly, he spits out the cold pacifier almost immediately, and practically throws any clean wet washcloths across the room.

Amelia hums more before she nods, says she figured Jim might have started teething & she had a feeling he might struggle the same way Steve did, and then turns & rummages thru her luggage before coming back with a spoon tht clearly had begun as a beautiful piece of silver but was now bent in curious ways. When eddie & Steve try to ask she simply shushes them, says she will explain in a bit and goes about chilling the spoon in the fridge then scooping Greek yogurt into it. Amelia asks to hold baby Jim who hasn't really stopped crying & when he's situated comfortably in her arms she pops the cold spoon of yogurt into his mouth & a miracle happens: baby Jim gums at the yogurt & chews on the spoon long after the yogurt is gone, in fact he doesn't seem to want to let it go, steddie have never seen him treat any of the teething remedies they'd tried up to now like this.

Amelia explains: Steve was the sweetest baby, slept thru the night more often than not, rolled over quickly but crawled by pushing himself around in silly ways for awhile, he liked laughing & giggling & ate with no issues, but then he hit 7 months & began teething in earnest & her sweet baby was suddenly in pain she couldn't fix. He rejected all of the rubber toys she bought for him to chew on, he spit out cold pacifiers, & she felt at the end of her rope. (Richard was of course no help during this time & even got a hotel room for himself alone till Steve got thru the worst of it, fuck Richard Harrington all my homies hate Richard Harrington) Then one day she was exhausted & alone in tht big house & just wanted him to eat some yogurt but he was rejecting all of his baby spoons & she didn't have many clean dishes at tht particular moment so she just said "fuck it" opened up the heirloom silverware she'd inherited from her grandmother (tht she'd gifted to steddie as a belated wedding/mating/house warming gift) pulled out one of dozens of small spoons & fed him w tht, but then he simply wouldn't let the spoon go & he even began chewing at it & teething on it in a way he hadn't w anything else. So Amelia didn't question it beyond calling a friend from college about the safety of silver for a teething bby, who said it would b fine after she tested for lead (found none & learned it was pure silver) tht silver is non-toxic, hypoallergenic, & naturally antimicrobial. Steve preferred his spoon over all his other teething toys but would settle for a rubber toy shaped like a donut while the spoon was being washed.

Through this whole explanation baby Jim was the most content they'd seen him since he began teething, even asking with his hands for more yogurt which grandma Amelia happily gave him. Soon enough she was laying baby Jim down in his crib for a nap with the spoon in his grip.

Steve is teased mercilessly for approximately 3 days abt being such a fancy rich baby he would settle for nothing less than pure silver as a teething toy. And that Baby Jim is truly the most dramatic & theatrical of all their nuggets because he demanded the same

(Amelia came from generational wealth, old money but Indiana money. She traveled a lot & met Richard not long after college & was often disappointed in him but didn't divorce him bc he was skilled at love bombing her specifically. Steve traveled a lot too as a kid & then as a teen he'd summer in Europe w his mom. I just like the idea of this)

(Might b sending in an ask abt nugget #5 a little bit later but i must complete a chore in my home first)

silver spoon pups🤭

[shy-canadian-snowflake]

Hi! I’m the anon that asked for 46. I think you did really well considering you might have never watched the Nanny before. I have another for you.

Poolverine 1.soulmate au. Here’s a soulmate prompt if you want; All the nicknames your soulmate will eventually call you is written on you. Logan would have the most embarrassing nicknames on him from Wade, they would be sugary sweet or just ridiculous. The x-men reaction to seeing them, the image of a big, scary man being called the most sugary pet names by their soulmate would be hilarious. You don’t have to do it of course just a funny idea I have in my head.

Logan didn’t take his shirt off often. He was always in a tank top and some heavy jacket, covering his chest and arms. None of the X-Men seemed to notice at first, until summer came around and still the man was seen in heavy clothing. During training, during game time, during everything, his body was covered.

That was until Rogue crept into his room, again, and woke him from a nightmare, again, and he skewered her, again. He couldn’t help but scream as the light started fading from her eyes. He held her close, allowing himself to be drained again. All the commotion caused the X-Men to come running in to see Logan in sleeping shorts, holding a now healed Rogue with all his future nicknames written across his skin. 

Ororo was the first to react, grabbing a blanket and pulling the passed out girl from Logan’s hold. Logan sat there on the floor panting as Rogue started to come to, being held by Ororo. 

“You okay kid?” He asked breathing hard. The girl slowly nodded.

“That really hurt.” She half mumbled before pulling out of Ororo’s hold. She shook herself out and stood up. Logan did the same, allowing the rest of the X-Men to see the words scrolled across his skin. 

Sugar Tits under his pecks. Sweetpea down by his right hip. Babygirl above that. Sugar Plum Princess going down his left side. His whole torso looked like a game of scrabble, words connecting to one another. Darling, Sweetheart, KittyCat, Mr. Stabby, Babycakes, Big Spoon, Sweetcheeks, Peanut covered his chest while his arms held Baby, Stud Muffin, Hubba Bubba, Angel, Handsome Man, Hero, Sir-Stabs-Alot Beloved, Heart,  Pooh Bear, McSteamy. Those were the one’s easily seen, Logan knew his back was covered with even more words. 

“Not a fucking word Glasses.” Logan hissed as the other X-Men took him in. Scott couldn’t help the smile on his lips. 

“Of course Peanut.” There was something in the way Scott said that nickname that had his blood boiling. 

“Stop it Scott.” Jean scolded lightly. “I think it’s sweet Logan. You should show off your endearments. Someone really truly does love you.” He scoffed and grabbed a jacket to cover up his marks. The room slowly filtered out after that as he lit up a cigar and started puffing on it. 

No one brought up the words after that. Logan kept them covered much to the chagrin of curious eyes. His fellow X-Men never mentioned them, though there was always a teasing smile to Scott who’d occasionally dropped one of the nicknames, spitting it out as if it was an insult. Logan would turn away and find something to destroy when it became too much. 

That’s how he found himself in a warehouse on the other side of town. Goons were thrown around the place as he slowly picked off a group of thugs. All he knew was this group needed to be taken down, and he needed to blow off steam. 

“Well damn Mr. Stabby, you took this group down like Harry Potter took down Voldemort.” Logan looked up to the rafters where the voice was coming from.  “Usin’ the same damn move over and over again until it somehow worked out.” 

“Do we have a problem here, Bub?” He asked with his claws still out. He bared his teeth at the other man in the tight red suit. The man jumped from the rafters, doing a backflip like it was nothing. He landed with his arms up as if he was a gymnast who was ready for their score. Logan only raised an eyebrow.

“No problem here. Well kinda no problem. A tiny problem.” The man jabbered on as he looked over the bodies. “One of these motherfuckers has a USB stick. Kinda super important.” 

“Not my problem.” Logan turned around to leave.

“Oh come on! From one Merc to another, did you see it at all?” 

“I’m not a Merc.” He snapped over his shoulder. The man in red let out a huge sigh and started shifting through bodies. 

-

“GodfuckingDamnit!” Logan didn’t know why he recognized that voice at first until he saw the man in red again, this time he was punching a wall over and over again as he spoke. “My god damn cocaine! You Goody-Two-Shoes can’t come up in my warehouse and take my cocaine!”

“We can when it’s in connection with missing mutants.” The man mimicked Scott for a moment before leaning back. 

“I don’t have anything to do with missing mutants. I’m a good little boy who gets his cocaine from the same drug lord on East Street that everyone else does. What he does besides sell cocaine is none of my fucking business.” It was then that the Merc saw Logan and yelled over at him. “Babycakes! Tell these ‘nice’ X-Men I’m innocent!”

Logan glared and made his way over to the pare. Scott gave him a raised brow but Logan ignored him to deal with the man in red. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Bub?” 

“This is where I store my extra cocaine. And guns. And stuff I've stolen, not the point. The point is you have no right to touch my shit.” He dramatically crossed his arms. 

“We are just looking for a thumb drive. Tell us where it is, and you can get back too…this.” Scott waved his hand over the mess of the warehouse. 

“It’s up my ass, or is that my prostate?” Scott looked disgusted at the man’s words. 

“I will stick my claws up there to find it, Mouth.” His claws snikt out as he moved his hand down the man’s body. 

“Well Darling, buy me dinner first and you can put whatever you want up there.” The man’s mask winked at him.

“Fucking jokes.” Scott stopped him before he could claw the guy open. 

“You tell us where the thumb drive is, and we won’t report you to the police.” The man in red tilted his head as if he was thinking about it for a moment before dramatically sighing. 

“Fine, only because this shit is expensive. Not everyone gets a private jet to cause crime.” Scott looked like he wanted to correct the other but was shut up by the man in red talking again. “I sold it to get more cocaine. Nabbed it off a dead guy and sold it back to my cocaine guy. Got half of this shit for doing that. Don’t say Deadpool isn’t helping the local economy.” 

“So we are back at square one. Can you tell us where his hideout is?” 

“No point. Sir-Stabs-Alot here took out those guys days ago.” Scott gave Logan his ‘We are going to talk about this later’ look. “Can you guys go now, I have cocaine to do and people to kill.”

“Don’t get in our way.” Was all Scott said to Deadpool before calling the team to head out. Logan left his middle claw out to the man who blew him kisses as they left.

“Care to tell the class what the fuck is going on?” Scott said the moment they were back on the plane. Logan strapped himself in tights and gave a hard swallow. Don’tgetsickdon’tgetsickdon’tgetsick. Flying was never something he liked doing. “How do you know this Deadpool guy?”

“Few days ago, needed to blow off steam. Found a warehouse where some low level gang was- at least you tagged them as low level.” He glared at Scott before swallowing hard again as nausea came up his throat. “He was there. Said he needed to get a USB stick. He called himself a Merc. That’s all I know.”

“What about the nicknames?” It was Logan’s turn to raise a brow. 

“The hell you going on about Glasses?” Everyone turned to Scott for a second. 

“Babycakes, Darling, Sir-Stabs-A Lot.” 

“It's a coincidence.” Logan hissed, looking away from everyone. The plane ride was silent after that. 

-

“Hey there Babygirl” Deadpool said casually as Logan entered the building with his claws out. “What’s a place like this doing with a guy like you?” Logan looked up to see the man sitting at a counter in the middle of the room. It looked like a lobby of some sort, dead bodies thrown around like dolls covered the floor. Logan could smell blood, and a lot of it. 

“Okay Red, what the hell is going on here?” 

“Welcome to the big bad’s HQ. Little cheesy being an old office building. Heard they did a reno on the basement 6 months ago. Happen to have the blueprints right here.” Deadpool waved a thumb drive in the air as he spoke. Logan groweld. 

“You had that this whole time?” The man jumped off the counter before putting the thumb drive back into a pouch around his waist. 

“Sure did! I told you where it was. Not my fault that you didn’t believe me.” He wiggled his hips back and forth. 

“You are disgusting.” He took another step forward with his claws out. Deadpool raised his hands in mock surrender. 

“Down Kitty Cat. I want to know how you found the hideout. Did you have to join the crew and level up in rank? Or did you triangulate the last three pickup sites of mutants and found that his building was in the middle of everything? Or-”

“We know his name and looked up what buildings he owns.” Deadpool instantly deflated. 

“That’s so not fun, Peanut. Oh well.” He jumped back up looking ready to fight. “Want to take this downstairs and take down the big bad together?”

“Fine, but don’t get in my way.” 

Deadpool did in fact get in Logan’s way a few times. After accidentally stabbing the man twice, then stabbing him on purpose three times, they finally made it to the basement where they released all the mutants and were left with the big bad. Deadpool killed him while he was in the middle of a monologue, saying something about runtime and only one monologue per chapter.

It was when they were headed back upstairs that Logan finally saw it, right where the man’s costume was cut open on the chest. Written in his handwriting ‘Bub.’

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Logan hissed, pulling down more of the man’s suit. 

“Hey woah hey, I wasn’t kidding about dinner, Stud Muffin.” 

“Shut your mouth Red. Look.” Logan pointed to the word Red under the Merc’s peck. Deadpool looked on in confusion. Not wanting to play this game, Logan took off his own suit top, showing off his scrabbled upper body. 

“No fucking way.” Deadpool’s jaw dropped behind his mask as his fingers started brushing along the words Logan had littering his chest. 

“Yes fucking way.”

“Damn. I got really fucking lucky. Hairy tits and all, you are a solid 10/10. You are stuck with a -10/10.” He paused for a moment before pulling up his mask so Logan could get his first real look on his so-called soulmate. 

The first thing Logan noticed was the pretty eyes the other man had. Pretty eyes and a sad smile. It took him a moment to realize the other was bald. And it took a few more after that to finally notice the scars. His own hand came up, his thumb brushed along the Merc’s bottom lip. 

“You are something pretty, Darlin’” Was what Logan said before pulling away. “Come-on, let's go get dinner.”

This was meant to be less than 1000 words. Oh well! :D I enjoyed writing this one a lot, thanks for the Ask and the amazing prompt!

[dangermousie]

God, no wonder she's traumatized and skittish and it's a miracle she opened up to anyone.

Even tho he knows he has to pull away for his plans, he can't help but comfort her. (And saying something good about her ex to boot, which is a huge sore point for him.)

Oooof, she finally fully opened up and trusted him. This is gonna be the best kind of devastating and I can't wait.

And in any other time, he'd probably cling and reassure her but as is...

There is no spoon big enough for me to eat this up with.

[bekolxeram]

Day 2 of @bucktommyfluffebruary, cooking together.

Fashionably late as usual🙇🏻‍♀️

You can also read it on AO3

Secret Ingredient

rated T | 955 words

“Open up,” Buck holds up a wooden spoon full of red sauce to Tommy’s face. It’s a classic Italian-American meat sauce, made with a base of well sweated sofrito, a large can of San Marzano style tomatoes from Fresno, completed with huge, unctuous chunks of beef chuck, Italian sausages, even several oxtail pieces for texture and flavor, and finished with a touch of Italian herbs. The exquisite aroma by itself is enough to make Tommy’s stomach growl and his mouth water.

“How’s that?” Buck eyes his boyfriend gingerly, trying to gauge his reaction.

Tommy’s brows crease as he closes his eyes.

“Mmmmmm,” He hums in enjoyment, “that’s the tastiest thing I’ve had in a while.”

“Really? Let me try,” Buck grins while sampling a small amount of his creation.

He frowns the moment the sauce touches his tongue.

“It doesn’t taste right,” Buck sighs in disappointment.

“I love it! I’m Italian, so when I say a pasta sauce is good, it’s definitely good.”

“Half-Italian,” Buck leaves his wooden spoon on the counter top, then hangs his head down out of frustration. “I’m not saying it’s terrible, but it doesn’t taste like Miceli’s.”

Tommy wraps his arms around the younger man’s waist from behind, comforting him. “We can always go order some if you’re craving Miceli’s.”

“No!” Buck turns around instantly, “Miceli’s is banned, for eternity. We’re not going back to that cursed restaurant.”

“But… takeout doesn’t count?”

Buck pouts at Tommy’s smart-ass smirk.

“Okay, no more Miceli’s. That’s what I’m willing to do for love,” Tommy gives Buck a few soft pecks on his lips, until his pout transforms into a sweet, dimply smile. “My nonna used to tell me, the most important ingredient in Italian cooking is…”

“Love?”

“It’s a good guess, but I wouldn’t say line cooks working for near minimum wage love their customers.”

“Then what is it?”

“Patience. You can’t rush over the simmering step. You have to give the onions, carrots, garlic, tomatoes and meat time to breath, to slowly get to know each other, to mingle, until they morph into something greater than the sum of their individual selves, something entirely different, something more beautiful.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a very wise person.”

“She was.”

Buck ducks his head a little, looking up at Tommy flirtatiously through his lashes, “then, what should we do to keep us occupied while we’re waiting?”

Tommy contemplates for a few moments, just in time for the playlist in the background switching over to a new song. “I have an idea,” the sound of string instruments swell, before the gently shimmering guitar picking joins in, “you still owe me a dance.”

Tommy lets go of Buck, then extends one of his hands as invitation, “may I?”

I knew a boy who was swallowed by the sky

By the flashing lights

They hang on to each other tightly, arms splayed across each other’s back, chests flushed against one another. No fancy twirls, no choreographed moves, no spectators. Just the two of them, in the middle of the kitchen, swaying lazily, intimately to the music.

I knew a man who got lost in the big dark blue

And he came out alive

Just the two of them, getting lost in each other’s presence.

I knew a boy, I knew a man that looked a lot like you

──────

Eddie keeps knocking on Buck’s door, but no one’s answering.

Christopher accidentally left his fully finished, printed out and bound science assignment behind when Buck was babysitting.

Eddie debates internally whether to break out his spare key. On one hand, he wants to respect his friend’s privacy, on the other, Christopher’s assignment is due tomorrow. He’s made a promise to himself and his son to become the best father in human history, Buck and Tommy are probably out on a dinner date anyway, so he decides to let himself in.

The view inside of the loft is… strange, to say the least.

The lights are on, albeit somewhat dimly, with a pot of sauce bubbling on the stovetop. Yet, there doesn’t seem to be anyone home.

Right as Eddie’s about to take another step, he hears a voice gradually descending from upstairs.

“LAFD is here! I heard there’s someone stuck in the kitchen?”

“Yes! Please help me! An Italian man tied me up for being impatient with his sauce!” Another voice comes out of the kitchen, from under the counter top.

Eddie meets Tommy’s eyes as soon as the pilot reaches the bottom of the stairs. Somehow, Tommy has his turnout gear on. Only his turnout gear, nothing else.

“Oh, hey! Eddie,” Tommy hastily covers himself up with his coat, “what are you doing here?”

“Uh….. Chris…. He left his uh... homework here…”

“Oh yeah yeah yeah,” Buck’s head pops up from under the kitchen island, “I put it on the shelf right next to the door.”

“Are you…” Eddie asks Buck, pointing his finger downward.

“Um… yeah. Sorry I can’t help you because…” Buck wiggles his tied up wrist to get the point across, blushing a little in the process.

“No problem. I’ll just go… get it,” Eddie starts taking off towards the shelf, which is unfortunately in the general direction of the kitchen.

“No no no no no, stop!” Buck shouts before Eddie can walk any closer. “Tommy, can you go get it for him?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Tommy slowly waddles his way to his destination, clenching at his coat for dear life to protect his modesty. “Here you go.”

“Uh… thanks. I’ll just… leave you two to whatever this is.”

Eddie suddenly turns around on his way out, “wait a minute. Are you cooking or having sex?”

“Both?” Buck chuckles.

“Argh, why did I even ask?”

[captainsamuelmorrigan]

Poolverine/Deadclaws

[Fluff/Angst with a happy ending]

I just think about Wade BEGGING Logan to let him sleep in bed with him. Logan just shakes his head every time, "You don't wanna do that, bub."

But Wade VERY MUCH does. He would literally kill to sleep with Logan, either way he takes that. Well, he'd literally kill someone regardless, that's his job, but you know!! He wants to run his bumpy, scarred fingers through Logan's chest fur so bad. He daydreams about big spooning his Honey Badger, sliding his arms around him and pressing his front to Logan's big, strong, and warm back. He only feels a little horny about it. A normal about of chubbing up about it.

He begs Logan for weeks, getting on his knees for all the wrong reasons. He hasn't wanted anything this bad for at least a few months! He's desperate.

Like most things in Wade's life, it happens at an unexpected and probably bad time. They had had a mission go bad, both bloodied, and ended up showering and finding comfort in bed with each other. They hardly spoke. It just mattered that they were physically touching. They were both still here. Wade got his Wolverine snuggles, and everything was alright again.

Well, until around 4 in the morning. Wade woke up to three adamantium alarm clocks punching through each of his lungs. It hurt like a bitch. He coughed blood right onto Logan's face. Gross. He definitely wasn't getting invited back to bed after this. He weakly tapped the furry man's shoulder. "Logie-bear, I was expecting some penetration tonight, but I like the pre-made holes played with a little more."

Logan growled in his sleep before the taps brought him back to consciousness. His eyes flipped open, and his expression changed from anger to horror in an instant. "WADE! Wade, I'm so sorry-" The claws withdrew, drawing another wet cough out of Wade. "Please, please, stay with me." He started to gather the sheets to press against Wade's chest, his hands slippery and red. "Althea!! Help! Please!" His eyes were wild, scared, and firmly on Wade. "We'll fix this. I'll fix this!" He turned towards the door again, yelling louder. "Althea!! Help me!!"

Wade was a little stunned. What was going on? He patted Logan's arm, trying to get 400 pounds of superhero off of him. He coughs out an "Off!"

Logan looked at him like he was crazy. "Fuck you if you think I'm letting you die here."

Wade tried to push him off again, smearing blood onto Logan's hairy chest. He sputtered, trying to get words out, but the air wasn't quite doing what he wanted yet. Drowning in blood sucked! 0/5 stars on Yelp for sure.

Al knocked loudly on the door. "Logan? You okay in there?" Logan leaped to unlock the door, allowing Wade to sit up a little bit, his flesh starting to really knit back together, feeling his lungs start to clear.

Logan opened the door. "Althea, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I stabbed Wade, he's- He's bleeding out. You need to call a medic- a doctor, someone!" His voice wavered a bit.

Althea placed a hand on her hip, raising an eyebrow as she leaned on her walker. "Motherfucker, what the fuck are you talking about? A doctor?" Her nose wrinkled as she caught a whiff of Wade's blood permeating the room. "Whew, that's nasty. Clean that up when you're done with whatever this shit is."

Wade coughed. "Very sweet that you care, Logan." His tone softened. He was realizing Logan wasn't 'here,' he was somewhere else, Wade wasn't really Wade in this scene. "Take a breath, Honeybadger. I'll be fine if you just give me a-" cough "second."

Logan's breathing was still heavy, his eyes still wide and scared. Wade was sure the blood spatters across his face weren't helpful either.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm fine! Or, I'll be fine once the mutant cancer does its job. Remember? I don't die." He waved, smiling at Logan from the bed. He wasn't sure the blood dripping from his chest and mouth was helping his case.

Logan deflated a bit. "Oh." He turned to Al. "Althea, I'm sorry. I didn't realize, or, I forgot. I apologize for waking you up."

Al waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna go smoke a joint. If you need to loosen that tight ass, feel free to join me."

Logan closed the door, coming to sit on the bed, holding his head between his knees.

Wade wiped his hands on the sheets before crawling to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. You deserve to get to freak out here and there. We've been through some crazy shit. Did you want to talk about it? Do you want me to go swipe Al's weed? She's not as stingy about it as her cocaine, promise."

"I could've killed you." Logan admits from behind his hands.

"Not possible. Great try though, good form." The Merk quips.

"Don't! Don't joke right now. I would've killed you if you weren't like this." Logan gestures to Wade, his hand still trembling, Wade's blood starting to dry between his fingers. "I shouldn't have let myself fall asleep around you."

"Logan, bud, hey, look at me." Wade patted Logan's knee, scooting closer. "Really look at me."

Logan sat up, turning to face Wade, his eyes red-tinged. His hair is crusty with blood. "Okay...?"

"Am I dead?"

"No, but-"

"No! That's the whole thing. I am alive, whether I deserve to be, or should be, or anything else. I'm here! I'm still here." He smiles softly at Logan. "That's all that matters to me. If a Wolverine cuddle costs me some minutes drowning in blood, I can assure you that is a very small price to pay."

Logan opens his mouth to respond, his sharp canines catching the light from the street lamp outside before he shuts it again. "I'm dangerous."

"I eat danger for breakfast, usually with unicorn marshmallows."

Logan actually laughs at that. "You're insane."

"Insanely in love with you~" Wade teases, jostling Logan with his shoulder.

Logan groans, wiping his face with his bloodied hands. "That can't be the first time you say you love me, that's terrible."

"I think it's perfect. Now, c'mon, let's change the sheets."

"It's gonna stain the mattress." Logan moves.

"Number 2 rule of sex and superheroing without an in-unit washer and dryer, always use a waterproof mattress cover." Wade taps his temple, smirking.

After another shower, a quick change of sheets, and replacing the mattress cover, Wade and Logan are back in bed, cuddled close.

"I love you, too." Logan says softly. "That's a pretty dangerous thing, though."

"Again, danger, breakfast, unicorn marshmallows." Wade mumbles as he pulls Logan closer.

[mrs-starkgaryen]

Well, well, well, dissecting time just so I can remind Maggie that I am in her walls (thanks you've passed your illness onto me)

1. "Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado."

A) Even at home, she's dreaming/ thinking about the stars (Hollywood stars)

2. "It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone."

A) Don't worry baby girl, Aegon is gonna make you finish in front of him and I'll you'll love it

3. Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

A) we all are Mason, shut up

4. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

A) well I didn't like that foreshadowing

B) she's gonna get close to Aegon and we know he's a messed up man 😭

C) I'll she'll still love him though

5. “And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies."

A) Or when Aegon dies...

B) Maggie, are you in my walls? This is my family 😭

6. “Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless."

A) mother? What you doing here, loca?

B) how Sunshine is so sunny, idk. I guess you have to have rain to appreciate the sun

C) no wonder she think she needs plastic surgery- not just for Hollywood but she probably feels like she needs to live up to her parents expectations somehow (cuz she feels like she is disappointing them with her choice of job?)

7. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A) Sunshines reminder that social media is fake lmao

B) but this is a mood- it gives crying whilst doing a thumbs up picture 😭👍🤳

Also those dogs? I love dogs but these ones are scary! The family and the dogs seem to hate her?! My God. Are they picking up on the family hostility to her?

If they don't shape up, unlike the bats- I won't mind if Jace steps on one of these.. (jk)

8. A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

A) Aegon ever heard of playing it cool?

B) damn he's down bad

9. You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you."

A) oh an old man, imagine if he meant Aegon-

B) HE DID! Mf ain't old

C) I also squealed like she did when I recognised the shoes 🥰

10. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

A) and if I say 👀

B) foreshadowing...

C) also hello Simon Bassett from Bridgerton?

11. “Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

A) for now Aegon...

B) He will show her the different flavours

C) also could symbolise that she is kinda naive and then as the story progresses- she's not so sweet anymore 😀

13. “It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

A) said every man ever 😉😂

B) ooh will she be in season 56, episode 28?

14. “Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—..... that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

A) did he have to do something to make people (or him) like himself more?

B) omg did his dad make or encourage his siblings/ family to change to become more famous, to carry on his legacy in Hollywood? Did Aemond try and change himself and now he's took a step back into scriptwriting cuz atleast then he can control his own story?

C) she's gonna lose or nearly lose her humanity in this industry, I can see it. It's gonna break her down and then Aegon and her have feel better sex..

15. “Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

A).... need I say more

16. “The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

A) you're killing me

B) she's gonna like riding this horse 😭 (I'll let myself out)

17. His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

A) either becca is crazy

B) or his family are and they'll update becca

C) or both. Like I said before- maybe they set him up wirh becca to calm him down, to make him (the targaryens) look good in the papers

18. “I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

A) a possible other nickname?

B) all her nicknames are cute and sunny, like her until this industry snuffs it out 😀

19. Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

A) This whole thing felt like a summary for the story

B) at first she's whisked away in a world of Hollywood: glitter and glammer. She's "full of blind naive surety"..

C) Then it's she's less so but she still tries to be optimistic? As she realises this is not what she signed up for

D) husband is dead, Aegon is dead? Then she's full of rage

E) under artificial light? The Hollywood spotlight..

F) she starts to give them her body (plastic surgery), her mind (she starts to doubt and panic in fame) and then her soul (Hollywood kills her optimism and dream)

Also- Are the eyeshadows representing things?

A) In the first chapter she had shimmery, pink, warm brown eyeshadow (showing that she is warm, positive and sparkling with a dream, it's all new).

B) when she's with Mason, it's sparkly black. Like she's not 100% with him but that's okay because she still has her dream that she's gonna be able to be an actress and subconsciously be with someone better...

C) in the ice cream shop, she has bright pink- so bright in optimism still and pink meaning flirtatious feelings for Aegon?

Idk, all this is my crazy mind and I love whatever you come out with!

A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

[paperyowl]

For your prompt :

I really want a story where Deacon and Rocker have a house in the same neighborhood as Luca, with extra rooms for the kids.

One day, due to some problem with her apartment, Annie and the children have to stay with Deacon and Rocker. Obviously, it’s not simple, Annie is angry/hurt...

But she attends moments that make her realize that maybe the relationship of his ex with Rocker is more "fluid" and Deacon accepts more to be helped, instead of wanting at all costs to be the provider, he talks more with Rocker and relied and him more.

One morning, for example, Lila wants to go see her father in his room, and Annie sees them sleeping, Deacon being the little spoon and embraced by Rocker, something he had never allowed himself with Annie.

A few desires in bulk, I hope that it will inspire you!

Okay so, my only thoughts about this are: four kids are A LOT. xD Don't know if I did this justice, but I tried.

+++

"I hope these are okay," Rocker said as he put the extra blankets near the foot of the bed. Or rather beds - now pushed together to make room for Annie and her two youngest. Rocker looked apologetic. "Sorry about this. I know it's not ideal - we can get something else worked out tomorrow; it's just all been a bit..."

He made a gesture with his hand that indicated the chaos that Annie only knew about distantly now. She was still part of the 50-squat family. Just no longer as David's wife.

"That's alright," Annie told him, trying for a smile. "Thank you."

He nodded, telling her dinner was almost ready. Three of her kids were downstairs while Victoria was napping in her crib. Annie would get her in a minute and join them. Matthew and Lila were apparently setting the table - or, as she knew her kids, probably resisting that particular chore. But she wasn't going to say that out loud, not to Rocker.

It didn't seem right to go for a teasing remark with him. They weren't at that stage with each other - maybe they could have been once, before the divorce. Now, there were too many variables. Like Annie's tone, which she couldn't always control around Rocker. Or his reaction.

Annie had noticed how carefully he moved around her, never quite getting too close, unfailingly polite. It's hard to remember that she isn't really angry with him - David had made this decision. They'd made it together.

She was still a little wrong-footed by the whole situation. How could she not be? But it wouldn't do to dwell on that. She could be pleasant for a day or two until she got to go back home.

When Annie made her way down the stairs with Victoria on her hip, she just saw Rocker grab a shrieking and giggling at Lila under one of his arms. It seemed like the end of a rather short game of catch.

"Let's go help your big brother," Rocker told Lila, definitely not too firm, before carrying her the rest of the way to the dining room. The way the kids seemed to take to Rocker was sweet. He was good with them.

But Annie's attention was caught by something else - namely David. He was crouched next to Samuel, who had scattered quite a few toys across the floor. But his attention was entirely on Lila and Donovan. Before Annie could entirely figure out the emotion on his face, David spotted her.

"Hi," he said. "Are you two good?"

Annie nodded, and had to stop herself from walking over to him for a kiss. This was not them anymore. The realization hurt - and it must have shown on her face, too, because David came over to her, touching her shoulder briefly in a way that almost soothed her. But not quite.

Dinner was a bit of a production - which was to be expected with four kids. But between the two of them, David and Rocker entertained the older kids.

Honestly, the whole thing about preparing dinner, setting the table, eating together - it was all very domestic. There was a rhythm to how the kids moved here, how they interacted with David in this house. With Rocker. Had it really been a whole year since the divorce?

"Did they say when they could send someone to fix the water damage?" David asked a little while later. "You can stay as long as you need to, of course."

It was an earnest offer - and when Annie glanced at Rocker, he gave her an affirming nod. There was nothing on his face that told her he wanted her gone. (A cruel voice in her mind told Annie that she'd never suspected David had already fallen in love with someone else. She knew David could keep things from her, but she also wondered how good of a liar Donovan was.)

"The husband of a good friend of mine promised to help out," Annie said. She didn't add that they were divorced, too. That seemed like unnecessary information. "I hope he can take a look the day after tomorrow."

After dinner, Deacon and Rocker waved away Annie's offer to help with the dishes. Rocker made a comment about her day having been exhausting enough, and that was true - but neither of them had signed up to host all of them on such short notice. Annie wanted to protest.

"Work your magic and get the kids to decide on a movie," David said with an expression that Annie hadn't seen on him in so long that it felt vaguely nostalgic for a different time when they'd been happy in their marriage.

But David didn't linger and followed Donovan into the kitchen.

Annie set up the kids on the couch, and they really ended up deciding on a movie - there was a whole voting system they'd made up. Thankfully, Samuel was mostly too young and too starstruck with his older sibling to protest, and of course, Victoria was happy with mostly anything that was colourful. (This, in turn, was starting to be a bit frustrating for her eldest, but for now, Annie could bridge that gap.)

She was a bit struck by how precarious the balance in her family seemed to have become. It felt like so many things were slipping through her fingers - and some were already irrevocably out of reach.

"Mommy, can we get some snacks?" Lila asked, and it really had been a long day for everyone involved. Annie got up, and wandered back to the kitchen. She was almost certain that David kept some of his kids 'favourites in the cabinets at the far end of the kitchen-

"-stand there and be pretty," Rocker said teasingly. David huffed.

"It's not that bad-"

"You tackled a man down a flight of stairs."

Annie knew nothing about this. But that thought hurt less than the idea of David hurt, so she wasn't quite sure how to feel about overhearing this - stuck between two emotions.

"Two weeks ago!"

"You're lucky you're cute."

Annie was still hidden from view, but she'd inched forward enough to see David blush, laughing at the comment.

"What's with the compliments? Are you trying a new tactic to make me agree with you?"

"Is it working?" Rocker asked, hands covered in suds almost to his ellbows-and David grabbed his face with both hands to kiss him. It was a sweet kiss, something entirely tender.

"Maybe?" David suggested that when they broke apart, it was Rocker's turn to laugh. He finished washing his hands, drying them on a towel.

"You're the most handsome, sexiest-"

"Okay, that's a little much," David interrupted, but Annie could see how pleased he was even from the doorway.

"- kindest man I know."

Rocker's voice had taken an earnest edge - and when Annie saw the way David looked at him, with his eyes softening like that, she left quickly. Her mind was chaotic with guilt - she shouldn't have listened in, even if it had been an accident.

"Did they not have any snacks?" Her daughter asked when Annie returned to the living room. She had completely forgotten about that. At least Lila was still young enough to not question when Annie claimed she'd gotten a little distracted on the way. It was almost the truth anyway.

There was one good thing about all of this: It had been a while since Annie had shared the bed with her kids like this - and they were growing so fast that she couldn't help but wonder how soon she'd lose this privilege.

It had still been early when Matthew had asked, if he could go and play in the living room - and he'd taken Samuel with him when he'd asked without Annie's encouragement. She was proud of her eldest for that.

"Can we go wake Daddy and Don?" Lila asked when she had woken up just a little later, and Annie smiled at the sweetness of her daughter.

When they snuck across the hallway, the door to the bedroom was cracked, and Annie pushed it open a little more. In the half darkness, She could see their arms overlapping, fingers interlacing. The way Rocker held David was protective - somehow, she hadn't expected that. There was a gentleness in the scene, just in what little she could see in the low light and the shapes of the room, that spoke volumes to their relationship.

It still hurt a little. Probably would for a while - but there was a soft balm in the thought that David looked more relaxed in Donovan's arms than he had looked in a long time. And last night, he'd seemed so much lighter than she knew him. Annie wanted that for him.

"They've had a couple of long days at work, darling," Annie told Lila. "Why don't we go make breakfast for them?"

A little later, when she poured Rocker a cup of coffee, Annie thought she managed a smile that was a little more genuine than the ones before. You make him happy, she thought, and I can be grateful for that.

[tsumuus]

denki + 🎧/💍

him and the reader are friends who happen to be spending valentines together. and on valentines day, everything seems to be discounted for couples. why not pretend to be one to have some fun and save some money? but by the end of the day, the two start to realize they want to be more than friends...

Valentine’s Day had never been a big deal to you. In fact, you usually spent the day ignoring the influx of pink and red decorations, the sickly sweet smell of chocolate in every store, and the countless couples parading their love all over social media. But this year was different—this year, you had Denki Kaminari, your best friend and partner-in-crime, lounging on your couch with his phone in one hand and a bag of heart-shaped gummies in the other.

“Dude, look at this,” Denki snorted, turning his phone screen toward you. “Couples get half off at that new sushi place downtown.”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned in to look. Sure enough, the restaurant was running a Valentine’s special for couples only. Your feed was flooded with similar deals—discounted movie tickets, buy-one-get-one-free desserts, even an escape room that was offering a ‘lovebirds’ challenge at half price.

“We should totally do this,” he said, popping a gummy into his mouth. “Like, fake date for the day. Think about it—we could get a whole day of free and cheap stuff just for pretending to be madly in love.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Denki, that’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously genius.” He smirked. “Come on, unless you have a real date planned?”

You scoffed. “Please.”

“That’s what I thought. So what do you say, partner? Shall we become the ultimate fake couple for the day?”

You hesitated for a moment, but the idea did sound fun—plus, free food was free food. “Alright, but you better commit to the bit.”

Denki beamed. “Oh, I’m about to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

Your first stop was the sushi restaurant, where Denki dramatically slung an arm around your shoulders as soon as you walked in.

“Table for two, lovebirds?” the hostess asked, smiling warmly.

You were about to speak when Denki beat you to it. “Yes, please! My sweetheart here has been craving sushi all week.”

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks at the casual pet name, but you forced yourself to play along. “Yeah, my wonderful, amazing boyfriend knew exactly what I wanted.”

The hostess gushed about how cute you two were as she led you to a table, and soon, you were enjoying half-priced sushi rolls. But somewhere between the casual banter and Denki reaching across the table to brush a stray grain of rice from your cheek, you started to feel something shift. The jokes felt a little less like jokes, and the playful touches lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Next was the dessert café offering a ‘sweetheart special’—a free dessert for couples who fed each other at least one bite. Denki, ever the performer, wasted no time scooping up a bite of chocolate mousse and holding the spoon toward you with an exaggeratedly romantic gaze.

“For you, my dearest,” he said, barely suppressing a grin.

You rolled your eyes but leaned in anyway, taking the bite. The mousse was rich and smooth, but you hardly noticed because Denki’s eyes were locked on yours in a way that made your heart stutter just a little.

“You’re supposed to feed me now,” he said, his voice softer.

You hesitated only a moment before mimicking his actions, offering him a bite. He took it without breaking eye contact, and for the first time today, you wondered if maybe this wasn’t entirely just a game for him either.

The last stop of the day was the escape room. The challenge was to “escape Cupid’s Trap,” and while you managed to solve the puzzles quickly, the final challenge required you to ‘prove your love’ by standing in a heart-shaped spotlight and declaring a heartfelt message to your ‘partner.’

Denki stepped in without hesitation, pulling you close. “I don’t need a spotlight to tell the world how amazing you are,” he said, and this time, the teasing lilt in his voice was barely there. “You make everything more fun, and honestly… I wouldn’t mind doing this for real.”

Your breath hitched. “Denki…”

“I’m serious,” he said, his grip on your hands tightening just slightly. “I thought today would just be a fun little scam, but somewhere along the way, I realized I actually really like being your boyfriend—even if it’s just pretend.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Unless… it doesn’t have to be pretend?”

You stared at him, heart pounding. All day, you’d been pushing aside the little moments, the lingering touches, the way your chest tightened whenever he said something sweet. But hearing him say it out loud made you realize—you wanted this too.

A slow smile spread across your lips. “Maybe we should do this for real, then.”

Denki’s eyes widened for just a second before he grinned. “Wait, really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I think we’d be pretty great at it.”

His face lit up, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into a giddy, slightly clumsy hug. “Best Valentine’s Day ever.”

And just like that, the fake date wasn’t so fake anymore.

valentines event | masterlists

[gojoest]

i am thinking about girl dad satoru measuring his daughter’s height by drawing a line on the doorframe and tearing up every time at the difference and how she’s growing up too fast….can’t she just stay his little girl forever? :,) he is not taking it well, really, and it’s your job to pick up the pieces

[anjael]

wilding out on main yet again, excuse me, but:

romancing astarion as karlach in act 1 and he tells you he doesn't know how to go slow with someone he can't touch, and asks: please help, show me how

romancing karlach as astarion in act 2 and she tells you she doesn't know how to go slow with someone she can touch, and asks: please help, show me how