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merrybloomwrites · 4 months ago

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It's Just One of Those Days

Summary: Working at Smosh means getting used to seeing people play crazy characters. One thing you're not prepared for is your crush flirting with you while dressed as a darts character based off of Fred Durst.

Word Count: 1.7K

AN: This is based of a request and I got a few messages/comments of people looking forward to this so I hope you all enjoy! So fun to write (and to have a reason to watch this video again)

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Working in the art department at Smosh means that there’s rarely a dull moment. The props and sets you need to make are often random, confusing, and challenging. It’s the perfect job, and you love every strange minute of it.

The section of the art room that you work in is closest to the door, and people are always coming and going. It’s fun to see everyone and say quick hellos as they pass which always brightens your day.

By far your favorite person to see is Spencer. You’ve been harboring a crush on him for a while now, somehow managing to keep it a secret from him and the rest of your coworkers. Or so you think.

Your paths don’t cross all that often, games not requiring new sets or props as frequently as main and pit do. It’s more likely he’ll stop by to get a costume for a character that he’s doing. Since there’s a changing room back there, people will often come in looking normal and leaving looking, well, different.

And it’s the highlight of your day any time that happens, especially when it’s Spencer. He’s always goofing around, speaking in the silly voices he’ll be using for whatever video is coming up. By this point you’ve gotten used to The Chosen, as well as Spencer’s persona for all the Gentleman games.

On one particular day, you see him come in and the two of you talk for a moment before he heads back to get his costume. You go back to your work, trying not to make it obvious that you’re waiting for him to walk by again so you can see what today’s character is.

He doesn’t walk by. Not exactly. He heelys past, accessorizing with fingerless leather gloves, and a fedora wrapped in zebra pattern and topped with wolf ears. “M’lady,” he says as he goes by, tipping his hat in your direction. The crush you have on him makes you want to like the attention, but even Spencer can’t make that hat not creepy. You’re grateful when he comes back later to change into his normal clothes, and you get to end the day talking to normal Spencer once again.

You’d gotten to the point of working at Smosh that you thought you couldn’t be surprised by things anymore. But then came time to film the ultimate darts showdown. Shayne walks past first, dressed as The Chosen so you don’t bat an eye. Next is Courtney, dressed as Gerald Cakes. This is another character that has been around for a little while, but you hadn’t seen in a few months. And honestly, that booty always catches you off guard.

Amanda walks by, looking pretty normal. She’s put on a wig, a hat, and a jacket. Nothing too crazy. The wings she’s carrying would have made you curious when you first started, but now you don't bat an eye.

Finally Spencer rushes through, also in a seemingly normal type of outfit, but he’s gone too quickly for you to get a good look.

Almost two hours later they come back, all laughing and joking about things that happened during filming.

No longer running late for anything, Spencer stops by your workstation. You ask him how it went and he replies, “It’s just one of those days,” in a voice you’ve never heard from him before.

You laugh, you’re face pure confusion before replying, “I take it you didn’t win?”

“No,” he says, still in the voice as he makes a big show of looking sad.

“And uh, who are you?”

“Name’s Fred Darts,” he answers. When you still look confused he explains in his normal voice, “You know, like Fred Durst.”

“I don’t know who that is,” you state.

“Seriously? Like, Limp Bizkit?”

“Ok, that sounds familiar.”

“I know you know one of their songs. Behind Blue Eyes?”

“Oh, yea, that one I know. But only because a character sings it on Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”

“That makes sense,” he says.

“Does it?” you ask with a laugh.

“For sure! I know you’ve watched that like, ten times. I’m not surprised that you know songs only from the show,” he replies. You try not to blush at how happy it makes you that he knows this fact about you.

“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t win the darts tournament. Was it close?”

“After me sucking for the better part of the video I finally figured it out and came in third, but I was only a point behind Shayne. Amanda won and then hit me in the head with one of her doves.”

“Doves? That explains the wings, at least. I’m sorry you didn’t win,” you say with a sympathetic look.

“Yea, kind of a bummer. But you know what would cheer me up?”

“What’s that?”

“Going out to dinner.”

“Oh, you want to get a group together tonight?”

“No, I uh, was thinking just the two of us?”

Internally you’re freaking out, wondering if this boy you’ve had a crush on for years is really asking you out. But externally you stay calm and say, “That sounds great!”

“Awesome. It’s a date, then. We could try that Italian place you were talking about.”

“I’d love that,” you reply with a soft smile. He matches it with a shy smile of his own and says, “I’m gonna go change, but I’ll meet back here at 5? I know you normally carpool with Katie but I can give you a ride home after.”

“Thanks, I’ll let her know I won’t need a ride today.”

“Alright, perfect. See you later, then,” he says as he turns and walks away to the changing room in the back.

You sit there for a moment, trying to decide if that really just happened. Spencer, who you’ve been crushing on for so long, just asked you on a date. Just like that, out of the blue, while dressed as Fred Durst.

You’re still in a trance as he walks by, now in a normal jeans and t-shirt combo. You share another shy look and he says, “Can’t wait for tonight,” and heads back to his desk.

In no time your friend, and fellow member of the art department, Katie, walks over and asks, “What in the world was that?”

“Oh, uhm, I don’t need a ride home tonight,” you say, avoiding what she really wants to know.

“Okay that’s fine. But you didn’t answer my question.”

You pause before finally saying, “I think I have a date with Spencer tonight.”

“I thought that’s what happened! That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you guys, it’s honestly been annoying watching you both flirt cluelessly. Glad you finally figured it out.”

“We did not flirt cluelessly!” you say, slightly offended, while knowing she’s probably right.

“Oh you so did. But it doesn’t matter, you finally got your heads out of your asses. You two will be cute together.”

“Well it’s just one dinner. We’ll have to see what happens.”

“The next Smosh wedding, that’s what’s going to happen.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Now go, you’re distracting me,” you say, no heat behind your words.

“Oh sure, I’m the one distracting you,” she teasingly says as she walks back to her work.

That night no less than ten of your coworkers see you and Spencer leaving together.

“That could be problematic,” you say.

“I think it’ll be okay,” he replies. “I found out this afternoon that there was a bet on when we’d finally go on a date.”

You’re rendered speechless for a moment before you laugh and shake your head.

“I cannot believe how nosy the people we work with are,” you say.

“If I’m honest, I’m just impressed by their lack of meddling,” he points out.

“I feel like we should get them back somehow.”

“I agree. But that’s a project for another day. I just want to spend tonight getting to know you better.”

And well, that’s just about the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to you.

“I’d like that,” you reply.

That’s exactly what the two of you do. The dinner goes by too quickly, and you’re happy when Spencer suggests getting ice cream on the way home.

It’s a little chilly out, and the cold dessert doesn’t help. When he notices you shiver, he slips out of the jacket he’s wearing and wraps it around your shoulders. Not only does the jacket warm you, but so does the sweet gesture.

Before you know it, you’re walking up to your building, wishing the night would never end. Spencer is beside you, having insisted that he walk you to the door.

“Thank you for tonight. I had a really nice time,” you say, knowing it’s a cliche but not caring. It’s the truth after all.

“I’m glad. And as annoying as our friends are, they’re right. It was time I finally manned up and asked you out. Can’t explain why losing at darts while dressed as Fred Durst finally gave me the courage, but I’m glad it did.”

“Me too.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, not saying anything. You watch as his eyes flick down to your lips, and decide that if he could be brave earlier and ask you out, you can be brave now. You lean in slowly, giving him the chance to pull back, but he doesn’t.

His lips meet yours, pressing against you in the sweetest kiss you’ve ever experienced. He pulls back briefly before placing two more pecks on your mouth.

“Good night,” he says, his breath ghosting across your face, sending butterflies through your belly.

“Good night,” you manage to say. You open your door on autopilot, turning around to share one more quick kiss with Spencer before heading inside and going up to your apartment.

Months later, you and Spencer are still going strong, and Fred Darts is brought out once more for a competition between all the previous darts characters.

As Spencer heads to the set he stops by and asks for a kiss good luck. It seems you’re his good luck charm, because this time he comes out victorious. What he doesn’t tell you is that he doesn’t care about winning a game, since he already won the girl of his dreams.

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AN: Thank you for reading! I've got a couple more Spencer stories planned, but requests are open!

#spencer agnew x reader

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madebycloud · 5 months ago

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Make it Special

violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi's birthdays are usually quiet, but this year? the whole family is doing their best to make it special. (requested by twinklestarslight) warnings/themes: fluff, birthdays, found family, modern au words: 3.6k notes: THIS IS SO LATE IM SO SORRY BUT BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS WOMAN!!

Vi's birthday was, like most of her other birthdays, uneventful. Vi tended to keep to herself. The day usually passed with more than a quiet “happy birthday” on everyone's lips. However, this year will be different. This year, Vi will find out just how loved she was and just how much she meant to the people she cared about.

“There's streamers in the cabinet, if you could help me hang those up,” Vander says, giving you a nod as you go to grab a chair to reach the ceiling. From there, you make yourself busy decorating—streamers along the walls, lanterns to dim the lights a bit.

“You think she'll like it?” Silco asks, leaning on the counter. He has a cigarette in his hand, but he's doing his best to keep the smoke away from everyone else. “Think she'll be mad?”

“I don't think she'll be mad,” you say, “she'll probably be shocked or confused, but not mad.”

Benzo is setting up the tables around the bar, taking chairs from the barstools and setting them around. He's been helping with decorations since Vander asked him, and he's been trying his hardest to keep the place neat. He even got a box of party hats, hoping to find a way to talk everyone into wearing one.

Claggor and Mylo are messing around with the music, trying to find a station that plays punk rock or heavy metal, which they know Vi likes. The first song that plays when they finally get the right station is punk rock, and the two look at each other, a smirk spreading on their faces.

Ekko is bringing down plates of food from the kitchen. There's cake, which Powder bakes earlier, sandwiches, cupcakes, and various snacks. Anything that can possibly satisfy any of Vi's cravings.

Sevika is at her usual spot by the bar. She's not doing much decorating wise, but she's there, and she's helping with the more heavy things like the tables and chairs.

Benzo nudges you when he's all set up, motioning over to the box of party hats. He's already put his own on. It's black and pink, with hearts on the sides. “You think I could get Vi to wear one?” he asks with a chuckle. “Or y'think she'd try to knock it offa my head?”

“I'll try to convince,” you say, putting down the streamers you just hung. “Maybe if we all wear one, it'll seem more welcoming.”

“Maybe she'll say yes,” Ekko says, passing by and stealing a chip off the plate on the table. “Not a guaranteed one, probably a ten percent chance.”

“But,” Claggor starts, walking to help Ekko with the food. “It is a small chance, so you might be able to get her with it,” he says. “She's a sucker for you.”

—

You still need to get Vi's birthday gift, which, admittedly, should've been done a lot earlier, but decorating the bar had come together so fast, you barely had enough time to think, let alone pick out something for Vi.

Now, you stand outside the animal shelter, shifting nervously as you look up at the sign. Vi has been thinking about getting a dog for a while now, and you know this shelter is one of her favorite places to visit, even though she has never gotten a dog of her own. Maybe it's time to change that.

You push the door open. The shelter is mostly empty at this hour, and you make your way towards the front.

The lady at the desk greets you with a smile. She's an older woman, and she's wearing a jacket with various cat hairs on it. “How can I help you?”

“I'm looking to adopt a dog, actually.”

“Oh, how nice,” the lady smiles, setting the paperwork she was working on aside and giving you her attention. “We have a lot of dogs available for adoption. Any breed you're looking for in particular?”

“Do you have any huskies for adoption right now?” You look around the shelter, trying to look for any cages that might have a dog inside.

The lady nods. “We do have a few, actually. Would you like to see them?” she asks, standing from her chair.

“I would, yes.”

She leads you down a hall that's lined with cages. Different breeds of dogs of different sizes and coat colors are barking and yelping when you walk by, trying to get your attention. if only you could adopt all of them. Impossible. But still, if you could, you would.

The lady leads you down another hallway after the first, and you stop in front of a cage. Two huskies. They're curled up together and asleep, but they lift their heads when they notice the two of you stop in front of them.

One of the huskies perks up, getting to its feet and moving closer, wagging its tail as it looks up at you with wide eyes. The other follows suit, looking up at you through squinted eyes, as if it has been woken up from a deep sleep.

“They're siblings,” the lady notes, crouching down to pet the closer of the two, smiling as it nudges her hand, tongue lolling out of its mouth. “They're still only pups, about one month old,” she continues. “A young couple dropped them off a week ago. They couldn't keep them. They didn't have the time for them anymore.”

It sucks, people giving up on animals like this. Huskies need a lot of care, a lot of attention, and a lot of time spent training. They're not dogs made to be stuck inside or alone for the whole day. You know most of the people who gave up huskies—or any dog for that matter—did it because they didn't know what they were doing. They couldn't take care of the dog, and they had to give them up. It's hard, for you and for the animal.

The lady continues to pet the puppy in front of you. “Are you thinking about adopting one of them?” she asks, looking up at you.

“They're siblings,” you repeat, looking down at the two dogs. They're still focused on you, wide eyes looking at you. And, god, that look. You can't leave just one, they'll miss each other, they're siblings. “I'll take both of them.”

“Oh.” It takes the lady a second to process that, but then she smiles, standing up to her full height again. “That's… nice of you to take siblings. Not many people want to take siblings,” she says, walking over to the cage door. “I'll get you the paperwork, it's in the back. Make yourself comfortable, they don't bite.”

She leaves you to the cage with the dogs, who seem to have gotten even more excited, their paws scraping against the cage as they stand on their hind legs, putting their front paws on the edge. They're both panting, their tongues lolling in the same way as their tails wag back and forth, hitting the side of the cage. The lady comes back quickly and pulls out a clipboard, setting it on a table outside the cage door.

The lady goes through a bit of paperwork with you, questions regarding whether or not you're able to actually take care of the dogs if you have the time and the money to take care of them. That sort of thing.

She talks to you a bit, gives you advice on how to take care of them, and then she gives you a crate, one for each of the dogs (but of course, you'll keep them in one crate, no reason to keep them separated), and now, with the crate in your hands and the dogs inside it, you're on your way back to Vander's bar.

You push the door of the bar open, hearing the quiet footsteps of everyone inside, the sound of the music turned off and silence having replaced it. You can hear Vander shushing everyone, and-

“HAPPY BIRTH-” the light snaps on suddenly, and they pause, looking you up and down with confusion... and the crate on your arms.

“...day?” Mylo continues, awkwardly.

Vander shakes his head. “So, it's not Vi,” he starts, walking closer to the crate. “What's in there?”

“It's for Vi,” you reply, holding the crate closer to your chest. “She's not here yet?”

“Nah,” Ekko answers. “She's still hanging out with Powder. We thought it's Vi when you entered though.”

—

Everyone has their own party hats. The last thing to be done is hide the gifts, and everyone does. Vander puts the presents in the back room. Everyone scrambles for their spots. Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko hide out near the table, while Silco, Sevika, and Benzo are next to Vander behind the counter.

You hear the door creak open, the sound of footsteps entering the bar.

“Thanks powder—oh god, it's dark.”

There's just a moment when everything is silent, the bar silent, and then the light snaps on—all the party supplies go off as everyone around the room yells, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Vander leads the chorus, with everyone jumping from their spots, some popping the confetti poppers they had, others just yelling the words.

Powder walks to the table, picking up the cake she made. Bright pink frosting and a plethora of multicolored icing dots decorate the cake. Everyone around screams and rushes towards Vi, pulling her in the middle to join them.

You grab another one of the party hats off the table, setting it atop Vi's head, your own hat still perfectly secure on your own. “Happy birthday,” you mutter, pecking a kiss on her cheek. She looks up at you with a smile that makes you melt. The others let out an OOOO sound, clearly trying to embarrass her.

Vi flushes, looking back and forth at everyone. She punches the nearest person (Mylo), telling them to “shut up.”

Vander walks up to her, pulling her into a hug and a pat on the back.

“Happy birthday,” Silco hums, giving her a nod, smirk sitting on his lips.

Everyone else joins in, pulling her into one large group hug, wishing her a happy birthday, and making remarks to tease her. Mylo is getting another punch to the arm.

Powder walks over, carefully making her way through everyone to stand in front of Vi, holding the cake in front of her with a grin. “Make a wish.”

Everyone else backs up some, giving her space to think of one. Vi looks around the room, looking each person in the room in the eyes, everyone who showed up for her, her family before her eyes land on you. When she turns back to the cake again, a smile tugs at her lips, and she blows out her candles.

The group cheers, and everyone smiles. Mylo and Claggor are both nudging each other and whispering to each other, grinning widely. Even Vander's eyes are a bit misty, but he blinks it away before Vi can notice, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“The cake better be good,” Mylo mutters, rubbing his hands together, wanting a piece of cake.

“Obviously,” Powder tells him, giving Mylo a dirty look. “I made it, the cake will be fine.” Powder sets the cake on the table, pushing it out of reach from Mylo, who tries to get a piece right then and there only to get his hand swatted at by Powder.

“Behave,” Silco scolds him. “It's her birthday, not yours.”

Mylo groans. Vander pulls out the cake knife, looking at Vi. “It's your birthday, you get to cut the cake first.”

Vi takes the knife from him, walking forward and staring at the cake. It's a pretty big cake, enough to feed everyone.

Mylo stands behind her with his mouth practically watering, looking over her shoulder and trying to get a good look at the cake itself, ignoring everyone's protests and telling him to stop breathing down her neck. Everyone crowds behind Vi as she starts cutting the cake, with Mylo making a comment about wanting bigger pieces than everyone else, which he gets a quick shove and a scolding from everyone.

Eventually, after a bit of bickering, the cake is cut up and everyone gets their piece, save for Mylo, who only gets a small slice. “And you get what you asked for,” Vander says, smirking at his pouting face.

Everyone starts eating their piece of cake, complimenting Powder on how it turned out. It's delicious, of course, and the first slice is always the best. Vi sits beside you as she eats, and she nudges you with her shoulder. When you look at her, there's a forkful of cake up to your lips. “Say ahh,” she teases. You can hear Mylo fake gagging.

“I already have,” you hold up your plate as well as the fork still filled with cake.

“Still,” she says. “Pretty please?” she presses, pushing the fork closer to your lips. You can hear Mylo fake gag again, Powder telling him to shut up.

You open your mouth and let her feed you the cake. She waits until you swallow it before setting the fork aside, and she watches to make sure you like it as you chew.

“Ahhhh,” Mylo mocks. Powder kicks his shin, causing Mylo to yelp.

“It's good,” you hum, earning a smile from Vi.

The conversation continues around you, and while everyone else talks and eats, Vi pulls you closer to her, putting an arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder while listening to everyone, her thumb rubbing against your side.

Mylo and Claggor are now bickering, and you can never really tell over what, so you don't question it. It's not your business either way, and you don't care all too much. Silco is watching the two bicker, rubbing his temple, and Benzo is eating his cake, nodding along. Sevika is watching Mylo and Claggor fight, a smirk on her lips.

Vi absentmindedly traces her finger on your forearm, the cake in her other hand long forgotten.

Everyone continues to eat, and the cake gets half eaten until everyone is satisfied and full. Mylo is complaining that he should've gotten more cake, Powder tells him again to shut up because it wasn't his cake to begin with, and Vander is trying his hardest to keep the peace.

Vi pulls away from you as Silco clears his throat, gathering everyone's attention. “Alright,” he starts. “Who wants to give something to Vi first?”

Everyone looks around at each other, as if trying to figure out who should go first. Claggor nudges Mylo into motion, and the two start to banter while Vander walks over to Vi with a box, setting it on the table in front of her.

Vi looks at the box, eyes trailing over the wrapping paper, and then backs up at Vander before taking the box delicately from the table. She takes the time to slowly unwrap it, not tearing into it too quickly, instead slowly taking the wrapping paper off one corner at a time.

Once she gets the paper off, she starts opening up the box, taking the lid off, and looking inside at the contents inside of it. It's a framed picture of the two of you. The picture is of a Christmas party with everyone at the Last Drop. All grouped up in the picture, surrounding her with smiles, and Vi has her arm wrapped around you, smiling as well.

“Oh,” she starts, trailing her finger down the glass, pausing to tap on your face in the photo. “This is amazing.”

“There's more,” Vander says, “look at the back.”

In the back of the frame, Vi finds a picture. She pauses when she sees herself, Powder, and her parents. Her eyes linger, fingers stroking the picture. She's so much younger, so much smaller. They are smiling so wide as if they didn't know how things would change soon.

Powder sits down beside her. She rests her head on Vi's shoulder, watching her look at the photo, and she reaches out to take Vi's free hand, squeezing it in support.

Vi's eyes are glossy as she looks up, a faint smile on her face. “Thank you,” she mumbles, looking back down at the photo in her hand and at the faces of her parents. “This really means a lot.”

Vander nods, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I know you miss them,” he murmurs, low enough that it's just the two of them. “Thought you might like that.”

“We all love you, Vi,” Powder says, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah,” Mylo agrees. “You're stuck with us forever, don't forget that.” It earns him a jab in the side from Claggor and a look from Silco, but Vi snorts at him.

—

Everyone else has given Vi their presents. Some smaller, more simple, some more pricey than others.

Silco gifted her a few bottles of alcohol, with the advice not to drink it all in one go.

Mylo gave her a new set of punching gloves that he saved up for, black and pink with ‘VI’ on the wrist.

Claggor gave a new brass knuckle set, along with a nice pair of red leather gloves and a new beanie for the winter, since he had noticed hers was old and falling apart.

Sevika gave a new leather jacket, black and lined with deep red, with silver zippers. She puts it on right away, getting some “ooo's” and “ah's” from everyone upon seeing how she looks with it on.

Benzo brought her a blanket. He explained that he didn't know what to get her, so he walked into the store and looked for the softest blanket they had, thinking it was the only thing that made the most sense.

Ekko gave her a painting. On it was a detailed, almost perfect looking Vi, complete with her tattoos and everything.

Powder gave a whole handmade care package. She made her favorite snacks, made her a book full of scrapbooking items and stickers, made her a bracelet with a few different colored beads, and made a cute mini scrapbook of the two of them and everyone else together. She got a few tears for that one and a tight hug.

Now, there's only one gift left for Vi. You hold the crate in your hands, the crate that holds the two sibling huskies.

The dogs are finally awake and squirming around inside, making noises as they try to greet everyone. You set the crate on the floor and let the pups run out, watching Vi stand up to come over to see the dogs. She kneels down to pet them, scratching behind both of their ears. She smiles as tears form in the corners of her eyes. She scoops both up into her arms, petting its fur and burying her face in its fur, just to take in the fact that she finally has a dog herself, and it's with her favorite person.

Powder grins. “Can I hold the other one?” she asks, and Vi nods her head, adjusting the dog in her arms to give Powder a better opening, allowing her to scoop the other one up, which starts nuzzling against her hand.

Vi turns to look at you. “Do they have names?” She strokes the puppy's fur.

“They do not,” you reply. “I figured you should be the one to name them.”

“I'll have to think of a good one.” She looks back down at the pup in her arms. “Maybe a matching name for them?”

“What about Mylo and Milo?” Mylo suggests, earning another elbow from Claggor.

“Ha ha,” Vi jokes back. “No.”

“That's so corny,” Powder mumbles. “How about a matching 'M' name?” Powder suggests. “like Mandy and Mack.”

“A dog should have a more badass name like Spike!” Mylo says.

Everyone throws out ideas. Some are better than others. Some are more serious, some are funnier, but none of them really stick. Vi listens to everyone's ideas, occasionally humming or shaking her head “no” to the suggestion.

Mylo even suggests one named “Mylo Junior” in a desperate attempt to include his own name, but gets shut down once more. Powder is getting annoyed, and even Ekko is trying to get Mylo to stop.

Powder keeps suggesting names, and while there are some that seem like good suggestions, Vi doesn't quite agree with them. Claggor throws out a few names, each also being denied, though they are much better than the names Mylo suggested. Sevika even pitches in, the names that she suggests are a lot more serious and more mature sounding.

In the end, Vi still doesn't feel 100% on any of the names that have been thrown out, until she looks back up at you. “Any ideas? You haven't said anything.”

You look over at the dog on Vi's arm and the one on Powder's, looking back at your girlfriend. You're silent for a second before you suggest, “Bacon and Biscuit?”

“Bacon and Biscuit?” Mylo groans.

Sevika gives him a look, her eyebrows raised. “Odd but interesting.”

“It's kind of cute,” Benzo agrees.

“It suits them, actually,” Silco nods next to him.

Vi thinks about it, looking at the pups as if considering the name. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she says, testing out the sound of it. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she repeats, and a smile creeps on her lips. “You guys like that?” she asks the dogs, as if expecting them to answer her.

Everyone nods their heads, even if they find it corny, it suits the puppies—or at least it suits them at that moment.

“Bacon and Biscuit,” Powder coos, scratching one of the dogs behind the ear.

“It's not the worst thing we've heard,” Mylo admits. “But Mylo Jr. is way better,” and this earns him a punch in the arm again.

She looks back up at you. “I love it,” she says, looking back down at the dogs. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she repeats once more, loving the way it sounds.

“The names are set, then,” Vander says. “Now that that's settled, let's continue with the birthday party, shall we?”

notes: i do NOT know how to name a pet so....

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wholoveseggs · 5 months ago

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Snow Queen

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}{Five Days of Fluffmas}

{Klaus Mikaelson x Reader} When Hope demands you help her build a snowman, Klaus reluctantly helps, crafting memories as warm as the love that binds their family together...

♡♡Happy Fluffmas♡♡

1.2 words - Warnings: flufffff, snowman building turned snow queen masterpiece, soft and affectionate Klaus, Hope's adorable enthusiasm && sweet kisses...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

"Daddy!!!" Hope's little voice rang through the compound, echoing down the halls.

Klaus smiled to himself, he knew what this was about. He'd been hearing about the impending snowstorm for days now and was prepared for Hope's enthusiasm.

"Daddy!!!!! Y/n!!!!" she called again.

"In the study, Hope," he answered.

He watched as his little girl raced around the corner, cheeks rosy with excitement. Her hair was pulled back into pigtails, her favorite red and white plaid shirt on underneath her sweater. Klaus knew how much Hope loved the snow, she had since she was a baby, so he was not surprised when she announced, "It's snowing, Daddy!"

He smiled, "So I've heard. Did you need something, little wolf?"

"I wanna go make a snowman!" Hope declared. "Please, daddy. Can we go make one? Please?"

You were snuggled up next to Klaus on the couch, a book open in your lap, and looked over at him. You knew he was in a mood today, but also knew how hard it was for him to tell Hope no. You had a feeling you knew where this was headed.

"I'm not sure, love. It's awfully cold outside."

"But...but it's the first snowfall of the year," Hope pouted, looking down at her shoes. "Please, daddy. We have to make a snowman."

"Have to?" Klaus chuckled. "I'm not sure anyone should ever have to make a snowman."

Hope stuck her lip out and pouted, and you swore you saw tears forming in her eyes. Klaus saw it too, and you knew he was close to giving in. He never could resist his little girl.

"If your dad won't help, I will," you said, putting your book down. "What do you say, Hope? Want to go make a snowman with me?"

Her little eyes lit up, a huge smile spreading across her face. She nodded vigorously, clapping her hands.

"Alright then, get your jacket, scarf, and gloves, and we'll head outside."

"Okay!" She exclaimed, turning to race down the hall.

Klaus chuckled, watching her go. He leaned over, kissing the top of your head.

"I'll get you for this, love," he teased.

"Hmm...promises, promises," you smirked, kissing him on the lips.

You found Hope struggling to get her jacket on, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. You knelt down, taking her little hands in yours, and helped her get her coat on, buttoning it up.

"I could've done it," she insisted. She was so much like her father.

"I know, sweetheart, but the faster you get ready, the sooner we can go outside." You explained, helping her into her boots.

You pulled her mittens on her hands, making sure they were snug, before putting her hat and scarf on. Hope's cheeks were flushed with excitement and she giggled when you kissed her nose.

"All set?" you asked, holding out your hand.

"Yes, let's go!!" she said, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the door.

Klaus followed behind, smiling at the sight. He was wrapped up in his own coat, scarf, and gloves, and the three of you made your way to the door.

As soon as the front door opened, Hope raced outside, her little feet carrying her to the yard. She started jumping up and down, her mittened hands grabbing fistfuls of snow and tossing it into the air.

You and Klaus stepped out into the yard, watching as Hope ran around, laughing. The snow had just started to fall, but there was already a thick layer on the ground. You smiled at her innocence, soaking up her joy.

Klaus walked up beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He was smiling too, enjoying the moment.

"You've got her all riled up now," Klaus teased, his voice soft but laced with affection.

"Admit it," you said, leaning into him. "You're enjoying this too."

"Perhaps," he replied, his lips curving into a small, begrudging smile.

"Daddy, Y/n, come on!" Hope's voice interrupted your moment. She was already rolling a small snowball across the yard, determined to start the base of her snowman. "We need to make the biggest snowman ever!"

Klaus sighed, feigning exasperation. "The things I do for this family," he muttered, stepping forward to help her.

You followed, watching as Klaus knelt beside Hope, gently helping her shape the growing snowball. His gloved hands were careful yet efficient, and soon the base of the snowman was nearly as tall as Hope herself.

"Now we need another one for the belly," Hope declared, pointing to you. "You can do this one, Y/n!"

You grinned and knelt down, starting to roll your own snowball. "On it, boss."

Klaus watched you with amusement, his eyes softening as you worked. It wasn’t often he let himself get lost in simple family moments like this, but today he allowed it.

When the second ball was ready, Klaus helped you lift it onto the base, his hands brushing against yours as he steadied the snow. The contact made your cheeks flush, and you caught his knowing smirk as he stepped back.

"Not bad," he said. "But we're far from done. A snowman deserves proper arms, doesn't it?"

Hope gasped. "Not just arms! She needs to be a snow queen! A magical snow queen!"

Klaus raised an eyebrow, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "A queen, you say? Well then, we shall make her worthy of the title."

For the next hour, the three of you worked together, crafting the most elaborate snow queen the Mikaelson family had ever seen. Klaus took his task far too seriously, hunting for perfect twigs for arms and critiquing every berry Hope placed in the crown.

"She needs balance, darling," he said, moving one berry half an inch to the left.

"Daddy, you're being silly!" Hope giggled, shaking her head.

You couldn’t help but laugh too, watching Klaus fuss over the details. He claimed to be indulging Hope, but it was clear he was enjoying himself just as much.

When the snow queen was finally complete, Klaus took a step back and crossed his arms, admiring their work. "A masterpiece," he declared. "Fit for royalty, indeed."

Hope clapped her hands and twirled in delight. "She's perfect! Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, Y/n!"

Klaus bent into an exaggerated bow before the snow queen, earning a burst of laughter from Hope. "Your Majesty," he said solemnly, "it has been an honor."

You laughed, shaking your head at his theatrics. "I think you've outdone yourself, Klaus."

He straightened, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "Only for the two of you," he murmured softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your heart fluttered, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and kissed him. It was quick and sweet, but it was enough to send warmth flooding through you despite the chill in the air.

"Ewwww," Hope groaned, covering her eyes. "Kissing is gross!"

You pulled back, laughing, while Klaus chuckled, his hand resting at the small of your back.

"Not always," he teased, stealing another kiss from you.

Hope made a face, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "I'm gonna make a snow angel," she announced, flopping down onto her back and kicking her legs.

You and Klaus shared a grin, both watching her fondly. The snow was falling lightly, and the world seemed quieter, somehow.

"I love you," Klaus whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I love you, too," you replied, smiling.

And as the snow continued to fall, the three of you laughed and played, the cold forgotten in the warmth of love and family. For Klaus, there was no greater joy than that.

#klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #tvd #lissas fluffmas #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #five days of fluffmas #christmas #fluff #mistletoe #hope mikaelson

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yeetmyboi · 5 months ago

Text

Surviving the Holidays

a/n : MDNI. festive lights banner by @/strangergraphics. MDNI and support banners by @/cafekitsune. simonxreader, relationship est. reader is said to be female and bit of a bigger gal. just some fluff for this holiday season. this is for my fellow retail workers who are just trying to get through this festive hellscape and make it out to the other side.

— — —

You stumble home. Feet and back aching after yet another long shift. All these doubles might kill you. Between the holidays and everyone calling in sick, you’ve been running yourself ragged. It makes you bet on which one might get you first, work or the nasty flu that’s going around. At least you’ve managed to miss any icy patches climbing up the apartment’s steps tonight. Take the wins where you can get ‘em.

Sliding the key into the lock, you hurry and slip inside before the cold can sneak in. A shiver rattles your bones as you shrug off your jacket. One by one your winter layers fall away—hat, scarf, gloves, boots—all returning to their designated homes till they’re needed again. You shed your winter gear like a snake sheds its skin, only you don’t have a heat lamp to sun under after.

Despite the deep chill that still resides in your bones, the warmth you feel from knowing you’re not alone is enough to thaw you out.

Simon’s home.

Muffled noises come from the tv, filling the otherwise silent flat. The smell of something cooking hits your nose, making your tummy grumble. All signs that you’re not alone. It’s enough to bring a tired smile to your face.

Your socked feet shuffle as you make your way to the living room. The sight before you fills you with a warmth that can only come from the word ‘home’.

Simon sits there on the couch, lounging on his back, reading a book that looks as worn down as you feel. He glances over his readers as he greets you, “Welcome home, lovie.”

Like a weary soldier returning home, you make your way over to him without a word. Swinging your leg over his hips, you straddle him and lean forward, crawling up under his arms. Usually you’re conscious of how much you put your weight on him, but that seems to have floated out of your head the moment you saw him. All you can think about is burying your face into his soft pecs.

So you do. Nuzzling into the softness much like a cat, rubbing its cheek against its favorite person—purring and eager for more contact.

His chest bounces gently as he laughs at you, amusement and fondness clear in the teasing tone he takes. “Missed me that much, did ‘cha?”

You still don’t answer. Just a pleased hum from your throat as you continue to rub against his chest. Absorbing his presence and scent, letting it ebb away the stress that’s been heavy on your shoulders all day.

Simon slowly wraps his arms around you, already knowing what you need. He squeezes you, nice and firm, letting the pressure ground you. Not letting go until you start to squirm. Another chuckle and his arms slowly fall away, a hand coming to mindlessly run up and down your back.

“Made a stew tonight. Somethin’ to warm ye up,” he states.

You acknowledge his comment with a content sigh, nodding with your head still firmly on his chest. A small voice in the back of your head tells you that this is probably his way of politely asking you to get off.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to crush you. I just really needed…that.” You mumble, already pulling away.

“‘M not broken, love. In fact, ye make a lovely blanket.” He says as he wraps his arms around you once more, pulling you back and squeezing tightly. “Might ‘ave to keep ya here. Supposed’a be chilly t’noght.”

“Nooo, Si!” You squeal with surprised delight, pushing against his hold with both hands.

“Sorry, lovie. Looks like you’re not goin’ anywhere.” He gleams with delight at your pretend struggle. “Ye wouldn’t let me freeze, would ya?”

A thought pops into your head, and without much consideration for the consequences, you act on it. Your teeth teasingly nip at his soft pec, hitting his nipple with precision.

“Oi!” He jolts at the contact, sending the abandoned book tumbling to the floor. “Blankets don’ bite!” The bark in his voice is a playful one, like yips from an older dog trying to match a pup’s energy.

You dissolve into giggles, smothering them in his chest. Simon squeezes and gives you a shake. He huffs, but the warmth in his chuckle betrays him. “Cheeky lil’ thing,” he mutters, his hand resuming its slow rub up and down your back.

You sigh into him, letting his touch melt the day away entirely. The smell of a warm meal wafts through the flat, promising warmth and comfort, but for now, Simon’s arms are enough. This is enough.

This is home.

— — —

me while writing this :

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corkinavoid · 5 months ago

Note

The Tip Of The Iceberg · Owl City

Grumpy x sunshine

Winter wonderland

DPxDC Love at Frost Sight

Jason's favorite season of the year was fall. Early fall, to be exact, when the trees become red and golden, and the air smells of pumpkin spice because of all the coffeeshops simultaneously deciding it's the time to bring it back once again, and it's not yet cold enough to wear a coat, but just cool enough to put on a comfy sweater.

On the other hand, his least favorite season was winter. All of it, starting from late November and ending in early April. His bones ached in the cold that no coat could manage to keep out, the roads were always slippery, no matter how much salt was thrown over them, and he despised the amounts of hot tea he had to drink to keep himself from freezing to death.

Not to mention the lack of sunlight, the vitamins he had to take daily, the shiver that ran down his body when he stepped out of the shower and-

"You know, if you keep frowning like that, people are going to start thinking I've brought you here under the threat of a gun."

Jason blinks and tears his gaze away from the dimly lit, snowy scenery of Robinson Park and looks to Jazz, who is walking just beside him, a steaming cup of coffee in her fingers. She looks beautiful, even wearing a puffy purple jacket that makes her look like an off-color penguin and a knitted hat that hides all her red hair.

Jason huffs and rubs his forehead, smoothing the wrinkle between his eyebrows manually.

"You still hadn't told me why are we taking a walk in the park instead of doing literally anything else," he reminds her, and Jazz smiles, holding her chin higher.

"I have my reasons," she tells, her voice full of mischief. Jason rolls his eyes and hides his freezing palms deeper in his pockets. "We're almost there, don't roll your eyes at me," Jasmine shorts a short laugh and pokes him in the side.

Almost where, he wants to ask, because he is pretty sure she can't show him anything he hasn't seen before in here. He is a Gothamite, after all, and she just moved here two years ago, and Robinson Park couldn't have changed that much since his whole dying and coming back act.

But then, Jazz finishes her coffee in a few large gulps, tossing the empty cup into the nearest bin, and takes his elbow, all but dragging him forward, off the path and into the who knows where.

Jason stumbles over his feet but catches himself quickly enough to not faceplant the snow. Yet, that doesn't help in the slightest with figuring out where they are going because, well, it's half-past-six, which means it's already rather dark around them even with all of the street lights, and Jazz can be really fast when she wants to, and-

"Here," his impossible girlfriend suddenly stops, so abruptly like she's just ran into a wall. Jason, despite all his vigilante training, is not capable of canceling the laws of inertia on command, so he takes a few more steps forward to slow down.

"And what exactly is here?" He shakes his head, trying very hard not to snap, because he is cold, and he doesn't like surprises, and Jazz can be frustrating more than she likes to admit. But, before she can answer, and before Jason is able to put all that winter irritation into words, there's a snap.

Jason turns his head sharply, looking for the source of it just out of habit.

And halts, feeling his eyes go wide and his head completely empty.

The lights appear one by one, a slow, charming process of illuminating the small clearing they've run into. Warm and fuzzy, like tiny stars, or maybe fairy lights, but with no strings to hold them, they light up the trees and the sparkling, untouched snow under their feet. Jason blinks. The sight that he's grown to associate only with those decorative glass balls full of fake snow doesn't shatter.

And, to be fair, Jason knew winter could be beautiful - he's seen countless pictures and movies, and he understood the appeal it had on some people. But he's never really felt it, what with winters in Gotham, even at Christmas Eve, being more glum and gray than sparkling white and twinkling pretty.

But this is exactly that.

The tall trees covered in white snow, the gentle fall of snowflakes over them, the bright yellow lights that surround them.

"Close your mouth, love, you'll catch a cold," he hears Jazz say with a fond, soft laugh, and only then he realizes he is gaping.

His mouth closes back with a snap as he turns to face his girlfriend.

"How did you..." he trails off, not even sure what he's asking. How did she bring a fairytale into life? How did she find this place? How did she manage to bring him here?..

Jazz's teal eyes hold the reflections of countless warm lights around them, and she is grinning from ear to ear, her hand finding Jason's to intertwine their fingers.

"Danny helped," she admits, "But I just wanted you to see it. See why I love winter - not just because my brother is a living icicle, but because winter is magic, in a sense. It's only in winter that you can feel what's really warm and what's not."

Jason has half of a thought to ask her what she means, but he gets it just a moment before the words fall out of his mouth.

Because this, standing in the silent snowfall among the tiny lights of miniature stars, holding Jazz's hand in his, is warm. Not in a literal sense - his skin is still moments away from freezing - but something inside his chest feels like a tiny, flickering flame.

And that flame makes him smile.

"It's very pretty," he says, not taking his eyes off Jazz, and watches her cheeks become pink.

Somehow, he is certain it's not because of the cold.

~•~•~•~

This was written to not one but two Owl City songs. The first one was, as requested, 'The Tip of The Iceberg', and the second was 'Peppermint Winter', my all-time favorite winter song.

And here's the additional aesthetic!

Danny, who is responsible for the gently falling snowflakes and keeping the lights from going out, sitting invisible in a tree above them: what great lengths do I go for you, Jazz, you better get me something nice for Christmas or I swear to Ancients-

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #jasmine fenton #jason todd #jason x jazz #anger management #winter wonderland #owl city #cork prompts #its actually quite hard to make jason grumpy #i tried my best #cork game

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traincat · 25 days ago

Note

Hello! A bit of a silly question, but are there any iconic or standout Johnny or Peter outfits from the comics? For Johnny, ones that aren’t Fantastic Four uniforms specifically. Hope you’re having a good day/night! I love reading ur comic rambles !

Oh, the outfits. Not sure if these are what you wanted by iconic or standout, but these are the ones I think about a lot.

So, on his own, Peter's not the most interesting dresser, but he's not bad at it, either.

This is a pretty typical look for him -- Turtleneck with this style of jacket, pants, hiking boots. It works for him, but there's a practical aspect here, too, because he can wear the Spider-Man costume under this combination without anyone being aware. (They put him in short sleeves too much today!)

He's had some outfits though. Some looks. Some better than others.

(ASM #311) "Le Derriere jeans." Let's be fair he's not even trying with this one. At least MJ's pink cowboy getup is cute but he's not even attempting to wear that hat. It's wearing him.

(ASM #299) Bless him he's trying. Barely and badly, but trying. Note to myself that I need to do a McFarlane reread at some point. It's not my favorite period of canon, as evidenced by the fact that this wasn't in my refs and I had to go looking for it.

(ASM #330) I love his stupid anti-Batman tank top. It takes a certain kind of man to be petty across publishing houses.

Thou who doth not make mention of three things -- namely, the red briefs, the Bathrobe Collection, and the animal crop top -- hath not done their duty to Spider-Man fandom. Seriously, why does he own so many of bathrobes. (ASM #299 and Web of Spider-Man #18)

(ASM #249) Imagine you just found out your father murdered one of your best friends in the whole world and one of your other best friends in the whole world shows up to your pool party wearing this.

(ASM #506) But yeah I would say, day to day, he wears a lot of button ups with ties and black turtlenecks. Again, stuff he can hide the costume under. He wore a lot of suits and ties when he was teaching.

In terms of costumes, I really like the black cloth Spider-Man suit, but it's not exactly unusual. I'm pretty conservative with Spider-Man suits, but I do like the Last Stand suit. I feel there's good narrative weight to that one.

(ASM #637) Not in its original context, but a good look at it all the same. Interesting that in Madame Web's vision of what would happen if Peter killed Kraven, he switches to the Last Stand suit. Something worth thinking about potentially. I do wish I liked his Future Foundation suit more than I actually do, but I only really like the black version. The plain white is just kind of boring to me.

Okay, Johnny, though -- Johnny Storm has never met a pattern he wouldn't violently clash up against another pattern. Johnny dresses like a whole circus. Johnny goes to Paris Fashion Week, buys everything, and still ends up on the worst dressed list. Johnny Storm's fashion choices are breathtaking.

(FF #164) "And I don't have to stop for red lights." Okay. Let's take it from the top here. The red ascot, the violently patterned shirt and pants, the fringed jacket with his initials on it. The multiple rings. When I say this outfit has it all I mean it has the whole store.

And do not forget his perfectly coiffed hair, a thing that he woke up with and required no styling whatsoever. ("I've got to do SOMETHING about my hair!" - Fantastic Four #138.)

(FF #191) I actually like this one, I think the maroon suit is cute.

(FF #296) I love his little red scarf and Four jacket. Guest appearance by Alicia/Lyja (this was written pre-retcon but we also have to apply the retcon to past appearances, you know how it is) who is definitely speaking like a human and not a space alien who has gone wildly off script.

(FF #309) Obsessed with this entire scene. "Oh, I'm going to fly down with my brand new wife to Fire Island, a famously gay vacation spot, while wearing my little ankle jeans and nautical striped tank top. Maybe we'll hold hands." Unbelievable.

He also tends to wear a lot of Four-branded and flame print stuff, in general, which is cute. The famous flame print swim trunks, etc.

(Fantastic Four v5 #14) You have to love his Depression Howard the Duck shirt. Context: Peter and Wyatt kidnapped him for his own good.

(Uncanny Avengers #8) I think about his wolf howling at the moon shirt and tiny orange shorts combo from this comic roughly five times a week.

For uniforms that are less common, I really like his gold and black suit, his 2n1 suit, and the black short sleeve variant of his suit from Claremont's run.

(Marvel Two-in-One (2018) #4) I loved this jacket. I wish they'd sold a version of it, I would have bought it.

(Moon Girl #25) Don't trauma dump on the child, Johnny.

(FF v3 #27) This one isn't anything particularly special or anything, I just think it's fun, and I like the boots. They desperately need to take things a step further and let him do his own version of one of Sue's opera glove costumes.

Also please look at this dumb little outfit he made himself when he was sixteen and being manipulated into breaking away from the Fantastic Four.

(Strange Tales #106) This is iconic to me anyway.

And then okay. Yeah. There's the Bad! Real Bad! shirt.

(Daredevil #261) Someone help him.

#johnny storm #peter parker #marvel comics #*replies #long post/#traincat talks comics #no one saw me accidentally post the joke edit of the mcnuggets panel

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

Text

A Curse [Chapter 10: Pacific Palisades]

A/N: Only 2 chapters left 🪄

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, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, illness/death, minor injury and blood, a wild Becca appears, a super relaxing beach day! 😍

Word count: 5.4k

💜 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 🏝️

“I’m so sorry,” you say as the green jasper buttons on the coat won’t quite close. “My agent keeps buying me Cherry Cokes and vanilla lattes.”

The costume designer, mid-forties with box-dye red hair, laughs. She ceases the tugging she’s been doing, ultimately in vain. “The wardrobe is supposed to fit you, sweetheart, not the other way around.” She sweeps the coat off your shoulders and hangs it back on the rack full of Gilded Age-style garments, some faux, some genuine. “We’ll take it in here and let it out there and get everything sorted out.”

“Thank you,” you tell her sheepishly.

“For what? It’s my job.” Then she gestures to the rack. “Which one was your favorite?”

You scan the assortment: chemises, corsets, hoopskirts, stockings, dresses, tea gowns, evening gowns, nightgowns, hats, gloves, fans, shoes, seemingly endless bejeweled ropes of necklaces and bracelets. “The yellow tea gown,” you say, beaming. “I love the ruffles and how flowy it is. And the buttons down the front.”

“Oh, it’s exceptional, isn’t it?” the costume designer agrees. “I found that at an estate sale a few years back, it had been squirreled away in a collector’s attic. It’s authentic, probably made in the 1890s.”

“You told me not to touch the buttons when you put it on. And you wore latex gloves.”

She nods. “They’re brass gilded with gold and mercury, which was common back then. People didn’t know better. But mercury can be absorbed through the skin. We can’t be careless and end up with heavy metal poisoning, now can we?” She grins at you. “But you don’t mind a little danger.”

“Everything worthwhile is a risk.”

“How long have you been in Los Angeles?”

You do some quick math in your head. “Almost six months.”

“Planning to stay long?”

“Forever, hopefully.”

The costume designer smiles warmly. “Good. We need more people like you here.” And as she pulls the rack of clothing out into the hallway on its four small wheels, the director strolls into the room. He is in his thirties, bald, black rectangular glasses, always wearing a suit jacket over a graphic tee. Today’s shirt features the Jurassic Park logo.

“Hey!” he says excitedly, clapping his hands together. “How’d it go?”

“Hi, Dusty!” His name is Dustin, but everyone calls him Dusty. “It was amazing. I love all the weird vintage clothes, they’re so modest but also very sensual, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s fascinating, I feel like with those restrictive modesty standards people really had to get creative to evoke ideas of playfulness, flirtatiousness, power, vulnerability, seduction...and of course, we’ll be experimenting with all of that in this film. You felt okay in everything?”

“Yeah!”

“Because...I mean...I know some of the chamises and nightgowns are a little sheer, but we’ll do a closed set on those days. I won’t even be there, Camille can handle it.” Camille is the assistant director, young and quiet but very sharp. “So it’ll just be her and the camera operator, also a woman. And if you want anyone else there to be your advocate, that’s open for discussion.”

“Can my agent be there?”

Dusty looks a little surprised. The grumpy middle-aged dude? his face says. “Aegon? Yeah, sure, he can be in the room. If you want that.”

“He’s gotten me out of some uncomfortable situations before, so I trust him.”

“Oh yeah, well in that case, I get it,” Dusty says. “Totally. And things with Santi have been fine?”

“Santi is wonderful. Always completely professional, but very inspiring to work with.”

“You guys have great chemistry. Platonically, I mean.”

You laugh. “I know what you meant.”

“And I’ll keep checking in with both of you, to make sure that’s going well and you’re happy and comfortable. I want you to start seeing a personal trainer, by the way. It’s not to lose weight or get toned or anything, it’s for injury prevention. He’ll help you get flexible and teach you tricks for how to move without hurting yourself when we do some of the more physically taxing stuff, like that scene where you and Santi are chasing each other all over the house and slamming into the walls and stuff.”

“That makes sense. Who’s the trainer?”

“His name is Roy, he’s in his sixties and a former Marine. I’ve worked with him before and he’s really chill, I’ve only ever heard good things. But if you end up not liking him, just let me know and I can find somebody else.”

“Dusty?” you say.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for caring about what I think.”

He chuckles uneasily, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. “You’re welcome...?”

Aegon walks in—hair gelled back, wrinkled black suit on—carrying two Starbucks beverages; he left fifteen minutes ago to fetch them. He keeps the Frappuccino topped with whipped cream and chocolate syrup for himself and hands you the iced latte. You take a sip and are startled. “Cinnamon Dolce?”

“Isn’t that what you like?” Aegon asks.

And before you let yourself think poisonous thoughts—he doesn’t care, he doesn’t remember—you consider a different explanation. He might be sick. He might be dying. You give him a radiant smile. “Absolutely. And it’s delicious.”

“She must think very highly of you,” Dusty tells Aegon. “She wants you there on the closed set days.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you admit, a little shyly.

“I’ll send out the filming schedule as soon as we get it finalized,” Dusty says. “Like I said earlier, we’ll start sometime in mid-September. Some soundstage stuff here in L.A., some on-location work in Ontario—that’s where they did Crimson Peak, there’s fantastic Gilded Age architecture—and maybe a trip to London if we can scrape the budget together.”

“Huh,” Aegon mutters to himself, like he suspects Dusty will soon be receiving a sizeable and anonymous donation for the project. He pulls out his iPhone and texts someone.

Dusty shakes your hand. “Thanks for being here today and suffering through approximately one thousand costume changes. I really appreciate you being such a good sport about everything.”

“I told you she had the right temperament,” Aegon says.

“She does.” Dusty smiles at you. “She really does.”

You and Aegon leave Dusty’s suite, office space rented in Downtown, and take the elevator from the tenth floor to the ground level. It’s Wednesday, August 13th, and it’s almost a hundred degrees outside, the sunlight drenching you like a downpour. Fortunately, it’s a short walk to your Honda. Aegon was serious about not driving when you’re in the car anymore; you picked him up in Elysian Park before your appointment with the costume designer. Now you walk together across a pavilion and towards a concrete staircase that will lead you down to the street with the parking garage. You’re wearing a pink floral sundress, matching TOMS wedges, and a pinkish-gold sheen across your eyelids: Fathom by NARS, Phenomena by Natasha Denona. You slurp on your Cinnamon Dolce latte, sweet and warm and blameless like a treat you deserve.

“You know I won’t be there for filming,” Aegon says. “That’s going to be after my wedding. I’ll be long gone, I’ll be in Houston.”

“Maybe not.”

“Uh, I definitely will be.”

“Maybe you’ll fly back to be here for certain things because you know they’re important to me.”

Aegon stops and whirls to you, his voice low but cutting. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you ask, bewildered.

“You know I wish I could be here. Don’t guilt me for something I’m already torn up about.”

“Nothing is stopping you from flying back to L.A. for a few days. Houston isn’t a prison, you can come and go as much as you want to.”

Now he’s somber, quiet, repentant. “I just can’t. I’m really sorry.”

“But who’s going to look out for me?” How could I even begin to forget you?

“I found you a new agent. Her name is Kristen, and she’s great.”

“I don’t want her,” you say immediately.

Aegon sighs. You begin to descend the staircase together. “Look, I know this isn’t easy for either of us, but I need you to—”

“Oh my God, it’s the girl from the Maroon 5 music video!” a young man shrieks, and then he sprints up the concrete steps. You smile when he shoves his phone in your face, recording for TikTok or Instagram or wherever he’s planning to post this...or maybe he’s even streaming live. “Hi!” he bellows at you as Aegon glares. “I love that video, you did an amazing job!”

“Thank you so much,” you say, and you mean it down to your bones. You’re beaming without reminding yourself to; you’re focused on him as you continue to descend the staircase. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jonathan!”

Aegon snaps at him: “Back up.”

“Hi, Jonathan,” you say, wobbling on a step. “It’s so nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I’m from a town in Iowa that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“That’s okay, I’m from a town in Minnesota that you definitely haven’t heard of.”

“Hey, back up,” Aegon says again.

Jonathan either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t listen. “What was it like working with Adam Levine? I’m kind of obsessed with him. He was my first crush.”

With those tattoos? you think but blessedly don’t say out loud. You have barely ever interacted with Adam Levine, and certainly not in a meaningful way. But of course you don’t say this either. Jonathan’s phone is only inches from your face; it’s practically all you can see. “Oh, it was an incredible experience. He’s so talented and kind—”

Your wedge slips off a step, and you go sprawling; one knee hits the concrete, is scraped raw, begins bleeding down your shin. Your latte flies out of your grasp and spills down the staircase. You clutch for the metal railing, find it, and haul yourself upright. And even through the searing pain you’re already laughing, embarrassed, relieved.

Jonathan is saying as he reaches for you, though he’s still filming with the phone in his other hand: “Oh no, are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m totally fine—”

But Jonathan isn’t, because Aegon’s knuckles connect with his face, draw back, hit him again, and blood is gushing from Jonathan’s nostrils, and Aegon’s hand is stained red. “I told you to back the fuck up!” Aegon is roaring, and he goes to punch Jonathan again as he’s staggering down the steps, blood drops splattering to freckle the concrete.

“Aegon, don’t!” you scream, grabbing his arm. People on the sidewalk below are staring and pointing. “He didn’t do anything!”

“If you get hurt, you can’t act—”

“Aegon, I’m alright!”

And when Aegon turns to you, wayward flecks of blood on his cheeks and in his sand-colored hair, he’s not just furious but afraid: I couldn’t stop. You remember when he put a dent in the wall of the Beverly Hills mansion where Dan had planned to film you practically naked, and you wonder if that was a symptom, volatility, rage, a transient blindness to consequences. Is everything he does a symptom? Is what he’s done with you?

“Aegon...?” Jonathan says from several steps down the staircase. “Aegon Targaryen?!” He’s wiping the blood off his face with the back of one hand but still holding his phone with the other. Now he’s filming himself. “Holy shit, I just got punched by a Targaryen! This is going to go viral! I’m going to be rich!” He dashes off, still dripping blood.

Aegon looks at you, dazed. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re trying to catch your breath; your knee burns. Pedestrians on the sidewalk are still gawking. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want to fuck up anything related to your career. I’ll fix this, I’ll get Aemond to make it go away.”

“I’m not mad, Aegon.” I’m worried about you. I’m scared for you.

“Are you okay?” He’s scrutinizing the thin tendrils of blood snaking down your leg, the crimson stains on your pink sundress.

“Yeah,” you say gamely.

“No you’re not.” Aegon takes your hand, leads you swiftly to the parking garage, doesn’t stop to talk to any of the people who are staring and pointing and taking out their phones to record him.

You drive your Honda back to Elysian Park—just a quick jaunt northeast on the 110—where Aegon scrubs his hands clean and then plays doctor with equipment supplied by the first aid kit in Brandon’s desk. On the scuffed wood floor of Aegon’s office—mint green walls, cluttered haphazard desk, photographs of him and Becca together sneering down at you—he disinfects the raw patch on your knee and gingerly wipes away flecks of dirt, then slathers it with gooey transluscent Neosporin, the kind that dulls pain. As he is trying to peel the backing off a large rectangular Band-Aid, his hands begin to shake.

“Aegon, here, let me help you—”

“I can do it,” he insists; and it takes him a while, but he does.

~~~~~~~~~~

Baela is back in Paris; Jace is eating a Chipotle burrito on the velvet orange couch and spilling leafy shreds of lettuce everywhere. You are arranging the dried sunflowers in a yellow vase you found at T.J. Maxx. You are careful not to dislodge any of the fragile preserved leaves, curled and brittle. When you are done, you position the vase on the kitchen counter near the refrigerator. The calendar there, affixed with pineapple-shaped magnets, is filled with red-ink appointments related to your indie film, the one you still sometimes can’t believe is real: workouts with your personal trainer, table reads, costume fittings, meetings with the dialect coach, lunches and drinks with your new coworker Chloe. She has third billing, and she’s from Maine, and she loves hiking and flannel and granola and the lobster rolls at Saltie Girl in West Hollywood. You teach her about makeup and dresses; Chloe teaches you about nature and hiking boots. You might even let her talk you into horseback riding lessons on the beach one day.

Jace asks from the couch as he scrolls through his phone with his non-burrito-occupied hand: “Hey, random question, but did your agent beat up a kid?”

You sigh deeply. “He wasn’t a kid. I don’t know why people keep saying that.”

“The TMZ article says he’s a teenager.”

“He’s nineteen years old. He’s legally an adult.”

“Oh.” Jace keeps reading. “But your agent did beat him up.”

“Aegon punched him twice, does that count as beating someone up?”

Jace looks up from his phone. “Yes. Yes it does.”

You sigh again.

“You’re lucky he’s not suing,” Jace says as he resumes reading the article. “Damn, he’s gotten 200,000 views on the video so far. He called it STORYTIME: Targaryen Terror!! I almost died!! The thumbnail is a close-up of his bloody nose. Let’s see what derangement we can find in the comments.” Then Jace recoils, squinting at the screen. “Whoa, the whole article just disappeared.”

Thanks Aemond, you think. “I’ll be back around dinnertime if you want to order Thai food and watch True Blood or something.”

“Cool,” Jace says, and chomps on his burrito. A glob of guacamole drops onto the couch.

In Elysian Park, you park on the curb and step out into sweltering mid-August humidity, the humming of air conditioning window units, ambient dog barks and car radios. You’re wearing flip-flops, a purple maxi skirt, and a black tank top; on your eyelids shimmers Natasha Denona’s silver-and-violet Bolt.

You can hear the shouting before you open the front door, heavy footsteps, chairs screeching as they are pushed out. You run inside to find Brandon standing beside his desk. He looks at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t know what to do. From within his office, Aegon is yelling something you don’t understand—“I don’t want it! No, get rid of it, get out of here!”—and then Becca appears through the doorway, backing away from him, fleeing from him, confused and heartbroken. She’s dressed like a bride, white lace and long beachy waves. She is crying and holding two sealed envelopes in her hands that gleam with rings.

“What’s going on?” you ask her.

Becca freezes when she sees you. She’s too stunned to be angry. “I don’t know, it was supposed to be a surprise, we were going to open them together and it would be fun, but now he’s...he’s...he’s freaking out, he’s completely lost his mind!”

You peek into Aegon’s office; his chair is knocked over, and there are papers and photographs and Honeycrisp apples on the floor. He’s slumped against the wall with his knees to his chest, gazing out at you with vast, glassy eyes, tears painting rivers down his flushed cheeks. “Open what?” you ask Becca. And then you read the artful black lettering on the envelopes: Legacea: Discover All the Wonders of Your Heritage!

“Becca,” you say softly. He’s been caught. He can’t hide it anymore. “Aegon’s dad died of Huntington’s disease.”

“Okay,” she replies, puzzled, not understanding.

“And it’s genetic, and he doesn’t want to know if he has the gene.”

She stares at him, thunderstruck. He hides his face in his hands. And you feel a compulsion—an instinct, a gravity, a predestination—to go to Aegon and hold him, comfort him as much as you can, ward off all the world’s curses here in this undistinguished alcove of Los Angeles where you first met him.

“Here,” Becca hisses, grabbing your hand and pressing one of the envelopes into it too quickly for you to resist. “You’re the person he always wants to talk to anyway.” Then she shoves you so hard your back hits the doorframe, storms across the lobby, slams the front door as she leaves.

“I’m sorry,” Aegon says hoarsely from the floor. “I’m sorry she did that, I...I...” And then he swallows with effort and shakes his head and covers his face again. In the lobby, Brandon sinks into the chair behind his desk and tries to disappear.

You step into Aegon’s office and close the door behind you. You cross the scuffed hardwood floor until you are right in front of him, and then you sit down amidst the bruised apples and splintered glass panes of photographs, close enough to reach out and take his hands if you tried. You look down at the sealed envelope and skim your thumbprint across the black ink. You don’t say anything. You wait for Aegon to realize the inevitable: If Becca paid for these tests, she can access the results anytime she wants to. He’s going to find out one way or the other. He can’t keep running. The answer is right here. Maybe it’s even good.

“You can open it,” Aegon says, barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

He nods and wipes his face with his sleeve, the same wrinkled tan sport coat jacket he was wearing for your very first appointment. Beneath that he wears a t-shirt the color of the ocean, a placid royal blue. Then he watches as you carefully rip open the envelope, unfold the stack of four papers, and scan the results. He tries to read the lines and color of your face; he waits for you to say something.

For a long still moment, you don’t say anything. And then at last you look up at him. “Your family can afford the best doctors, you’ll have access to the most advanced treatments—”

“No!” Aegon wails, a mourning, a surrender, and he collapses across the floor, and decades of fear and grief and fury come hemorrhaging out, and you expect that when you try to hold him he’ll push you away, but he doesn’t. He claws for you and his fingernails leave half-moon indentations in your skin, but you don’t mind because soon he’ll be gone: he’ll be flying to Turks and Caicos to marry Becca, he’ll be moving to Houston, Texas, he’ll be dying there of something horrible and painful and inglorious and unfair, he’ll be a secret and then a myth.

“I’m sorry,” you say over and over again, his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair, your voice fracturing and your throat burned to ashes. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I wish I could change it. I would do anything to change it.”

And after a while, Aegon goes quiet and pulls away, and he sits on the floor as he absorbs it, staring vacantly at the photographs and the apples and the walls, dragging his hands through his disheveled hair to slick it back again. Then he turns to you and asks: “Do you want to go to the beach?”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve already been to Venice, and Baela and Jace once took you along with them to Santa Monica to walk the pier at dusk; and so today Aegon tells you to follow the 110 south, the 10 west, and finally the 1 north—and if you stayed on it you’d eventually hit Malibu, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Point Reyes, Eureka, the Oregon border—to Pacific Palisades, where the water is calm and endless and the beach quiet, a few families picnicking on loose golden sand, a few amateur surfers bobbing on docile waves. Gulls flap and caw in a cerulean sky. From a boombox drifts Under the Bridge.

“I always felt like I had it,” Aegon says. His skin glows with the sunscreen you insisted on buying from a surf shop on the way here, SPF 50, but there is nothing in the world that can stop the poison his cells are already making, copying the defective gene’s lethal instructions again and again and again. You look at the crinkles that spring out from the corners of his eyes, the lines around his mouth, and you can see that he is aging—lack of sleep, lack of care—and you have the instinct to pull him back from the ledge of mortality. But for all the wonders of humanity, pyramids and chapels, submarines and satellites, for some reason the most essential magic eludes you.

“But you hoped you didn’t.” You hold the Legacea papers, still creased from where they were folded into thirds inside the envelope, as you and Aegon sit together on the sand. You keep reading the results: cystic fibrosis—variant not detected, hereditary thrombophilia—variant not detected, Parkinson’s disease—variant not detected, he’d be perfect if it wasn’t for one tiny thing, and that seems so unfair.

“That’s why I never told people. That’s why even though I was pretty sure I’d never have kids, I didn’t do anything permanent. Never got a vasectomy, even though I should have. Never saw a specialist. Never joined any support groups. I always thought...you know, maybe. Maybe I was wrong, and I was fine. And I wanted to have that to fall back on, so whenever I started thinking about it and got freaked out, I could say: You don’t know for sure. You might not have it. Aemond got tested because he felt it was the responsible thing to do, and Helaena and Daeron followed his lead because they trust him. I was the only one who didn’t want to know. And I’m the only one who has it.” He shakes his head; his blonde hair blows in the wind. “They had to deal with what happened to my dad. I can’t put them through that again.”

You re-read the results, the only one that matters: Huntington’s disease—variant detected, mutation of the HTT gene. “You’re so young, Aegon. Aren’t you too young to have symptoms? When I was researching, it sounded like it usually starts around forty, and then people can live into their fifties or even their sixties.” That’s almost a normal lifespan! you have to stop yourself from blurting out. That’s thirty more years we could have together!

“A lot of the time, that’s how it goes,” he says. “But there’s this thing in genetics called anticipation.” And then you remember what you overheard Aemond saying when you found him in Aegon’s office a few days after the charity gala: Because you’re still pretty young, but with anticipation...

“Aegon, what’s anticipation?”

“It means that in each generation, the disease shows up earlier and gets more severe. In Huntington’s, that’s especially true when it’s inherited from the father. My dad had visible signs in his late-thirties, got diagnosed at forty-five, and died at fifty-five. I’ve had symptoms since my twenties.”

So how many years does he have left? you think with horror. Five? Ten? And most of them will be bad. “Is that why you left acting?”

Aegon nods, looking out over the waves. “Every time I forgot a line or tripped over a step or something, I’d think it was proof that I had the gene, and it would send me into a spiral. And then because I was so nervous...fuck it, because I was so scared...I would make more mistakes, and get more panicked, and I just couldn’t deal with the...the emotional rollercoaster, I guess. So I got an office in Elysian Park far away from my family and all their industry friends, and I found an assistant I liked, and I met Becca...and I got everything lined up so if...” He shakes his head. “So when the time came, I could slip away without any drama or unnecessary pain for my family.”

“But you’re still mostly okay. You don’t have to leave Los Angeles yet.” You don’t have to abandon me yet. “I can drive you places. I can remember things for you. I don’t mind.”

Aegon gives you a sad, patient smile. “By the time people with this disease get really bad, they stop being able to tell how far-gone they are. And they aren’t competent to make decisions, and they hurt the people who are trying to help them, and it’s not so easy to disappear anymore. I can’t wait around for my brain to get hollowed out enough that I have no good days left. I can’t wait around until you’re finally convinced it’s the right time. You’re always going to be looking for excuses to keep me here. You’ll always see glasses as half-full.”

You think of the countless YouTube videos you’ve watched of Huntington’s patients since that night in Silver Lake when you learned what killed Woody Guthrie—people struggling to walk, to speak, to swallow, to recognize their loved ones—and you break down in sobs, covering your face with your hands as tears flood down your cheeks, the rivulets turning cold as the ocean breeze skates over them. “I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“None of us get a choice, sunshine,” Aegon says gently, laying a palm on your shoulder.

“Am I a symptom?”

“What are you talking about?”

You take a tissue out of your purse and sniffle into it, too mortified to meet his eyes. “Impulsive decisions, poor judgment, erratic emotions. Those are all symptoms of Huntington’s. So is this thing between us...is what you have with me, is it just...just...?” Just your brain dying, just a mistake like punching a fan or wrecking a car or forgetting that I was born in the Year of the Dragon?

“No,” Aegon says. “No, this is real. And the way I feel about you isn’t how I feel about anybody else.”

“But all those other women—”

“I fucked around because life is short and I didn’t want to miss out on things. And I felt like...you know...there will be a day when I’m never going to be able to have sex again. Just like there will be a day when I can never drive again, or help a client get a job, or make it through a barbeque at my family’s beach house without acting insane, or collect stars in Super Mario 64. But you’re not some maladaptive coping mechanism. I don’t sleep with clients. I genuinely really, really like you, and you make me feel better about the world, and I want to be around you all the time. But I can’t do that without ruining your life, you know? So what the fuck am I supposed to do with everything I feel for you?”

His hand is still on your shoulder, warm and safe and steady, and his oceanic blue eyes are resigned. You’re too late to change his mind. You’ve been too late since he watched Viserys crawl towards the grave over the span of a decade. “I would take care of you,” you tell Aegon, something you’ve offered before, and you mean this no matter how irrational he believes it to be.

“You’ll be sad for a while,” he says. “But then you’ll get busy with more roles and the promo tour for your movie, and you’ll have a nice normal boyfriend—maybe that Jace guy—and you’ll forget about me. And you can be an actress and have healthy kids and stay here in Los Angeles forever. You’ll have everything you ever wanted.”

Not everything, you think. Not you. “Why did you invited me to your wedding? It’s actually a really messed up thing to do. I’m supposed to celebrate you marrying Becca? Toast champagne and dance on the beach and eat hors d’oeuvres and then fly back here like nothing’s wrong?”

Aegon sighs and lies flat on the sand, lets the hot midday sun beat down on him, takes his black aviator sunglasses out of his jeans pocket and slides them on. “I invited you because my wedding is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, and I want all my favorite people there. And you are definitely one of my favorite people.”

You frown at the wave crests, glittering with daylight. “I can’t go to Turks and Caicos.”

“Why not?”

“Because Becca threatened to break my leg.”

Aegon bursts out laughing. “She what?!”

“She said she would push me down the stairs so I’d break my leg and wouldn’t be able to do any acting for months until it healed.”

He’s cackling. Circumstances aside, it’s nice to see him smile again. “Ignore her. She’s not serious. She tells everyone that.”

“She threatens all your mistresses with bodily harm?”

Aegon shrugs. “Her playbook is limited.”

You debate whether to tell him something, then decide this isn’t the day for secrets. “She pushed me outside your office one time. I fell over. That’s how I sprained my ankle.”

“Fuck, really?” Aegon says, peering up at you from the sand. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead, glistening with Coppertone Sport. “I’m so sorry. That should never have happened. I’ll talk to her.”

“I’m sure that’ll go well.”

“She’ll listen to me,” Aegon insists. “She’ll cave. She always does.”

You look at him, accusing, certain. “You don’t love her.”

“I couldn’t marry her if I did,” he says casually. “But she chose this. She could call it off anytime she wanted, but she won’t. I’ll go home tonight and find out she’s bought twenty books on nursing from Amazon. And it’s not forever. I’m a curse, not a life sentence. My clock is ticking down a lot faster than everyone else’s.”

What if I want that time with you? you think helplessly. What if I love you?

Aegon pushes his sunglasses up into his hair so he can study you with no obstructions, so there’s nowhere to hide. “The wedding might be your last chance to see me, you know?”

“Right,” you say, listening to the shrieks of circling California gulls and the dull primordial rumble of the ocean, a beast that swallows sunlight, a titan with no lifespan.

As you take the 1 southeast back towards Downtown, Elysian Park, Harbor Gateway, Aegon tells you to stop at the Getty Villa Museum. You don’t argue; you don’t want to go home yet either. You don’t want to lose a second of the time you have left with him.

There is an extensive collection of ancient Greek and Roman art, gods, goddesses, heroes, monsters, coins, weapons, magic. Here is an altar carved with the myth of Adonis, here is a horse made of oxidized bronze, here is a Breccia marble fertility goddess whose name no one remembers, here is a bust of Caligula, the emperor who went mad. You pause to admire a statue of Medusa, snakes instead of hair and a face twisted with wrath.

“Don’t look, she’ll turn you to stone,” Aegon whispers as he covers your eyes with gentle, feather-light hands. “That’s the last thing you need. Another curse.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon targaryen x you

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year ago

Text

That's My Man

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~500

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Spencer gets a haircut and you have a most pleasant reaction to it.

Square Filled: holidays (2023) for @cmbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

It’s been an entire month since you’ve seen your boyfriend but he’s back now. He spent Christmas and New Years with his mother back in Las Vegas while you stayed with your family in Virginia. You two are still so new that you haven’t had the chance to meet his family, and you weren't going to let your first meeting be the holidays.

If and when you’re going to do it, you want to do it right.

While the holidays might be over, the snow is still coming down in waves, making this a white winter. Snow is probably your favorite kind of weather because you get to create angels and snowmen and forts and anything else you want. You want to do that and go ice skating with Spencer tomorrow when the sun is out but for right now, you’re going to have a movie marathon.

He’s staying over for the entire weekend and you can’t be more excited than you are right now.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice comes from the front hallway. The door opens to face a solid wall fifteen feet from the door. To the left is the kitchen and to the right is the living room. “I’m here!”

You gave him a key pretty early on because you already knew he was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with. It’s one of those things where you just know. You love him so much and you don’t want to waste any time with him.

“In here!” you call from the right. Spencer shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook in front of him before closing and locking the door. He walks into the living room and you turn to greet him when a confused frown sits on your face. “Why are you wearing a beanie?”

Spencer hates hats. He doesn’t like the feel of them or how he looks in them. Why is he wearing a beanie? He hasn’t all winter.

“I don’t know. I liked how it looked on me.”

“Mmhmm.” You get up and walk over to him. “Now what’s the real reason?” He looks shy as if he’s embarrassed to tell you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine. Just… don’t laugh, okay?”

“Okay.”

He takes off his beanie and your jaw practically drops to the floor. He messes with his hair to make it look good but you’re fixed on that the fact that he got a haircut. He doesn't have long curly hair anymore. It’s short and slightly spiked. There are longer pieces in the front but he’s cut it all off.

God fucking damn. He looks so goddamn fine.

“Please say something,” he sighs, unable to take the silence anymore.

“Oh, my God.” He lowers his head knowing you must hate it. “Look at my man!” He snaps his head up as a slight blush creeps up his neck. “Damn, you look so good! Is that Spencer Reid? My gorgeous man?”

“Okay, stop,” he smiles, blushing profusely. You jump into his arms and kiss his face all over, and he tips his head back and laughs. “Okay, okay, okay!”

You pull away with a loving smile and keep your arms wrapped around his neck.

“You look very handsome.”

“Thank you,” he smiles.

Choosing you has got to be the best thing he could have ever done for himself.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fluff

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hogwartsfirebolt · 1 year ago

Text

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

#quidditch rivals but ohh they’re secret lovers bet NOBODY saw that coming #kinda unsure about the tone shift at the end but ITS LATE I’m sorry ok #I just wanted earnest Harry which is MY FAVORITW THING #drarry #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #my writing #mywriting

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babyleostuff · 1 year ago

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BOBPUL ENCOUNTERS A SNOWMAN | KIM MINGYU

“Look at the two of you,” you giggled, as Mingyu picked up your fluff ball dressed in a black puffer jacket, matching with her dad. “You’re adorable,” you cooed, scratching Bobpul behind her ears, as she wiggled impatiently in Mingyu's grip, earning a laugh from your boyfriend.

“Me or Bobpul?” He questioned, tucking your hair behind your ear, as you leaned closer to the dog. “Both of you. My babies are the cutest,” you scrunched your nose at Bobpul, who looked like she was having the time of her life. Her tail was wagging against Mingyu's arm and you couldn't wait until you let her run in the snow where she would go crazy with happiness.

“I have a feeling she likes you more than me,” he said, nuzzling his nose into her white fur, making Bobpul squirm even more. “You little traitor,” he whispered, before setting her on the ground, and grabbing her leash from the shelf.

Honestly, it was fucking unfair how handsome your boyfriend looked, even with his face mostly covered by his black bucket hat. As much as you loved him dressed up in suits and all of those amazing stage outfits, this version of him had to be your favorite - it wasn’t idol Mingyu who was standing in front of you, but your Gyu, and it made him so much more perfect.

“Stop staring at me,” Mingyu mumbled shyly, fixing Bobpul’s collar.

“I wasn’t looking at you, I was looking at my little princess,” you smiled at your dog, who looked like she didn’t have any other thought than snow snow snow in her head. Mingyu chuckled, knowing you were lying - after all this time together, you were like an open book to him. “Sure, baby.”

Something about this scene was so oddly domestic - you getting ready to go on a walk with your dog, Mingyu and Bobpul wearing matching jackets, you bundled up in one of your boyfriend’s hoodies and his coat that was way too big for you - it all felt like one of Mingyu’s hugs in the morning when neither of you wanted to leave the bed.

“You guys are like my little Christmas miracle, you know?” You smiled, pulling a beanie over your boyfriend’s head.

“Oh, baby,” he pouted, looking at you from where he was kneeling by Bobpul. It was moments like these that reminded you why you endured all the hardships of dating an idol - nothing could beat the tenderness with which Mingyu looked at you.

“I love you. So much,” he said and stood up, pulling you into his arms - into your safe place that felt like a blanket and a cup of tea on a cold winter morning, into the one place you could stay forever in.

“Love you too, Gyu,” you mumbled, placing a kiss on his jaw, as he pressed his lips against your forehead.

Immersed in your own bubble of love, you didn't notice how Bobpul impatiently paced back and forth until she finally decided to make her presence known, letting out a loud woof, woof.

“Yeah, you’re right baby. Let’s go,” you laughed at her, grabbing Mingyu’s hand in yours, just as he managed to sneak in one last kiss on your lips with a loud muah. You snickered, gently smacking him in the ribs with your intertwined hands. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

…

The second you stepped outside, Mingyu pulled out his camera taking a few pictures of you and Bobpul. Of course he did - he was a family man through and through, and he loved taking photos of his family, including you. It always made you blush whenever you visited his mom and dad, and some of your framed photos stood in the living as if you were a part of the Kim family.

“Put that thing away, and let’s make a snowman,” you clapped your mittenclad hands, smiling at Mingyu.

You spent the next few hours building snowman, with occasional breaks for snowball fights and rolling in the snow (Mingyu fell while carrying you and you landed on the ground together), along with Bobpul, who was running happily around you, barking and snorting as the snow got to her to the nose.

“Please, Gyu. Don’t drop it,” you shot your boyfriend a worried look, as he picked up the last part of your snowman - it’s head, because knowing Mingyu, nothing was safe in his hands - especially not a big ball of snow.

Fortunately, he managed to put everything together, and all parts of the snowman were safely in their places. “Too bad we don't have any carrots,” you sighed, looking at what looked more like three snowballs lying on top of each other than a snowman. "It's good that you have a boyfriend like me, then," he laughed and took out a carrot from his pocket, along with some small stones that you could use to make mouths and eyes.

“Oh my God, I have the best boyfriend ever,” you gasped dramatically, cradling his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks together. “The most thoughtful, strong, smart, handsome, dashing, adorable, funny-,”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m amazing,” Mingyu rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face told you he wasn’t annoyed in the slightest.

“Mhm, you are,” you whispered, pulling his head down, and pecking his lips. “Ugh, put on a lip balm or something. Your lips are chapped like they haven’t seen vaseline in a year.”

“You little,” Mingyu bent down and collected snow in his hands, ready to throw it all at you, as if you weren’t already covered by it from head to toe.

Luckily, your little girl came to your aid, without even realizing it. "Bobpul? What happened, why are you barking like that?" Mingyu, surprised, turned to the dog and let out all the snow he was holding in his hands. The momentary worry that something had happened to your dog quickly turned to amusement as you burst out laughing when you saw Bobpul standing in front of your snowman and barking at him like crazy.

Mingyu looked like he was about to cry with laughter, and it made everything so much funnier. “Baby, it’s just a snowman,” you mused, picking up your pup and petting her to calm her down. “Nothing to bark at, hm. You scared me for a second there,” you murmured, bumping your nose with hers.

Focusing on Bobpul, you didn't notice when Mingyu pulled out his camera again, only a quiet click brought your attention back to him. "I had to, you look so cute together," he smiled, his cheeks flushed pink. “My girls,” he said, putting one of his hands on Bobpul’s head and cradling your face with the other.

You wondered if the next time you visited his parents you’d find this photo standing on a shelf in the living room.

because I couldn't find out if bobpul is a boy or a girl, I refer to her/him as a girl

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yapperblog · 9 months ago

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Belongings

Tags: established relationship, smut with tiny bit of plot, +18

Explicit RPF below don't interact if you are not comfortable with that

You watch Joost take things out of his pockets and put on the top of your dresser while he tells you about his day. The gesture is so simple, yet so intimate. You love seeing his belongings around your apartment, it serves as a little reminder that he is really yours.

He turns to you briefly and smiles to himself mid sentence at the fact that you are watching him so intently from your bed, already in your pyjamas. Your bed looks so warm and comfortable, it has been a miserable rainy day, he can't wait to get in and nestle into your waiting arms. His favorite place in the world.

He takes off his puffy jacket and leaves it on the chair nearby, revealing the hoodie he is wearing underneath. He throws his hat onto the same chair and runs a hand through his hair to tame it after wearing a hat all day. You see him reach into his pockets, taking out his phone, wallet, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and random receipts he collected throughout the day, leaving it all on your dresser. You smile listening to him to talk and the sound of clatter.

He also puts the keys to your apartment next to the assortment of his belongings. You gave him the keys a couple of months ago, so that he could come over any time he wants or if you accidentally fall asleep waiting for him after a long day of working in the studio or traveling and he could still come in. He prefers coming straight to you instead of sleeping alone at his own place and coming over in the morning. He sleeps so much better in your embrace and especially after long hours he needs it. He put the keys you gave him on his own keychain next to all of his own, and added a charm which reminds him of you.

"There is leftover dinner in the kitchen, if you want." you say as he takes off his watch and rubs his wrist.

"We ordered takeaway to the studio, but thank you." he turns to look at you and smiles. Even a small gesture of offering him dinner wakes up the butterflies in his stomach. He loves being taken care of, knowing you cooked having him in mind spreads a warm feeling all over his body. He asks about your day, and while you tell him, he continues to undress watching you talk explaining something with your hands. He takes off his hoodie and it leaves him only in a tight white tank top and jeans.

You try to continue telling your story without stumbling over words, while he is leaning against your dresser, nodding listening you, his hard nipples and chest hair visible through the tank top. He truly is the most beautiful person you have ever laid your eyes own, not only is it difficult to talk under his gaze, you try not to drool at the sight before you.

"My eyes are up here." he points to his eyes with two fingers and laughs. He starts to take off his jeans, undoing the belt and zipper slowly, looking into your eyes, pulling it down his thighs slowly.

You whistle as if catcalling him as a joke. "Really hard to keep my eyes up there, hot stuff."

You've been together for quite some time now, but it never gets old seeing him undress before you. He turns around and folds the jeans putting them on the same chair his other clothes are piled on. You take the opportunity to admire how good his ass looks. As much as he loves giving you a light spank on your bottom in private when you walk past, you are obsessed with his as much.

He tries to act so tough and laugh it off, but you see him blush. At the same time your comments and seeing how much you love his body feeds his confidence and makes him bolder.

"Kind of unfair you are all covered under the blanket, don't you think?" he takes off his glasses and comes to stand at the end of the bed, as he takes off the tank top leaving him only in black Polo Ralph Lauren boxer briefs. His tattoos now on full display for you.

You move the blanket, feeling the cold air in the room invade your body, you pat the bed next to you inviting him in, your arms open. He moves quickly into your embrace, puts his arms tightly around you, and buries his head into your neck. You hear him let out a breath, tickling your neck.

"So nice to finally be back." he murmurs into your skin, you feel his body relax as he puts more of his weight on you. He faintly smells of a drink he must have had earlier and cigarettes. You wrap your arms around him, enjoying the feel and smell of him. One of your hands slowly moves in circles on his back, while the other is tangled in his hair. You notice how long it has gotten and remember the time when he asked if you could cut his hair during quarantine, when you were still friends and came to a mutual conclusion that you will stay at his apartment, because you both couldn't bear the thought of not seeing each other daily. You butchered the haircut horribly and it makes you chuckle at the memory.

He lifts his head, studying your face. His eyes are blazing, it might be a trick of the warm light coming from the bedside lamp, but you still feel the heat coming off of him. His gaze drops to your lips. He licks his own and leans in to kiss you. His soft lips touch yours and you melt under him, savouring the feeling. You can't help but moan as he moves you even closer to him, not leaving an inch of space between you. He angles his head to deepen the kiss, his moustache tickling your upper lip. As he moves on top of you, your pyjama top rides up a little and you feel his soft stomach press into yours.

"Did you miss me?" he asks as he pulls away.

You pretend to think, tapping your finger on your chin. "Umm. No, I didn't." you joke to tease him.

Corners of his lips turn into a smirk. "Yeah?"

He moves his leg to slip in between yours, slotting it perfectly against you. You stiffen a moan feeling his thigh stimulate you slightly, your arms tighten around his shoulders.

"Didn't miss me at all?" his arm moves under your top, slowly caressing your waist. His hand is still a little cold against your warm skin and it leaves a trace of goosebumps under his touch. He sees your eyes get darker with need.

You need more of him, you lean in to kiss him, but he leans away just out of your reach. "No no, admit it." he says a teasing note in his voice and smiles, a dimple revealing itself.

"You are unbelievable." you laugh and are once again proven that you can never out-tease him. He always wins in that game. "I missed you so much" you put your hands on the sides of his face and bring him closer, placing kisses on both his cheeks. "So so much" a kiss to his forehead. He is basking in your affection, his eyes closed, fully enjoying your words and actions. He jokes that he wants to hear you say that you missed him, but in reality he actually craves confirmation, even though in his heart he knows the truth already.

Your lips finally reach his. With a self-satisfied look he leans in closer whispering "That's right." His mouth catches yours roughly as he covers your body with his. You moan at the pressure and his hands tighten on your waist. Your lips part for his tongue, the tang of the drink he had and the taste of cigarettes tangling pleasantly in your mouth, because this taste belongs to him.

It feels like you are dissolving, turning into liquid under him. His mouth moves down your jaw, over your throat. Your hands scrape through his blonde hair, a little damp because he must have gotten caught in the rain outside. He lets out a low groan, his hand moving up to your chest, fingers brushing over your nipple. He keeps squeezing your boob with one hand, pinching and twisting your nipple, making your back arch, his leg which is still in between yours, adding delicious pressure.

He undoes the top buttons of your pyjama top to reveal your chest to him and continues to kiss lower down your neck, your collarbones, chest. "So beautiful" he says in between kisses finally reaching the neglected nipple, he wraps his lips around it sucking into his mouth. Your breath hitches and hands skim up his back, fingernails sinking into his warm smooth skin.

A loud moan escapes you. He doesn't tease you for it, it only urges him on further. You want him to see you like this and know he is the reason why. His hands move slowly to your sides, pressing himself flush against you, he starts to help you move against his leg slotted in between your legs. He feels how wet you got through your panties, a low hum rumbles through him.

"So wet for me already" his mouth moves to the side of your throat, teeth sinking into your collarbone. "You should not miss me more often."

Your laugh dies in your throat as he rolls his hips against your side, friction of his stomach and hard cock electric. "I bet I could slip right in already." his hand moves down your stomach, his hand looks big splayed on you, it makes your pussy clench at the thought. He stops at the waistband of your panties, looking up at you asking for permission.

"Please, Joost, don't stop." you whine giving him a green flag.

His fingers move past the waistband, reaching exactly where you need him, through your folds, feeling how wet you are. His finger enters you, feeling you squeeze tightly. He starts to move inside you, making scissoring motions and adding a second finger to stretch you and get ready for him. In return, you reach between you and palm him through his boxers. You want to feel him hot and bothered for you too.

"Fuck." he hisses, his head tilting back at your touch. You reach into his boxers, wrapping your hand around him, feeling his hard and heavy cock, tip already leaking pre-cum. You've always loved how much your pleasure turns him on. He groans as he moves himself within your hand.

You push his boxers down, and continue to stroke him with one hand.

"I want you inside of me." you say, your voice raspy from how worked up he got you.

He nods quickly and stands up to take off his underwear fully, at the same time you take off your top and panties, laying down ready for him. He crawls in bed, maintaining eye contact, until he settles in between your legs.

"I want you so bad." you say to him, encouraging him to continue.

"I love hearing you say it." he confesses, but you already knew it.

He moves his hand up and down his length a couple of times and leans in to line himself up with your hole and finally pushes into you. Slowly, carefully, his face only inches from yours. As much as he loves being adventurous with you in bed, trying new positions, missionary on days like this, when the thought of you wouldn't leave his head all day, seeing you so wet and ready for him, is all he wants.

As you move together, it is as if the world around you stops, you hear the rain drops hit against the window, but you are sure no one else exists in this moment, only the two of you.

His hands try to touch you everywhere at once, yours splayed across his shoulders. He looks into your eyes, trying to reach your soul. He thrusts deeper, harder.

"Fuck, Joost."

"Too much?" he asks, slowing.

You shake your head no, he understands and continues with no restraint.

"I thought about you all day." you say. "Thought about touching myself at the memory of us together. But I didn't, I was waiting for you." your voice breathy, from his thrusts.

Your words make his head spin. He can't believe you want him as much as he wants you. You feel him twitch inside of you. You don't want this moment to ever end.

"But even my imagination wouldn't be as good as this" you say. Your voice and confessions make it so hard for him to last.

"You are perfect." He leans in to kiss you. "Get on your hands and knees for me."

He helps you turn around, easily moving your body. He lines up and pushes back into you. You brace yourself on your arms, in this position he can reach even deeper, setting a steady pace. The sound of your mixed moans and skin slapping filling the room. You can feel the bulge forming in your stomach how deep he is in you.

One of his stays on your hip moving you as he wants, the other wraps around your torso to reach you clit, he starts to draw fast circles and your arms give out, your back arching for even a better angle for the both of you.

"You feel so good around me." he says, voice strained, thrusts getting harder and faster, his own peak nearing.

You bury your face into the pillow and let out a loud moan "Fuckfuckfuck, I'm cuming." as you reach your climax, he feels you squeeze impossibly tight around him. Something about this night, being so needy for him all day, watching him undress, seeing his belongings in every corner of your apartment made your climax the strongest in a while.

He manages a few more thrusts, his chest now pressed to your back, both hands holding your hips, chasing his own release. You are glad he is holding you, otherwise your legs would have given up too. With a low groan pressed tightly against you feel him release into you, as his thrusts come to a gradual stop, as he stuffs his cum inside of you.

He massages your asscheeks and starts to pull out, seeing your mixed release, trickle down your thigh.

He wants to keep it all in, but knows how overstimulated you must be, so he doesn't, instead he plops down next to you.

You put your head on his chest, which is now sticky with sweat, but you don't mind. You kiss his hairy chest, looking up at him, your eyes full of love for him.

He reaches down to kiss you, but he starts smiling so wide, it turns into a clash of teeth. You both laugh and then settle into comfortable silence, as you listen to his steady heartbeat and he draws mindless patterns on your arm with his fingers, enjoying the closeness.

"I am actually really keen on the leftover dinner." he says. "I just wanted you first."

He feels you laugh against his stomach. "Let's get cleaned up and then eat" you suggest.

#joost klein #joost klein rpf #joost klein x reader #joost klein smut #those tank top pics had me thinking thoughts

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musubi-sama · 11 months ago

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Rainy Day Dropoff

How some of our favorite JJK men would handle a little downpour and getting your toddler off to daycare.

A/N: The bike in question is in the header image, a standard mamachari. The kid seat sits over the front forks, they're really easy to ride and control, especially if you have a battery-powered one. I love mine. I also deeply abhor morning drop-off when it's raining. Pickup is fun because puddles and playtime!

WC: 844

The morning drop-off, a routine you and your toddler have down to a science, a well-oiled machine. You leave the house at the same time every day, say “bye bye, papa!” and the two of you toddle over to your mamachari. It’s a nice ride through the neighborhood over to daycare. Peaceful, quiet, a lovely time to teach your child about what they see and listen to their adorable attempts to repeat your words.

But this morning, it’s pouring rain with no signs of stopping. You steel yourself for the wet trip there and back, knowing that despite a rain poncho, a hat, and hood, you always come back giving your best drenched cat impression.

Ah, but your dear husband has heard your grumbling and decided to handle the drop off today.

Nanami Kento - Kento wakes up first and sees the weather. Immediately, he adjusted his morning routine to get both him and your toddler out the door and into both daycare and work successfully and on time. He doesn’t often do drop-offs, but he knows how much you hate going out in the rain. Pulling out his waterproof hiking and rain boots, he sits by the door, and you watch little hands grab the tops of his boots as he tugs them on with exaggerated effort. You help both put their raincoats and helmets on (most adults eschew a helmet, but not your husband!) and see them out the door.

Kento quickly gets everyone situated on the bike under the parking space cover and sets off cautiously. Once at daycare, he sits your toddler on the spacious porch and runs back to zip up the rain cover on the bike seat, ensuring it stays dry for pickup in the afternoon. Luckily, your usually energetic toddler stays put under the overhang instead of bolting off. Dropoff is quick, everyone stays dry, and no accidental wet feet after taking off their boots and storing for the afternoon return trip.

Suguru Geto - Suguru checked the weather in advance and set his alarm slightly early to make sure he could get the bike moved over to a dry spot closer to the front door of the apartment building. Once everyone is out the door, he grabs an extra umbrella to provide extra coverage. Not a drop on either him nor your toddler as he gets them situated in their seat and the rain cover zipped down. He makes sure to draw a little flower in the fog forming on the plastic window. Hitting every puddle just to pull laughs from your toddler along the short journey.

Pulling out the extra umbrella at daycare, again a quick and dry transfer into the daycare. He repeats the routine at pickup and even brings a set of rain pants to let the little one splash around and remain dry before returning home.

Satoru Gojo - Satoru sees the rain and calls Ijichi to drive you and your toddler into daycare. On a normal, dry day he doesn’t mind you biking the kids in. Even though everyone else arrives by car, you insisted that you use your mamachari. It’s a gentle exercise, the view is stunning (especially in the spring while riding along the sakura-lined river), and the two of you strike up adorable conversations about what you each see. But in this weather, you easily relent and hop in the car.

Hiromi Higuruma - Your dear Hiromi has the best of intentions, both in boots, but oops the jacket is forgotten because it’s warm outside. The bike is parked under cover, sure, but there’s a hole in the roof drainage right next to the bike, exactly in the spot he needs to stand in to put your toddler in their seat. While the ride is quick, his poncho hood flies off his head immediately, the wind buffeting you both. And despite his best efforts, he hit a few puddles along the way. At least someone finds them fun.

Once he arrives, he quickly grabs the bag of clothes and daily supplies and reaches into the seat, picking up the almost-2-year-old. As soon as he places them standing on the ground he hears-

“Papa, shoe! Papa, shoe!”

“Shit, ah fuck, I mean, sorry!” failing to control his language knowing that that little toddler brain will absolutely pick up on those words and use it later. He looks down to see a little one-footed hop and a missing boot. Ah ha, it was in the bike seat. Quickly, but not fast enough, he manages to stuff the little, wet, foot back into the boot.

He picks up the bag and toddler and jogs over to the front patio at daycare. Shedding his poncho and punching in the door code, he sits your toddler down to take off boots and socks. And then he notices how wet the front of your toddler’s clothes is. Right, wet poncho. After handing them off to the staff, he just gives a lopsided smile as they look over the wet patches on the toddler, running to see their friends.

#jen の stories #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #nanami kento #geto suguru #gojo satoru #higuruma hiromi #jjk nanami #jjk suguru #jjk satoru #jjk hiromi

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r4fe-cam3ron · 5 months ago

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SPECIAL EDITION | CHRISTMAS (BABY, PLEASE COME HOME) — truck driver!e. munson x reader

w; truckdiver!eddie au of course :D, does not follow st, mentions of pregnancy and sickness.

an; MERRY CHRISTMAS! this is my gift to you guys - i hope everyone has a safe and wonderful christmas. stay warm <3 thank you for all of your support!

An agitated huff leaves your lips when a - luckily - plastic ornament falls and bounces close towards the flannel couch. You stare at it dejectedly, walking closer towards the couch. Bending at the hips, you let out a small sound and wince before standing once again, hands landing on your belly.

“You, little sir, better come soon.” You had till February until Grayson was welcomed into the world. Maybe you could wait a couple more weeks until he popped out.

You stare at the ornament quietly, pouting. It’s silly, getting upset over something that had slipped from your hand and rolled near the couch leg. And you would not call Wayne to walk out into the snow just to come pick up some plastic ball.

Turning, you decide to plop down near the phone. Your feet prop onto the coffee table in front of you, your eyes landing on the television that plays some sort of commercial for JcPenney's.

You groan when it comes on, turning your head towards the hallway and stare at the open door. You needed to wrap the last few of Eddie’s presents before he came home.

He didn’t like leaving you - especially when it’s hard for you to even get up in the morning, let alone being sick every time you fix something to eat.

Plus - it’s Christmas. Who wants to work on Christmas when you can spend it with loved ones instead?

The phone ringing quickly catches your attention - you’ll get to wrapping after this phone call, knowing he couldn’t talk long. Reaching over, you quickly press the phone onto your ear.

“Eddie?”

“Hi, Mama. How are you?” The name is meant to be endearing, a scoff leaving your lips every time he calls you that jokingly. You need to get used to it was his excuse.

“I’m okay. About cried over an ornament falling and rolling towards the couch,” You lean your head back. You can hear cars passing by. “This kid of yours is getting in the way.”

“Well, he is my son,” You can hear the grin in his voice. “I’m sorry I’m not home though. Why didn’t you call Wayne to help put up the rest?”

“And make the poor man trek through his snow and wind? No way. I’m not doing that to Uncle Wayne,” You shake your head to yourself. “Are you wearing a hat?”

“Wh— Oh, yeah.”

“Gloves?”

“Mhm.”

“What about a scarf and your big, puffy jacket?” Your eyes squint suspiciously at the ceiling.

“Sure.”

“Edward Munson.”

“Uh-oh,” He chuckles. You swore you could hear the chattering of his teeth over the phone. “Full government name. I’ve been bad, huh?”

“You should not be standing outside in…probably only a flannel, small jacket, some combat boots, and whatever skinny jeans you packed,” You huff. “I don’t want you getting sick.”

“I'm not going to, sweetheart,” He sounds soft, you could almost drift off to sleep and take a small nap. Wrapping presents. “If it makes you feel any better, I do have the beanie on.”

“You need the other things on. Not just that,” You grumble. “Promise me you’ll put them on when you get into that truck.”

“Okay.”

“Promise me, Eddie.”

“Okay. Okay. I promise.” He gives in.

Your lips pull into a grin, nodding to yourself. You had won — again, of course. “Okay, great. Thank you,” You say. “One more question - how is it?”

“Eh, it’s okay. Roads are a bit backed up since everyone’s traveling home for the holidays,” You frown and glance down at the magazine on the table, tugging at the hem of your shirt. You’re quiet for a moment until Eddie speaks up once again. “Where’d you go, sweetheart?”

You glance towards the television when a song suddenly starts playing, your bottom lip pushing out slightly. It was one of your favorite Christmas songs - Christmas (Baby, please come home) by Darlene Love.

The upbeat, happy song that usually had you dancing and giggling now has you tearing up from the words. “I’m here.”

“What's wrong? Why are you—”

You let out a watery laugh, pressing the tips of your fingers into your forehead as your eyes shut. “I’m fine…I just miss you and this song is making it worse.”

“The one you like?”

“Mhm…” You stare at the television. “I’ll let you go, honey. Please, please, please put your jacket, gloves, and scarf on when you get into the truck. And be safe - no road rage either.”

“Me? Road rage?”

“I’ve known you for 12 years, Eddie,” You deadpan. “Even when Wayne would drive us somewhere, you’d yell from the backseat.”

He grumbles mostly to himself, but you smile softly. You miss his grumbling. “Okay,” He gives in once again. “I love you. Stay warm, okay?”

“Okay…you too,” You say, turning towards the table. “I love you. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The line goes down and you place the phone back on the receiver, huffing as you scoot your way off the couch. You grab the remote, clicking the television off. Standing, you walk into the kitchen, yelping at the cold tiles and jumping slightly. Spotting Eddie’s slippers, you quickly walk over and push your feet into them before walking back to the fruit bowl.

You grab a tangerine, the scissors, and tape before making your way into the bedroom. Sighing, you eye the flannels you’d picked out for him and some of his favorite cologne. You place a slice of fruit into your mouth, before settling onto the bed.

—

Hours had passed, Eddie’s presents had been, not so delicately, placed under the tree. The warm colorful lights make the tinsel shine and you smile sleepily at how cozy everything feels - especially when you snuggle onto the couch with a heating pad and blankets, a couple of pillows pushed under your back.

You’d made some sugar cookies as well - Grayson, of course, had a sweet tooth. So you had to make them. They're cooling on a plate in the kitchen now.

You’d turned out the main lights, allowing the trailer to just bask in the warm glow of Christmas lights. The television was playing A Christmas Story - one of Eddie’s favorites and you feel bad for even watching it without him. The volume was down a couple of notches, the wind outside could be heard through the window - the chill of the air sneaking inside making you shiver slightly and pull the blanket higher under your chin.

You’re comfortable.

So comfortable you finally drift off after a long, hard day.

You’re woken up by something brushing against your cheeks, eyes slowly opening. Your vision is a bit blurry and your neck hurts and you can distinctly feel drool slipping past the corner of your lips. Blinking away the heaviness, you can finally make out the wild curls and Eddie’s dimples.

“Eddie?” You mumble. He chuckles, nodding. He did as he promised - put on the winter clothes you wanted him too. He slips off his gloves, and reaches a hand up, brushing the drool from the corner of your lips.

“It’s me, sweetheart.”

“When did…what?” You’re still confused, believing this was truly a dream and it was fake. There was no way Eddie was home, now, in front of you, looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars in the night sky.

He laughs softly. When you blink once again, his hands grip your cheeks softly, pressing a kiss to your lips. His plush lips were slightly chapped and freezing. You shiver slightly.

He pulls away and grins at you. You can’t help but think about how cute he looks in that puffer jacket - the fur around the hood had a bit of snow slowly melting into it. The black beanie he wears tapers down his curls to his cheeks, covering his fringe and a bit of his brows. You know his hair is about to look insane.

“How did you make it home so early?” You reach for him, pulling him close. He smells of his faded cologne and syrup with a hint of hot chocolate.

“I broke a couple of laws,” He teases, hand landing on top of your stomach softly, thumb sliding back and forth slowly. “Kidding,” He quickly says when he catches the look you give him.

“I was going to stop at a hotel about an hour ago, but realized how close I was. I decided to go ahead and come home to you because I missed you way too much to stay away any longer.”

You press a kiss to his cold cheek, draping the blanket over him and pulling him even closer - as much as you could. He lets out a small laugh, kicking his shoes off.

“You should’ve taken those off by the door.” You mumble, eyes sliding close once again when his fingers lift from your stomach to trace along your cheekbones.

“I should’ve,” He whispers softly, now tracing above your eyebrow. “But you looked so cute and I had to give you a kiss,” You hum softly.

“I also got you some hash browns.” His finger trails down the slope of your nose slowly before tracing over your lips. He smirks when one of your eyes open, peeking over at him.

“Hash browns, you say?”

“Mhm,” He nods. “Maybe some warm waffles as well.”

“Have I told you I loved you?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs with a cute grin.

“How about that I’m in love with you?” You open both eyes now, ready to demolish some greasy food.

“Hm, that’s a new one I think,” He stands from the couch and walks towards the kitchen. He grabs the to-go plates and the cup. He makes his way back, holding them out. “Chocolate milk.”

“Oh, yes,” He smiles as he watches you grab the food from his hands. You take a sip of the thick chocolate, groaning. “That’s so good. It’s the best chocolate milk I’ve ever had.”

He leans closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I know, baby. That’s why I got you some,” He lifts once again. “I’m gonna go stand under some hot water for a couple of minutes. You need anything?”

You think but shake your head. “No, I’m okay. Thank you, honey.”

“Okay. Shout if you need anything.”

You nod and uncover the food, grabbing the plastic fork. Smiling, Eddie walks away, grabbing a sugar cookie as he passes. He steps into the bedroom, flipping on the light.

“Eddie!” You shout, causing him to trip over his feet. He quickly runs out of the room, stumbling to a stop.

“What? What is it? What happened?”

You grin, watching his chest heave as his eyes glance around. “I just wanted to remind you to put your boots by the door.”

He stares at you before squinting his eyes. “Was that necessary?” He walks over and grabs his boots, walking towards the door and placing them on the small rack.

You shrug innocently, taking a sip of your chocolate milk. “You said to shout.”

He hums softly, walking back towards the bedroom. “You’re lucky I love you!” He grabs some clean pajamas and a towel.

“I am very lucky that you love me!” You call back. Eddie smiles and shakes his head as he closes the door.

“Merry Christmas to me.” He whispers to himself.

| tags — @oceanblvd111 ; @ali-r3n

| please do not copy my work! comments, feedbacks, reblogs, & requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated! ❅

| border — @/silkholland

#joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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stargirl-int3rlud3 · 2 years ago

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𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤.

straw hat crew x fem! reader

🗯 ! swearing, flirting, slight suggestive language !

synopsis; how i interpret opla characters would react to having a hyper feminine lover. — ♡ ᵎᵎ

LUFFY; Personally, Luffy doesn't really care too much what you wear. He thinks you look great in whatever you choose to wear. However, he is your biggest supporter and hype man. Constant compliments left and right about how gorgeous you are and how he's so lucky to have you. Luffy would definitely be one to treat you like a princess. I'm talking carries you around in his arms and puts a jacket done on wet puddles. He highly believes in chivalry and is the biggest gentleman.

You had just recently gotten a new, cute, pink skirt and today was the day you planned on wearing it. When you walk out of Luffy's cabin in the new clothing piece his eyes suddenly fall upon you. "Woah!! Is that new?" Luffy approaches you staring at the piece. "It is, you like?" You ask, spinning for Luffy, so that he gets a full view of the skirt. "Like it? I love it!!" He exclaims, lightly placing his hands on your hips to feel the texture of the skirt. Not too long after, Luffy is running left and right carrying you around in his arms. Some low-life, pirate was trying to attack Luffy and now here you were, tightly nestled against his chest as he tried his very hardest not to let a single stain of mud or any other substance onto your pretty little skirt that he now deemed one of his favorites.

ZORO; He LOVES him some hyper feminine girlies (and hyper feminine girlies love him). The constant slaps to your ass prove just how much he loves the way you dress. He loves admiring how great you look and the jealous looks he gets when men walk by you to see that such a pretty girl is situated on his lap. It boosts his confidence which can be both and good and bad thing. I like to think that Zoro is quite the possessive man and doesn't like sharing, which is why he feeds into your pink obsession. He loves watching your doe eyes beg for him to buy you a new cute pink outfit, he always seems to cave in.

You stare at Zoro through your beautiful lashes with a sweet, sincere smile on your face. Zoro caresses your face sweetly, before moving your head to the side to place even sweeter kisses along your neck until his lips brush up against your. "..I suppose you can get it, since you want it so badly"He smirks at you, staring deep into your doll-like eyes. You wrap your arms around Zoro's neck, "Eeeek!! Thank you so much Zoro, you're the bestest boyfriend ever!!" He watches as you race to the cash register with loving eyes. After shopping, Zoro convinced you to let him take you out for a nice dinner. Now that you're here you think part of it was because Zoro wanted to flaunt you off to anyone that would dare look your way. His smirk got wider and wider by the hour as men would make their way towards you just to quickly turn around at the sight of you so nicely sat in Zoro's lap. While you did find it cute that he wanted to flaunt you to the world you also found his overconfidence to be slightly...annoying at times as he would talk about a random guy's face drop rapidly at the sight of Zoro.

NAMI; Similarly to Luffy, she doesn't really care what you wear as long as you're comfy in what you're wearing. That doesn't mean she dislikes the way pink fits you so well. Nami could never really see herself wearing pink, so to see her lover wearing it so beautifully, she's awestruck to say the least. Due to Nami's sarcastic nature, she constantly is making princess jokes to you.

"Hey Princess, you need help getting down" Nami jokes as you're about to step off the ship. You roll your eyes playfully, following along, "Why yes I would, my knight" She smiles at you before laughs bubble from her throat and out of her perfect lips. You reach your hand out towards her, grazing your hand over her lips. She notices quickly, arching one of her eyebrows at the gesture. Retreating your hand back, you turn away from her with a slight pink across your face. Suddenly, you're dipped and met with a smirking Nami who delicately places her lips upon yours. Your palms meet her face as you pull her even closer than before. " Hey lovebirds, let's get our asses moving!" Zoro scolds you two with a slight look of disgust which leaves you and Nami giggling. "Sorry, Zoro, my princess needed her knight" She jokes nudging you softly.

SANJI; This man loves any woman who will give him the light of day. So the fact that you, a pretty hyper feminine girl, chose HIM. Oh, he fantasizes and daydreams about you like a schoolgirl with a crush. When you show off a new outfit to him, he is all ears and eyes and will tell you how every piece fits together so well to create a masterpiece fit so perfectly for you. I can see Sanji adding natural pink food coloring to your foods just to watch your face light up at the sight of it. Seeing you in cute pink crop tops and skirts as well as many other categories of clothing, makes Sanji want to get on his knees for you (not in that way- okay, maybe a little bit in that way). He is such a simp at heart and will do anything for you.

"Sanji? How is this outfit for lunch?" You ask posing for the blonde man who admired you greatly. "Anything you wear is utmost stunning as it is already being worn by a masterpiece" He explains his reasoning to you with a cute smile that you adore. You skip your way over to Sanji as he leads you to the dining area by your hand that is intertwined with his. He sweetly pushes you into your chair once you've sat down. Sanji sits close to you watching for your reaction as you take of the silver covering over your food. When the food is finally on display your eyes sparkle and you emit a sound of joy as you turn to see a lovesick Sanji. You grab his face placing lipgloss stained kisses all over his face and it's like he's in heaven with how lovesick he is. "You gotta bit of something like...all over your face" Nami points out to Sanji as he takes a quick peek in a mirror, only to fall to the floor with his eyes filled with hearts.

USOPP; We already know based off of the whole Kaya thing that this man is a nervous wreck when it comes to women which is surprising because I feel as though he has a quite a list of girls that would date him. Anyways! He, much like Luffy, is your biggest supporter with his constant stuttery compliments. He worships the very ground you walk on (literally), but he's just a bit nervous at times is all. He is also a big simp, but tries to hide it by being "calm and cool".

"Please Nami!!" You beg for the girl to let you decorate her hair. "For the last time, no" Nami told you sternly, leaving you pouting. You just wanted someone to do girly things with sometimes,but Nami never wanted to do the things you wanted to. What you didn't know was that Usopp was currently watch your sad, distressed face as you walk away from Nami. He hurries towards you stopping in front of you with a big grin on his features. You're somewhat startled by your lovers suddenly appearance, "Oh? Hi, Usopp!!" "What are you so sad for?" He asks, examining your face. "Oh...I wanted to do Nami's hair all pretty, but she seems to be annoyed with my asks" You inform the boy of the situation. "You could do mine, if you'd like" Usopp suggests. Your eyes shine brighter than a thousand suns as you jump into Usopp's arms, leaving a red hue on his face. "You would do that for me, Uso?" "Y-yeah, I don't see why not" He rubs his hand on the back of his neck, not being able to look you in the eyes. You kiss his cheek and drag him to your cabin.

☆ | this was SOOOOOO fun to write, i feel like i captured them pretty well :D

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