#that man is just too obsessed with his girl

[overallsonfrogs]

I just read Aaron’s chapter from the RainbowCrate edition of TKM and MY GOD it’s one of my favorite things Nora’s ever written

8 years into reading these books and something finally made me give a shit about Aaron

[pineapple-downside-up-cake]

I've gone a bit feral over the inexperienced Simon agenda. I'm also a little obsessed with the 'size kink but in the not-feeling oversized' post.

It was supposed to be short and dirty... Before I knew it there were 3k words. I don't even know if it's still smut or if it's just a sex scene, but it's being released into the wild, anyway. Enjoy!

18+, MDNI

CW: use of sex toy; inexperienced Simon Riley, mentions of weight insecurity

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There are no waifs in your family line.

Peasants, farmers, horses... a dwarf or nine? Quite possibly.

It's not that you're fat, per se.

You're just solid. A bulwark of a woman in a world that venerates the narrow-boned, slim sculpted beauty that was never in your cards.

You’ve had lovers in the past, not all of them terrible. A few with enough reciprocity even to prioritize your pleasure, and it’s not entirely their fault if you’ve deliberately put brains over brawns – your friends might point out that your type skews heavily towards ‘spindly legged nerds’.

It’s not so much preference as happenstance. These are the people you are around, the kind of men you can talk to long enough to form a basis for intercourse. And, you remind them as you remind yourself, intelligence and personality are supposed to be desirable qualities, as well. Things that matter more to a relationship than appearances.

But you’ve always been aware of the physical imbalances, always careful to balance your weight, to curb your strength and pleasure to avoid breaking your twiggy lovers. It wasn’t bad. Just…measured.

Restrained.

Restraint you wish you could cast unto the last guy you dated, who went all in that first night on the couch in his apartment, a night that has haunted your psyche since.

You’d lost your balance, landed a little too heavily – and the man had fucking laughed, letting out an uninhibited “crush me, mommy” that sent you running for the hills, feeling the least sexy you've felt since your last high school dance.

It put you off men for months, because how the hell does someone recover from that?

But when Simon - gorgeous, intelligent, you-are-the-brute-squad Simon fucking Riley - asks you out?

Well.

You say yes. Obviously.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was supposed to just be a kiss at the door.

A goodbye kiss - a good goodbye kiss, because a man with honey eyes like that deserved a little tongue in his farewell - but then you were eye to eye with him on the top step and his shoulders were just there like the only shelter you'd ever need, and of course you wrapped your arms around his neck, and suddenly your goodbye kiss at the door moved inside the door, then behind the door, and then against the door.

And you don't find yourself regretting it at all.

Kissing Simon is every bit as wonderful as you had imagined. His mouth is warm and wet and you love a man who knows how to use his tongue - not bullying, but teasing, and when he scrapes his teeth across your lip something explodes in your brain.

Kissing Simon is better than you imagined.

Your fingers curl in the back of his hair and you push yourself against his erection, suddenly wishing you were a lace and skirt kind of girl, that you didn't have two layers of denim between you, because you aren't sure you've ever been this turned on, and how good would it feel to have his warmth pressed all the way against you?

There's no way you could possibly get either pair of pants off, not without stopping, and that's not an option you're ready to consider, so instead you grip him tighter with your thighs and let the ache between your legs grow, fluttering around nothing and getting wetter by the second, arousal seeping out.

It's a kiss that last eternity, but not long enough, because soon Simon is pulling away when he should stay glued against you forever, and you reluctantly lower your legs from their new favorite spot wrapped around his waist. He rests a forearm on the wall next to you like he needs grounding or he'll fall apart without it, and you melt just a little, grateful that your legs still seem work. He drops his forehead to your shoulder, both of you quiet and gulping as you reacquaint yourselves with the taste of air.

"Fucking hell, you are..." He lifts his head to search your face like he's not quite sure it's real. That you're real. "You are all woman, aren't you?" His voice is hoarse, and you don't know if it's supposed to be a question because you were the last time you checked - granted it has been a while - but honestly what does that even mean?

His lips are plump and thoroughly kissed, glistening - by you, you did that - and you have to rip your eyes away to form a sentence.

"Do you want to stay the night?"

Simon had held you against the wall like you weighed nothing, like he didn't even have to think twice about your thighs in his hands, about strength and leverage and slotting himself perfectly between your legs, and you are so, so weak - if he decides not to stay the night, you have absolutely no shame in getting yourself off to the memory of this alone later.

You can see it in the way he forcibly pulls himself back, tension warring with responsibility, that he wants to stay. Instead you watch him coil his desire like he has to weigh anchor to get away from you.

"I've got to work in the morning. I - I should go."

And you let him go, because you can be disappointed but respectful at the same time, but you give him a hug - not another kiss, no starting that, neither of you fully yourselves again - and a smile.

"Goodnight, Simon."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Returning to his graveyard of an apartment is hard. It's far emptier than he remembers it being when left a few hours ago. He hates that he left, but he really does have to get up early for an exercise with the recruits. And if it spared him a little longer, it wasn't such a bad thing.

You had felt right in his arms. Maybe even too right - you'd locked together like a scope to a well oiled rifle, flush and secure and so fucking perfect. He’d nearly come undone right there in your hallway, fully clothed like a teenager, and what an unimpressive end to the night that would have been.

He heads straight for a long, cold, useless shower, and does his damnedest to think about the logistics order. It’s midnight when he finally crawls into bed and sets his alarm for 0600.

Normally, Simon sleeps, if not well, at least on command – a side effect of military life. But he’s still thinking about what could have been fifty-seven minutes later, and he should have known better than to prolong the inevitable.

He's no stranger to an attitude adjusting wank. His palm isn’t particularly special or exciting, but it can usually get the job done well enough. Tonight, as he slides down the elastic of his sweats, he finds his imagination has returned with a vengeance.

He’s hard again and he hasn’t even touched himself.

He’d give anything right now to know what you felt like skin to skin. If your nipples were sensitive – if he could make you come with his mouth alone, or if you preferred top or bottom – is that something he’s supposed to ask about? He wants to find out.

His cock jumps in agreement and he surrenders, gripping himself haphazardly and picturing you.

Not intimidated by him at all. Eyes glazed and full of soft noises. The way your thighs fit into his hands and how you’d felt when he pressed up against you – were you wet? If he had stayed, if he had gotten to touch - would you have wanted him as much as he wanted you?

He thrusts into his hand almost involuntarily at the thought, thinking of you pliant and willing and gasping his name – and suddenly he’s short of air and stifling the mess with the bedsheet.

0100.

Fuck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he comes over on Friday, both of you are a little shy - the afterimage from earlier very much on your minds. Quiet, deliberate, you sit together on the couch in silence, not moving towards each other, making stilted conversation about your day.

Eventually you give in.

"Simon..." It's not going get it out of your system - you can tell sex with Simon isn't a one time affair - but at least it would clear the air. "I have to be honest. The other night? That was basically the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." The confession is quiet, sheepish, and you can see him breathe a sigh of relief, big shoulders slumping back away from his ears - what did he think you were going to say?

"I can't stop thinking about it. I've been dreaming about jumping your bones all week. Do you want to go upstairs?"

Simon has never wanted anything more in his life. Not another magazine, or air support, or Soap to stop speaking in tongues. He chases you up the stairs, heart thumping in his chest like it's his first time.

It's not. He's had sex before - it's been a while (a long while), but he's not a virgin. It wasn't really good - he'd describe it as 'okay' sex, which makes him sound like a snob, but he has one of those inconveniently sized packages that require signature on delivery - too big for comfort for the women who were chasing burly soldiers like him.

Practically, it means your slow makeout session is...not so slow. Simon has your shirt off before you ever hit the bed, painting a path across your neck with his lips, and by the time you're comfortable, your pants have disappeared like you were never wearing any to begin with.

The only time he falters, hesitates at all, is when you finally wrap your hand around the bare length of him, everything exposed at last. He's got this look on his face like he's waiting for you to panic, the corner of his mouth turned up with a ready response.

You like a challenge, and while you won't tell him he exaggerated - he really, really didn't, you let him know you aren't scared off, either.

A cocky smile, and a spark in your eyes, you let him know how much you appreciate it. "I can take it. Or I'll die trying, which wouldn't be so bad, either."

It's amazing, that with all the blood in his engorged cock, that Simon still has enough left over to blush.

It's better, easier, especially this first time, with you on top, where you can control the pace, so you push at his chest (and what a chest it is - a bare hint of blonde fuzz, but mostly pecs you could eat and the cutest little man nipples you've ever seen.)

You have to pay for it with a kiss, but eventually Simon rolls over to his back, laid out for you in his full naked glory.

He’s not some narrow, stick figured man you cling to like a fire pole – wrapping yourself around Simon Riley is like wrestling a refrigerator, every inch of you spread wide to take him in. Your thighs nudge that much further apart and you can’t explain it but it brings a fresh surge of arousal – he’s got you split open and broken in half for him before he’s even in you.

And when he does - when he slots the throbbing head of himself against you, nudges in -

Your eyelashes flutter and you scrabble for purchase, nails biting into his chest as he slowly presses into you, savoring that first glide as he scrambles your brain.

There's no room for anything, any thoughts other than Simon, like he possesses your entire being, filling you with an exquisite stretch that makes you feel like you'll explode.

He’s not even doing anything special – this is sex at its barest, but it’s better than anything you’ve had before – the angle, the depth, knowing he could pick you up and flip you over without breaking a sweat.

"You are so obscenely hot. Do you know how good it feels to sit on you and not worry about breaking you?" You laugh breathlessly, because it's hard to find room for air when you're trying to relax around him.

He slides so easily in your slick, but your muscles fight it as you slowly sink deeper onto him, and you help as you much as you can, clenching and relaxing and adjusting a little at a time until there's nowhere else to go.

He moans, low and deep, clutching at your thighs - to make you stop or to make you keep going, he's not sure - and you can feel him twitch inside you. "Do - do you know how hot it is that you just....you took the whole thing? Taking my dick so well, I can't believe it."

His head drops back against the pillow, eyes shut like he's afraid he's dreaming, that if he opens them it may all end. But you're still there, looking at him like you're enjoying yourself.

You could spend all night here, speared on him, spread wide, filled to completion with his head hot and pulsing inside you, knowing you will be ruined for your stupid spindly men forever.

It takes a second for you even to think about moving, but eventually you inch your way into a slow glide.

Beneath you, Simon finds he can cant his hips just a bit, and your eyes really do roll back into your head which is fascinating so he does it again, and again, and your slow glide gets a little out of control -

You bounce and he thrusts and your rhythms are the perfect level of unaligned to have him slip out of you, catching the thickness of his head between your bodies on a hard downslide and suddenly he's lost, losing himself into the condom with a few jerks of his hips.

Ever a man of few words - a long, drawn out moan is all you get out of him, and you help him finish, as unsatisfying as it might be, with a few more rolls of your hips against where he's trapped, until he stills you with a hand to the thigh, spasming like he's been shocked.

Simon Riley, dethroned king of never p-in-v, has a new complex he'll never recover from. He drags your pillow over his face with both hands, like he would smother himself if he thought it would help.

“'M so sorry,” he mumbles from under the pillow. His chest and neck are flushing the most fascinating shade of red, and it’s so attractive – not to mention flattering – that you can’t imagine how anyone finds it in themselves to be offended.

Reassurance falls on deaf ears. You try, anyway, sliding off his softening cock as he shudders once more. “It doesn't happen all the time for women. I still enjoyed it.”

He hears you, but it’s wrong. It has to be wrong. Simon wants to learn how to make you come every time, possibly all the time, if you can stand it. Wants to see you shivering in ecstasy, mind full of nothing but him and how good he makes you feel.

If he could melt into the mattress and disappear, he would.

"I'll make it up to you," he promises, and you've no doubt about that. He seems like the kind of guy that takes commitment seriously.

Lying next to him, you pull the pillow gently away and nuzzle his neck, sliding a slow hand up his bare chest. He’s spent, limp and boneless. He should be basking in afterglow, and instead he looks miserable. Tormented.

What the hell, you’re a modern woman.

You roll half off the bed to snag something from the night stand and hold it up for his inspection. It’s a garish pink that hurts his eyes, but Simon can't look away. He understands what it is. Never seen one before, though. Definitely never seen it used.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little intimidated.

"Do you think you can hold on to me?" You dangle the vibrator from loose fingertips, and maybe you shouldn't tease him but you also need him to know it really isn't a problem - that A in B isn't the only way to have sex.

He finds it in himself to nod. His throat is tight and he wishes his body would respond to how badly he wants you, but despite his best attempts he remains limp. Dick dead to the world, and to you, and he almost wishes he could take a bullet, instead.

You straddle him again, supported by his knees behind you. It takes a little lift to get the angle right, but when you do the thick end of the vibrator slides in with no resistance. You know what you're missing, now, and it doesn't fill you nearly as well as Simon, but you smile at him because you can tell by the awed look on his face that you’re about to blow his mind.

You would be the first to admit it's not your usual strategy - this is a tactical vibrator, a high efficiency stress reliever that helps you sleep on restless nights. The thing has at least 10 settings and 3 intensity levels. You're only acquainted with two of those, but you know exactly how to make them work for you, and tonight that's what matters.

You guide one of Simon's hands to your hip, and the other to the button on the vibrator, and you hesitate - more bluster than confidence at this point, but he's got a way of making you feel like a sex goddess just by touching you with those hands that span half your ass, and you go straight to your favorite setting.

Convenient, that the slow ramp mimics exactly how you'd like to ride him, if he could last forever. The pulse burns through both of you, rumbling in his chest and sending lighting through your core.

His fingers splay across your hips, digging into the ample flesh, his torso so broad just straddling him takes you to a whole new level of arousal, and he helps you rock on the vibrator where it's pinned to his abs.

He's looking at you like you're the hottest thing he's ever seen, molten heat and promise in those dark brown eyes of his, and you can almost hear all the things he wants to do to you, and so you close your eyes and imagine it instead, imagine it's him you're riding, that you could watch him rut into you as careful, thoughtful Simon fucked you into oblivion.

"So good Simon, so close - " He doesn't understand why it's his name that escapes your lips - he's not doing much, just along for the ride, but somehow it makes him feel wanted and not like a dud.

Like he might still have a shot with you, that he didn't ruin this, and he's speaking before thinking for once in his life - "Give it to me, love, want to see you come."

It's enough. It's more than enough, tension rising in a flood and you need it now. Squeezing his flanks with your thighs, you lose all capacity for words, gasping for air, and you grab his hand and help him push the wand exactly where you need it until the heat rushes up and drowns you, making you shudder violently against him.

You have all of a half second before it becomes too much, and you nudge Simon's hand out of the way as you roll off him and yank out the vibrator in one go, flinging it over the edge of the bed, a problem for tomorrow.

You collapse facedown next to Simon like a ragdoll, gooey satisfaction still spreading through your limbs. It's silent except for the sounds of your breathing, and you sidle over to press up against Simon, to lay with your head on his chest.

He pulls you in tight, wrapping one of those massive biceps around your back, to comfort you or because he's afraid you'll disappear he isn't sure, but then you bite him, sink your teeth into the bare flesh of his pec - not hard, but it gets him out of his head.

"You're wonderful." You mumble, post-coital sleepiness coming in fast.

"You're...incredible," he whispers back. "That was... I don't even have words for that. Hell." He does have words, words like 'you're the best thing that's ever happened to me' and 'I only want to fuck you for the rest of my life', but he knows without being told that it is way too early for that.

Instead, the two of you fall asleep together, your leg tangled with his. When you wake up, he eats you out like he's never had a proper meal in his life, shows you with his mouth what he won't say yet.

You don't really need convincing, but you won't complain.

[stvolanis]

!DARK THEMES!

maybe it was the courage of the alcoholic beverage you drowned yourself in earlier, or maybe it was the way Rafe looked at you through hooded eyes. The way he inhaled the smoke from the blunt that you had watched him roll up himself made him look even more delectable on this night full of tension between the two of you. Your breakup was messy, but the yearning, unfinished arguments, and one-ups were even messier.

it was at least one in the morning as danced a little too close to a boy who’s name you hadn’t cared to catch. He was whispering something in your ear, something you didn’t care to know—you couldn’t take your eyes off of Rafe. His eyes, full of fire as he sat on Toppers couch manspread like he owned the fucking place. His breathing was uneven, and his hands were curled into fists, almost like he was trying to restrain himself.

You smiled, completely aware of what you were doing to the short tempered man obsessed with you in every way imaginable. You were playing with fire, wanting to see just how far you were able to push him till she snapped. Rafes breaking point was when the boy you were dancing with groped your breast over your low cut dress that made it so obvious you didn’t care to put on a bra—what you did put on though, was a show.

Like a flash, Rafe was up and on top of the boy in an instant. Though you felt bad for the boy, you couldn’t find yourself to truly care. He was a pawn in this game between you and Rafe. A casualty. It took Topper and some other guy to pull Rafe off of the boy who’s face was now bruised and bloodied, but still, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Rafe.

It wasn’t till he turned around that you really got scared. He was fuming, anger still unbelievably prominent as he looked at you like you’d crashed his favorite car—which, you had done before. You backed up, feeling like the room was closing in on you, before turning around to book it for the door. You’d made it outside as you fumbled with your keys, but you were stopped by Rafe.

He was pressed against your back, hand sneaking up to grip your throat with so much force, you gasped for air. His mouth was next to your ear, and his voice sent a chill down your spine. “This what the fuck you’re doin’ now, huh? Slutting yourself out to the first guy who’ll give you attention?” He asked, tone calm but you knew—you knew just how deep his anger flowed.

God, you were scared—terrified, even, but the burn between your thighs was becoming unbearable, and he knew that. Your hands reached up to try to claw at the grip he had on your neck, but his free hand was quicker as he pinned your hands behind your back. “Made me make a big scene, all because you’re an attention seeking whore.” He spat out coldy. It was a low blow, because he was right. All you had wanted was his attention, and you didn’t care who got hurt in the process.

“You just need some good dick, don’t you, baby? Yeah? That what it is? Need me to fuck you?” He cooed mockingly as his grip on your loosened enough for you to catch your breath again. “Please, Rafe—M’sorry—you’re right.” You whined as you rubbed your thighs together. His hand moved away from your neck, and trailed down your body. He hunched the bottom of your skirt up, and cupped his hand harshly over your mound.

Your wetness soaked through your panties, and he could feel it. Rafe groaned into the side of your neck, pressing light kisses as he pushed your panties to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Dirty fuckin’ girl, aren’t you? You have everyone fooled, sweetheart. What do you think they’d say if they knew how good you cream on my dick every night.” He whispered as his finger entered your dripping entrance.

A moan slipped past your lips, but Rafe caught them in a searing kiss. He added a second finger, and was merciless in the way his fingers fucked you out in the open. You legs were shaking as his thumb toyed with your clit skillfully, and suddenly, he stopped. You let out a whine as your eyes watered—your pussy was aching painfully and Rafe was the only one who could fix it.

“Should’ve just been good, hm?” He said as he fixed your panties, tugging down your dress properly.

TAG LIST: @epthedream69 @claire-elvisgirl @elvisrealgf @littlehoneyposts @luxuriouslokistan-3 @jazminsjaz @www-interludeshadow-com @khxna @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @floredaqueen @lemonadygirl @newavenger @bloobewy @vogueprincess @scintilla-morningstar @liv-n @armandosbabymama @axailslink @cosmixstar

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Phantom of the 141

Pairing: Task Force 141 x Reader

AU: Phantom of the Opera 141 x reader

Warnings: Dark themes, obsession, possessiveness, stalking, implied violence, minor horror elements, yandere undertones, romanticization of toxic behavior, power imbalance, emotional manipulation.

Author's Note: This is a Phantom of the Opera AU where each member of 141 embodies a different version of the Phantom, haunting the opera house in their own way. Some are gentle protectors, others are dangerous lovers—but all of them are utterly devoted to you. Inspired by gothic romance, dramatic declarations of love, and an all-consuming need to claim one's muse. I’ve been obsessed with the PotO for so long and I see a lot of people have Simon as the phantom but what is all the boys were Phantoms?

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Simon "Ghost" Riley – The Haunting Shadow

The darkest, most untouchable Phantom—a presence that lingers in every corner of the opera house, watching, waiting.

- You never see his face—only the silhouette of his bone-white mask reflected in the grand mirrors of your dressing room.

- He moves in absolute silence, appearing and disappearing like a specter. The air shifts when he’s near, the candlelight flickers. Your heart pounds, knowing he’s close, even if you can’t see him.

- His voice is deep, smooth, and inescapable—it comes from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It seeps into your mind like a melody you can’t unhear.

- “Sing for me, songbird…” he whispers in your ear, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. You spin around—no one is there.

- “Only for you,” you find yourself murmuring back, entranced.

- You wake up to handwritten sheet music left on your vanity, unfinished compositions waiting for your voice to complete them.

- “You are my inspiration,” the note reads, inked in his bold, elegant script. “The only one worthy of my music.”

- You press your fingers to the parchment, your heart aching at the devotion woven between the notes.

- When another man dares to get too close—a suitor, a fellow performer— they vanish.

- No one dares speak of it. A freak accident, the stage crew whispers.

- But that night, Ghost’s voice is different—less controlled, more desperate.

- “No one will take you from me,” he growls, the faintest trace of vulnerability bleeding through.

- His gloved hand caresses your throat before tilting your chin up. “You are mine, love. Say it.”

- And God help you, you do.

---

John Price – The Mastermind

The true ruler of the opera house, its unseen king. Price is not just a Phantom—he is a powerful, possessive force who ensures that you belong to him, whether you realize it or not.

- The lead role is yours before you ever auditioned. Your name appears at the top of the cast list, as if fate itself placed it there. You never saw who made the decision—only a lingering wisp of cigar smoke in the director’s office.

- He watches your performances from his private balcony, an unreadable expression on his face.

- His eyes never leave you, burning with something dangerous yet reverent.

- When the crowd erupts into applause, his lips barely part: “Good girl.”

- You shiver, unsure if you imagined it.

- He visits your dressing room after each performance, inspecting you like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

- “You’re extraordinary, love,” he murmurs, adjusting a loose strand of your hair. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

- His voice is warm, smooth like velvet, but his touch is possessive—lingering, unwilling to let go.

- You never question why the doors always lock behind him.

- When you try to leave—when the opera house begins to feel like a cage of velvet and gold—you find yourself unable to escape.

- The doors don’t open. The carriages won’t take you. The world outside seems to bend around his will.

- “You trust me, don’t you?” he murmurs, standing behind you, hands resting on your shoulders.

- Your reflection in the mirror looks lost, trapped between love and fear.

- “I’ve given you everything,” he breathes against your ear. “Why would you ever leave?”

---

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – The Passionate Phantom

Unlike the others, Soap doesn’t want to frighten you—he wants to win you.

- Your dressing room is filled with roses, their petals soft and blood-red, their scent wrapping around you like a lover’s embrace. Each one is accompanied by a handwritten letter, signed only with J.

- “You make my heart race like a drum in an orchestra,” one reads. “Sing for me, bonnie—I want to hear how love sounds.”

- You press the letter to your chest, feeling the weight of his devotion settle into your bones.

- One night, when you hum a tune absentmindedly, another voice joins yours from the shadows.

- It’s warm, rich, full of love—a perfect harmony.

- “You sing so beautifully, lass,” he murmurs. “But you already knew that, aye?”

- The warmth of his presence envelops you, a stark contrast to the cold loneliness of the opera house.

- When he finally reveals himself, he doesn’t threaten you—he kisses you, hard and desperate.

- “I’ve loved you from the moment I heard you sing,” he confesses, his forehead pressed against yours.

- “Let me love you. Let me be yours.”

- And when he looks at you like that—like you’re the only star in the night sky—you almost want to say yes.

---

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – The Gentle Phantom

The most human, the most tragic—the Phantom who loves you but fears you’ll never love him back.

- He doesn’t send roses or whisper threats—he leaves music.

- Late at night, the soft notes of a piano drift through the empty theater, melodies that make your heart ache.

- They sound like longing, unspoken words, a love that will never be returned.

- And yet, you still hum along, feeling his presence lingering in every note.

- You catch glimpses of him—a face half-hidden behind a curtain, warm brown eyes watching you from the rafters.

- When you turn, he’s gone. Always gone.

- But his presence lingers, like a ghost that refuses to leave your heart.

- One night, he steps into the light, mask in hand. His hands tremble.

- “If you knew me,” he whispers, his voice raw, broken, “would you love me?”

- Your breath catches—because for the first time, you realize…

- Maybe you already do.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[geekforhorror]

dating dae-ho headcanons

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOURE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), mentions of ptsd, fluff.

my babyyyy 🙁

where do i even start

he is the SOFTEST lover boy ever

he loves you with his entire heart

he would take you out on the most romantic date nights imaginable

also loves staying in and watching movies

he’s the type to remember the small things

he showers you with endless compliments because he sees you as the best thing ever

dae is the biggest fan of physical affection whether it’s giving or receiving

gift giving is also a love language for him

calls you baby, honey, darling, angel

loves showing you off

tells literally everybody about you guys

if there’s people who try messing with you, you can guarantee that dae will fuck them up even if he ends up not winning the fight

he loves kissing you on your forehead, hands, and lips

dae is a SUCKER for receiving kisses on the lips and soft kisses on the neck

every once in a while he has really bad ptsd episodes to the point where he has full blown panic attacks

when you saw him have one for the first time, you didn’t know how to comfort him

after a while you learned what worked to help him calm down

he definitely fidgets and does a lot of stimming

if he accidentally upsets you, he will do anything to make it right because he can’t fathom losing you

nsfw

this man.

first off, he’s such a switch

it doesn’t matter if he’s a dom or a sub, he’s a soft one

when he’s a soft dom, he treats you so fucking well

he always asks for consent no matter how many times you make love together

he never degrades you because it’s just not in him

deeper and softer > faster and rough

he only goes really fast and rough if you REALLY want it or if both of you need it

dae LOVESSSS lazy morning sex

how can he deny his sweet girl?

he praises you like the goddess he sees you as

he loves hickeys with a passion

“tits or ass?” both.

that man is a CERTIFIED MUNCH

he eats pussy like it’s a whole damn meal

loves being woken up with your mouth on his cock

loves being degraded AND praised at the same time

poor boy can’t get off or finish without it :(

he’s not one to really experiment

unfortunately he’s on the vanilla side of things but he is into pegging

i said what i said.

he wants that strap so badly 24/7

i just know he’s big.

7 inches soft and 8.5 inches hard

he’s thick too i don’t make the rules

extremely vocal no matter if he’s a dom or sub

he loves when the two of you exchange sounds because it adds to the intimacy of it all

his favorite positions are missionary (obvi) and cowgirl

not only that but he’s just obsessed with your entire body

whenever the two of you are finished, he loves to cuddle with you and make sure you’re alright

the king of aftercare

dae will run the two of you a bath even if it means him having to carry you to the tub when you’re too sore to walk by yourself

okay that’s it for now yall!

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

And just like that... my obsession with Karl Urban was rekindled. 🤣

Girl, you're killing it with the LOTR fanfiction. It's so good and this one for Eomer is no exception. First of all I really like the premise of this fic, an arranged marriage that grows into love 💕 And I love that you said it started out as an OFC and you turned it into a reader insert- I know we've both talked about that before and you know how I've done the same thing for some of my fics 🥰

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said. You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect. Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Oh my word, he drew her a bath- what a MAN. Also I love the added detail that she still wrapped herself in the blanket when she walked even though it's after the two of them have slept together. I think it is perfect for the arranged marriage side of the story, that she's still not quite comfortable showing all of herself yet and it was a great little detail you added.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face? Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Oh my sweet goodness, the little look into his head of him thinking about his wife. For me it's giving a little bit of "he falls first" and I'm melting!

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

Honey I'm going to stop you right there... YES, yes it is a duty he relishes in!

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat. He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

For the love of sweet baby corn, she's making the dangerous horse-riding sexy man who could and snap me in half (and I'd say thank you) blush! 😂

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.”  You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm. “I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

And she made him smile 😭

Oh my word this is so good! I need 50 million more! I would love to read more of this reader and Eomer falling in love, but if not that’s also okay- because this was incredible just the way it was my wonderful friend 💚💚💚!

AS TRADITION DICTATES

Pairing: Éomer x Reader 

Summary: Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

AN: I’ve been wanting to write something for Éomer for a while now, so here we go! Confession: this one-shot actually comes from an Éomer x OFC story I have fully outlined, called The Appeasement Bride. I adapted this snippet into a reader insert story.

Word Count: 1.7K

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/21/2025

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Spiciness, fluff, newlyweds trying to suss each other out lol.

You woke just after the dawn, the sun peeking over the horizon and filtering through the open window. Its light began to wash over your face and stir you from a deep, well-earned sleep.

Your hand slipped out from under your head and drifted over…and you frowned. Opening your eyes, you realized that your husband’s side of the bed was empty and cold. Already, it seemed, he didn’t care to be with you when you woke. Had you done something wrong?

Flashes of memory from the night before conjured in your mind; of the surprising carefulness in his calloused hands, of hot, sweat-slick skin against yours, and the rasp of his beard as his lips and deft fingers taught you more of pleasure.

A shiver ran down your spine, blooming some warmth between your legs. Surely, if you had displeased him, he would’ve told you so. Or maybe he was polite enough to withhold that from you, along with most of his other thoughts. Éomer was often so stoic, it was difficult for you to learn your husband, even before the wedding ceremony yesterday.

You had come to Rohan over a month ago, and in that time, you had been able to glean precious little about him other than the ones he seemed to value most: his sister, his cousin, his uncle, Théoden King, his country, and his horse.

Not that he told you any of these things in words. You saw it in his actions—by the way he carried himself, and the way he spoke to you and others with fairness and courtesy, not arrogance. You’d heard gossip of his infamous temper, but so far, you had not seen it.

Nor did you see him now.

Perhaps he had more pressing work to do. In these past few weeks, you saw a bit of how demanding his station could be, and you understood his duty to patrol the Riddermark as Third Marshal of these lands. However, if he could’ve just been courteous enough to wake you before he left—

The heavy door of the bed chamber opened to Éomer himself. He wore only breeches and boots, his wheat-blonde hair loose and unadorned down his back. You swallowed a surprised gasp and watched him from the bed, unconsciously bringing the fur blanket up to your shoulders.

He met you with a polite, “Good morning,” before he continued inside to stoke the fire. He held more kindling wood in his arms, and he laid it on the platform before the fireplace.

“Good morning,” you nodded, though your cheeks warmed in a blush at the sight of his bare chest (you remembered that slightly wooly patch well). The defined muscles of his shoulders and arms shifted with his movements.

You were also a little embarrassed for overthinking.

“You rose early,” you added belatedly, for lack of something better to say.

“I am accustomed to it,” he said.

He finished with the fire and stood. You couldn’t help the way he captured your gaze, his measured steps bringing him closer to the bed. You sat up to meet him, the furs draping from your body, covering only where you held the soft fabric over your breasts. His eyes were an interesting shade of green as they roamed over you.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Somehow it was not what you were expecting, though it was perfectly agreeable. Your blush deepened.

“Very well, thank you.”

He nodded. Then, something almost hesitant passed through his gaze.

“I’ve drawn a bath for you, unless you prefer to rest longer,” he said.

You blinked. “Really?” That was a kindness you did not expect.

Éomer’s lips tugged upwards. He offered you his hand. Though you hesitated, you slipped your free hand into his. Instinctively you took the furs with you to cover yourself, your face warming down to your neck under the weight of his amused stare.

Your hair was a tangled mess along with the sheets remaining tousled on the bed, and you realized that your body was sore in places you had never felt so. He led you around a simple wooden partition to a wide bath that was built into the ground. Your eyes widened at the luxury of it.

You had noticed that Rohan largely valued comfort and efficiency over ornateness in their architecture, but it seemed they lavished some things with greater detail.

Éomer helped you step into the bath. He took the furs from you, still with that amused glint, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking note of your bare, supple form, what glimpse he was able to get before you lowered yourself into the steaming water. He had explored each and every lovely curve the night before, but you were lovelier to behold in the morning, he thought.

You looked up at him with some hesitance, but there was a question there that he thought he would like to answer.

“Have you already bathed?” you asked.

“Yes,” he nodded, “I will leave you to your leisure. Breakfast will be brought up in a little while.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” you said.

Was that a note of disappointment in your tone, in the downturn of your face?

Éomer paused, but he did as he set out to do, leaving you to your bath in peace. He went over to his side of the bed to continue dressing himself, slipping a long shirt over his head that he tucked into his breeches. Though he tried not to let them, his thoughts of you remained.

Meanwhile, you relished in the hot water relieving your sore muscles (and other places). You washed and hummed a little tune to yourself, forgetting that you weren’t entirely alone, despite the partition.

By the time you left the bath, dried off and dressed in a heavy robe over a thin dressing gown, your new husband was already munching on bread and fruit and other good things that were brought up from the kitchens. He welcomed you to sit with him by the fire, where two wide chairs were draped with furs to make them comfortable. You joined him, and the tray of goods rested in between your seats.

“Do you have much to do?” you asked, while buttering a slice of bread. The crust was hard and somewhat sour, but the inside was soft and delicious.

“The only business I must attend to today is to remain kept with my wife,” Éomer said. He glanced up at you, once again capturing your gaze. “As tradition dictates.”

By the Valar, was there no end to how you blushed around this man? You only couldn’t tell if being kept by you was a duty he relished in.

You almost didn’t hear him when he added, “Tomorrow we will see your family off. They ride back to Gondor.”

Belatedly, you nodded. Éomer saw the note of melancholy cross your face.

“I am sure it is…a sooner parting than you would like,” he said.

You offered him a rueful smile. “Yes, but…not as difficult a goodbye as I thought it would be.”

One of his brows rose. “Why is that?”

Drawing in a deep breath, you mustered a little courage to answer him honestly.

“I did not know what to expect when I arrived in Rohan, but its lands have beauty of its own. Its people have integrity and courage, and its noble house is noble indeed,” you said. A small, true smile brightened you when you looked at him. “It is honorable, and kind.”

Éomer blinked in surprise. On his face it was still muted, but it was there. Your words touched him. He cleared his throat, for some reason finding his face a bit warm. In his eyes, you continued to be a wonder. He too hadn’t known what to expect from a woman of Gondor. He knew what many in your country thought of the people of Rohan—simple folk at best, and horse-wild barbarians at worst. With you, he’d mostly expected a haughty, spoiled brat.

He’d never been more willing to be proven wrong. In fact, the more he learned about you, the more beautiful you became.

He reached over, almost hesitant to cover your hand with his larger one. He was suddenly very conscious of his rougher palm in contrast with your soft skin.

“Regardless of how we were entered into this arrangement, I stand by my vows,” he said. “I will honor and protect you, and do my utmost to make you comfortable here in my home.” 

You smiled. Your hand turned under his to curl your fingers around his palm.

“I will also honor and protect you in whatever way I am able. And I will do my utmost for your house, for it is now mine as well,” you replied.

Éomer brushed his thumb over the back of your hand. He rose out of his seat enough to lean over, and he kissed you. It was sincere, but all too brief. You leaned towards him after he broke away, left wanting more as your eyes slid open.

Recognizing that look of desire stirred his own, deep in the pit of his stomach. He tugged on your hand meaningfully and guided you out of your chair, over to him. You tentatively sat across his lap, uttering a laugh when you slid backwards and landed against his chest. Your hand flew there to steady yourself. Éomer clasped it against his heart and claimed you in a deeper, rougher kiss, one fueled by a craving he couldn’t name.

You held his bearded face and hummed sweetly into his mouth. You matched his fervor, your fingers slipping into his hair and instinctively tightening a stronghold. He groaned in response. His hands, large and strong, moved over your side and down your back, while the other squeezed the supple flesh of your hip through your thin gown.

Soon, it wasn’t enough. He slid his arms around your waist and under your knees before he stood with you in his arms. He smiled at your squeal of surprise. It was the first real smile you’d ever seen upon his face. It delighted you to be the one who put it there.

He carried you to back his bed. Our bed.

But still, it was only a matter of lust, if twined with mutual respect and…curiosity.

You did not love him. (Yet.)

AN: Love me some blonde, medieval cowboy Karl Urban. 😘💜

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@kmc1989 @eddie-munson-stories @thebiggerbear @lamaudite

[animamii]

letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ‎♡‧₊˚

...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...

— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel

‎

Hey, princess.

Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.

And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.

You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.

I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.

And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.

You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.

Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Toji

[banditomojado]

ATTENTION I HAVE FOUND A NEW SHOW TO OBSESS OVER. THE FOLLOWING IS A BRIEF BREAKDOWN OF ALL THE MAIN CHARACTERS AND WHY I LOVE THEM/WOULD DIE FOR THEM ALREADY.

Mild spoilers for the first 5 episodes of The Legend of Vox Machina!

Oh boy, where do I begin!!! I have always been a lover of fantasy ever since I saw LOTR as a young child! Unfortunately, I didn't grow up around friends who were into the genre so I was never exposed to things like D&D. But fear not, folks like me! You need not be a D&D veteran to enjoy this show! Okay, so let's start talking about the characters featured in this party!

First up, the twins! Specifically here, Vex'ahlia "Vex" Vessar! So I love that the series features a sibling pair. Vex, at least in the first few episodes, seems to be the de facto leader of the group. She's a half-elf, half-human, a ranger-type, a badass archer and skilled warrior. The group, especially her brother, seems to look to her for guidance and commands in a lot of situations. She's so cool and has a strong presence in every scene. She has a dry wit, always on point with her verbal jabs. I've only known her for a day, and already I would trust her with my life. I do feel like she is a little too controlling of her twin brother, but so far she hasn't done anything too awful besides passive-aggressively disapproving of her brother's budding attraction to another member of the party, but more on that later!

And now for her brother, Vax'ildan "Vax" Vessar! He is a rogue-like character, specializing in daggers and throwing knives, and stealthy combat. He is also a wizard at picking locks. Much like his sister, he maintains a cool, mysterious aura about him, and he seems to come in handy whenever the situation calls to be sneaky. LOVE that the series has heavily implied he's a bi-king, featuring several scenes in the first five episodes where he flirts with both male and female characters. I love his relationship with his sister, you can already tell they have been through a lot and have helped each other survive it all, although it could prove troublesome if he does in fact decide to pursue a certain other half-elf, half-human member of the party...

Speaking of which, up next is Keyleth of the Air Ashari! She is a druid, capable of a wide array of magical abilities like controlling plant-life and shape-shifting into different kinds of animals! She's so cool, but she also has a sort of "fresh-out-of-college-stumbling-through-life" kind of vibe that I find utterly adorable. She's awkward, messes up a lot, struggles with self-esteem issues, but always tries her absolute best and has already saved the party from certain death a few times. I'm a sucker for flawed, awkward characters who carry the weight of the world on their shoulders and are just trying to do their best. Apparently she is currently on a ritualistic quest (Aramenté) to prove herself to her people so she can one day lead them and is not allowed to return until she has done so. So much pressure on my girl! She is obviously attracted to Vax, and I think they would make a cute couple, but something tells me that things won't quite work out for them...

Up next is Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III! He is by far the "edgiest" member of the group. He is a human gunslinger, a somewhat surprising set of skills for a fantasy setting, but it fits into this world perfectly! He's incredibly skilled with his gun, very smart, and by far the most sophisticated of the party. He comes from royalty, after all, and the first five episodes reveal how that life was ripped from him following a violent coup d'état which resulted in the slaughter of his entire family. So needless to say, my man has some baggage. He seems to possess a darker side to him that only appears when he is in a state of rage. He is very scary when in that state, and even carries around a plague doctors mask for such occasions. Revenge stories are a favorite of mine, as they always manage to provide the character seeking revenge with immensely satisfying/cathartic arcs, so I'm very much excited to see where the story takes him! I also think it's very telling that he is the sole human character of the party, it explains his inclination towards the dark side!

Next up we have Pike Trickfoot! She is a gnome cleric, capable of magical abilities like healing and conjuring up light-based energy shields. She is a fascinating character, given that her magic stems from heavily religious beliefs, though she seems to revel in violent situations and vices like binge drinking. She is a sweetheart, always looking out for the other members of the party, but also not afraid to go toe-to-toe with an enemy! The first five episodes see her lose connection to the Everlight, a kind of goddess that is the source of her magical abilities, thus she is forced to separate from the group. This was a huge bummer, because I really enjoyed her interactions with the other members of the party, especially her close friendship with the next member of the group I'll be talking about!

Next up is Grog Strongjaw! He is a Goliath barbarian, specializing in brute strength and combat with his mighty ax. Normally I'm not that interested in big, buff, warrior-like characters, but he's an absolute delight! He provides a lot of the show's comedic relief, due in large part to his limited wit and insatiable desire for bloodshed. He is big and dumb, but full of heart and determination to keep his friends safe, especially Pike, who he seems to share an especially close bond with. LOVE that he calls her "Pikey"! Having to see them go their separate ways so early into the series was definitely upsetting (seeing him cry over not being able to feel her presence while they were apart was precious), but I'm glad the group still has his brute strength to rely on if things get hairy.

And finally, we have Scanlan Shorthalt! He is a gnome bard, who also seems to possess a few magical abilities via his lute, such as being able to conjure up a large, floating purple hand. He is by far the main source of comedic relief of the group, crass and hedonistic, with an admirable ability for quick wit. He is also the group's resident slut, never wasting an opportunity to possibly get laid. He also appears to be bi, which is lovely. Comic relief characters often hide the saddest backstories, so I'm excited to delve more into his past and learn more about him. He also seems to have a crush on Pike, which is just absolutely adorable, although based on how he acts around the group, it's no wonder nothing has happened between them yet. Better wait until he grows up a bit, Pikey.

So far, the series has given me plenty of reasons to love each member of the party, and the writing for them has so far been excellent! Love their various little interactions, I think you could pair off or group any member together and you would still get a satisfying story/adventure. Five episodes in and I'm completely hooked! If anyone who is a fan of the show wants to watch along with me, let me know! I know I'm super late to the party, but I would LOVE to discuss the story with someone! I'm aware that these characters existed long before the Amazon show and that the show itself was a result of a large fan-funded campaign, so I'm especially eager to get to talk to fans who have been there from the very beginning!

[doodler16]

Man,Vassago truly is something else...

This dude was a background character in Hazbin,got scrapped for some reason and years later is resurrected because Vivziepoop got into some kind of weird bird phase the moment she became obsessed with Stolas. Then he was hyped up to the end of Milky Way and back with having him be described as "a good boy" (aka "a Stolass bootlicker"),get about two seconds in the trailer that pretty much sums up everything that was going on with him in the ONLY episode featuring him,and posing in the pride poster like he's the literal main character (and he apparently has a pirate theme too!). Later,when he finally shows up his ass,the only "memorable" thing he does is teach the stans some words in Spanish a la Duolingo/Dora the Explorer and the standom is treating him like he did something absolutely revolutionary.

But hold on because it doesn't end here!

Now the standom is hemorrhaging scenarios for this loser because they couldn't deal with the idea he wasn't shoving his tongue down some guy's throat/saving Stolass with the power of gay or plot convenience,and treating them as facts for what he is going to do in the future when there's a chance we won't even see him again. Even the most batshit crazy Stolitz shippers who hate him are desperate to see him again!

Bro walked down the red carpet then pulled it from under everyone's feet and somehow became so iconic for that (and it's not even in the good way or on purpose).

Even worse, Vassago isn’t played by a random upcoming VA but Harvey Guillen. This man didn’t even do anything important, Vassago had what a minute of screen time. All dedicated to boot licking Stolas’ flat ass.

When Mastermind debuted, even my discord friend was fan girling and foaming at the mouth of Vassago.

Like you mentioned Anon, all this loser did was speak Spanish, argued with Andrealphus (which anyone can do), and boot lick Stolas hard. Why are we praising a character for doing the bare minimum, is the fandom that desperate for content?

Vassago is just an accessory. This man has no personality whatsoever to latch onto besides him speaking Spanish or defending our lord and savior Stolas. I unironically hear more about Vassago ships and his potential love triangle with Stolas and Blitzø. And don’t get me wrong, the fans can simp and enjoy Vassago. I don’t get what’s so special about him or what’s so “iconic” about him when he did nothing of worth.

Vassago could pee in a bucket and the stans would go wild.

[gingerteafairy]

girl never stop writing todd haynes fics im obsessed. esp 'third wheel payback' soso good i love a comic reader fic <3

funny you say that right as i was finishing this one hssowiejsnsk wrote it after seeing an adorable edit of todd with every man gets his wish by lana del rey on tiktok and i religiously saw it everyday multiple times ❤️‍🩹

spiderman milkshake (todd haynes x reader)

Who said comics can't help on a date?

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, waitress!reader, comic references, language, fingering, dry humping, kinks. word count: 4.3k

Todd was practically glued to his milkshake, sucking on the straw like it was some kind of life-sustaining multivitamin when he saw you walk by, effortlessly balancing a tray while tending to the tables. You looked adorable in that waitress uniform. Atomic Comics was his favorite place in the world���his friends, comic books, and a gorgeous nerdy waitress all in one spot. He could swear he saw you wearing a Venom T-shirt before you put on your uniform, matching with his Spiderman one.

Dave and Marty were deep in conversation, but Todd? He was somewhere else entirely—lost in his own world. Or, more accurately, lost in New York City, spideyvenom was getting really interesting right now.

"And like I was saying, Spider-Man’s powers are total garbage," Dave argued, popping a fry into his mouth. "I mean, web-shooting? That’s disgusting. Right, Todd?"

"Huh? Yeah. Totally." Todd replied absentmindedly, taking another sip.

"No way, and I can prove it! Webs are a hit! Just look at how he shoots them," Marty insisted, mimicking Spider-Man's signature hand gesture while making web-slinging sound effects. Dave immediately joined in.

Their laughter faded when they noticed Todd wasn’t reacting at all. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Following his gaze, they landed on you—standing a few feet away, scribbling an order onto your notepad.

Todd was mesmerized. The way you absentmindedly tucked the pen behind your ear, how your hair brushed against your neck, the delicate earring dangling just beneath—it was adorable. He wished he had given you that earring himself.

"I’m telling you, man. You should just talk to her. That’s your second milkshake," Dave pointed out, growing tired of watching Todd’s thousand-yard stare.

"Yeah, dude. This is getting kinda creepy," Marty added, raising an eyebrow.

Truth be told, Todd had known you way before his friends ever did.

He had once posted an insanely cool Justice League edit, and you had actually commented on it. That one reply had somehow turned into a full-on conversation, which then turned into many conversations. And before Todd even knew what hit him, he was completely, hopelessly into you.

The moment you casually mentioned that you read manga too? Yeah. That was it. Game over.

Even if you both chatted online everyday, seeing you in person was a completely different experience. It was like you were strangers all over again. Part of that was because Todd was horrifically shy and couldn’t even look you in the eyes without feeling like his soul was going to physically leave his body. The other part? Well… you were a waitress.

For some reason, that made it feel… wrong.

Like he fantasized a lot, basically a porn movie plot, you coming only on a apron saying "hey, sweetie, here's your milkshake" in an exaggerated sultry voice as you took the piece off. If a hacker could see his browsing history, they would see that 50% of waitress kink videos visualizations came from Todd's PC.

But as a normal shy guy, he was afraid of bothering you. Like you were only talking to him because it was literally your job. And, of course, there was also the massive fear that Dave and Marty would say something stupid and completely humiliate him.

Because, let’s be real—they absolutely would.

Dave exchanged a knowing glance with Marty—silently forming a plan. "Hey, waitress!" He suddenly called out.

Todd’s eyes widened in panic. "No! No, no, no—what the fuck am I supposed to say to her?"

"Order another milkshake," Marty snickered.

Todd ran a shaky hand through his hair, clearly freaking out as he saw you glance in their direction before heading toward their table.

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit—she’s coming!" His voice barely came out as he scrambled for an escape, gulping down his milkshake like his life depended on it.

"How can I help?" you greeted with a warm smile, the sunlight from the window behind you making you look even more radiant. Then, your gaze landed on Todd. "Hey, Todd. The usual?"

"Me?" Todd blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. He turned to his friends, who looked just as amused as they were surprised.

"Yeah… milkshake. I know you like it—you always get the same thing," you beamed casually, already flipping open your notepad.

"Uh… I… can I…" Todd stumbled over his words. Oh my God, she knows what I like. His brain was short-circuiting. "I wanna buy you a milkshake."

You let out a soft laugh, pulling the pen from behind your ear and jotting something down. "I’m gonna serve you a big slice of ‘never do that again,’ okay?"

You replied, folding the piece of paper and placing it near his hand before walking away. Todd stared at you, utterly devastated. His soul left his body.

"Oof, dude… that was rough," Dave cringed, physically recoiling from secondhand embarrassment.

"Yeah, I kinda saw that one coming," Todd muttered, hesitantly unfolding the note—fully expecting his official rejection letter, his eyes widened.

"Oh. My. God."

"What?!" Dave and Marty leaned in at the same time. Todd slowly turned the paper around.

"I’m off at 5. XOXO."

"XOXO?" Dave repeated, snatching the paper.

"It means hugs and kisses, dumbass," Marty rolled his eyes, taking it from him to inspect the handwriting. Before he could analyze further, Todd swiped back his sacred treasure.

"I dunno… think I won’t go," Todd murmured, pouting dramatically.

"Wait, wait, wait. You're gonna chicken out now that she actually showed interest?" Marty hissed in disbelief.

"I don’t know, man… She’s perfect. And I’m just… this." Todd gestured vaguely to himself. He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as he absentmindedly reached for his milkshake straw—only to find nothing there.

"Hey, man. Don’t be like that," Marty said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "If she’s into you, that means there’s gotta be something cool about you."

"Yeah, Todd. You’re a cool guy, the smartest one out of the three of us. You’ll do great," Dave reassured him, flashing a confident smile.

Todd let out a weak laugh, barely processing the words as he glanced at you. His heart skipped a beat when you turned and met his gaze, smiling at him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Was this what cardiac arrest felt like?

"Yeah… it’s gonna be great," he mumbled, his lips stretching into a dumb, lopsided grin. Every ounce of self-doubt vanished. That smile of yours? That was all he needed today.

Marty and Dave, sensing the gravity of the situation, made sure to stay with him until the very last minutes of your shift. They cracked jokes, debated superhero fights, and did their best to keep Todd from imploding. And for a while, it worked—until the clock ticked closer to 5 PM.

Todd felt it before he saw it—the rush of oh-no-oh-no-it’s-happening panic settling in his bones. His palms grew clammy as he watched you disappear into the employee break room. His foot tapped against the floor rapidly.

Dave, immediately noticing, snapped his fingers in front of Todd’s face. "Alright, dude. Focus up. Take this."

Todd blinked as Dave dropped a stick of gum into his hand. "Do I have bad breath?"

"No… but trust me, mint gum is a game changer. Chicks love it."

Marty, standing beside them, shoved his hands into his pockets and casually pulled out five more sticks of mint gum. Todd and Dave stared at him like he had just pulled out five engagement rings.

"What?" Marty blinked. "I like to be prepared."

"As if you’re kissing that many people," Dave snorted.

Marty rolled his eyes and flipped him off. "I am a romance expert, okay? I’m the best at Romance Simulator, and I’ve picked up a ton of tips—"

"Oh yeah, great example, Marty," Dave cut in.

"Hey! Those games are super realistic!" Marty huffed, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "I even have a girlfriend in one of them."

"The only girlfriend you’re ever getting," Dave snickered.

Todd, however, wasn’t listening anymore. His brain had short-circuited the moment he saw you step out of the break room, adjusting your bag strap as you waved goodbye to your coworkers.

"Guys, she’s coming," he whisper-hissed, suddenly shoving them aside. Panic took over. "How do I look? Am i stinking?"

Before anyone could react, Todd lifted his arm toward Marty. Marty recoiled like a cat sprayed with water. "DUDE. I’m not smelling you."

"Come on, please! I don’t even know if I put on cologne—Dave!" Todd pleaded desperately, his eyes wide with silent help me energy. Dave just shook his head, holding back a laugh.

"You ready?" Your voice rang out, bright and casual, like you hadn’t just sent Todd spiraling into a crisis. His body moved before his brain could, immediately slamming his arm down and scrambling to his feet.

"Of course! Let’s go!" he blurted out, way too enthusiastic, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans like that would magically solve the problem.

But when he finally looked at you—saw the soft amusement in your eyes, the way your lips twitched like you were holding back a laugh—his nerves settled just a little bit.

You both stepped out of the store, and Todd could not stop staring. He had never seen you in casual clothes before.

The skirt? Adorable. That black Venom t-shirt? Perfect. The way it fit on you? Dangerous. You turned to face him, the soft scent of your hair hit him like a gentle, but highly effective truck.

"Finally worked up the courage to talk to me, huh? I was starting to think you were embarrassed of me," you teased, laughing.

"Embarrassed of you? Jesus, it’s more like the opposite," he blurted out, rubbing the back of his neck. The warm, bubbly feeling in his chest only grew when you laughed at his joke.

"So why didn’t you ever talk to me?" you asked, genuinely curious. First things first, let’s be honest here.

You were just as into Todd as he was into you.

There was something about him that was so effortlessly adorable. The way he always ordered a milkshake, sipping on it like it was the best thing in the world. You made sure to take your sweet time preparing it just right—just so you could see that little happy smile he made when he took the first sip.

Todd was the kind of guy who made you giggle and kick your feet on your bed, cheeks burning at just the thought of him.

And the fact that he had zero clue about the effect he had on you? It almost made you feel like some kind of stalker. Casually texting him every day just to keep the conversation going. Catching yourself wishing you were his milkshake straw, quenching his thirst, around his rosy wet lips. Oh, the tongue—

Todd, completely unaware of all of this, was busy trying not to combust.

"I just… I thought you’d be embarrassed of me because, well… I'm—" He exhaled, hesitating, hoping you’d finish the sentence for him.

Loser, his brain supplied helpfully. Instead, you smiled and said, "Shy?"

Todd blinked. That was not the word he expected.

You—beautiful, funny, way-too-cool-for-him—were looking at him with zero judgment. Just patience. Just kindness. He was sure you're going to heaven when you died.

"Yeah… I guess," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Sorry about that."

"no, I'm the one that should be apologizing," you cooed, sighing. "Sorry about the dump, i was kinda angry with you. I was starting to think you hated me and I don't know, ghosting."

"No, shit. Sorry," he whined, feeling like an ass to make you feel like this. "From now on, i'll talk to you every time I see you. Promise."

"Deal. Hey, do you remember that new Marvel issue I told you about?" you asked, smoothly changing the subject.

Todd nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah! It’s great. Why?"

"I bought it. It’s at my place. Wanna come see?"

Todd’s brain immediately shut down. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Processing… Processing… ERROR: BRAIN NOT FOUND.

"I… uh… one sec! I forgot something back in the store," Todd blurted out, laughing way too weirdly before bolting back inside.

He skidded to a stop at the table where Dave and Marty were still sitting, slamming his hands down on it like he was in some kind of action movie. "Date over already?" Dave questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"SHE WANTS ME TO GO TO HER HOUSE," Todd announced, not breathing, before grabbing Dave’s soda and chugging it.

"And what the hell are you waiting for? Go before he changes her mind! You don't have many options," Marty urged, while Dave yanked his soda back, dramatically wiping the rim before taking another sip.

"But I don’t know what to do! It’s not a date! She just mentioned something about a new Marvel issue," Todd gasped, heart pounding, his body already covered in stress sweat.

Dave and Marty exchanged a look. Marty was the first to speak, grinning. "That’s a code."

"That’s 100% a code," Dave agreed.

Todd blinked. "A code? The hell you talking about?" He whispered like a true paranoid man, glancing out the window to make sure you weren’t listening. Luckily, you were distracted on your phone.

"Okay, Todd. Tell me when the new Marvel issue actually comes out," Dave prompted, crossing his arms.

"March 23rd. Why?" Todd replied, even more confused.

"And what’s today’s date?"

"Hmmm, lemme think. Okay, I know. March 19th, but what does that have to—" Todd froze. His brain short-circuited. His eyes went huge. "Oh my God. It’s a code."

"It’s a code," they both confirmed, nodding like wise sages.

The realization hit Todd so hard that all three of them jumped up in celebration—only to immediately sit back down when everyone in the store looked at them like they were insane.

"Shit. I gotta go. Bye!" Todd practically sprinted away.

"Crack that code wide open, Todd!" Dave called after him, laughing as Todd flipped him off on his way out.

“Hey, man,” Marty called, stopping Todd, gesturing him to come closer and whisper. “Spiderman hands, you hear me?”

“What the—”

“Just do it,” he insisted and Todd frowned, realization coming when he did the gesture himself. “You see?”

“Got it. Thanks, dude,” he beamed, training with his both hands. You never know when you have to use your non dominant hand.

“And when you do it down there…” He continued, hands on his face to cover the gesture. “Venom tongue. Flash movements.”

“Damn, Marty. You're a fucking Wikipedia,” he grinned, keeping the information on his head. “Do the sage has more advices to this poor mortal?”

“Oh, i got one,” Dave standed, joining the conversation. “If she looks at your lips, don't chicken out. One more thing, mimic her lips, that way you won't mess your first kiss.”

“What? I had my first kiss.” He murmured blushing.

“Seriously, dude?” Marty mocked, giving an exaggerated eye roll. While Todd was still inside, you whipped out your phone and immediately typed into the group chat.

You: Girls, seriously. I’m with him.

Erika: Who??

You: Todd Haynes!!!!

Katie: OH MY GODDD

You: I’m so nervous, Idk what to do.

Erika: Apron. Wear it.

You: For what?

Erika: You’ll understand.

Katie: You got this, girl. You’re amazing.

Erika: Get him pregnant

You snorted at your friends’ chaotic but heartfelt encouragement, quickly locking your phone the second you saw Todd skidded back up to you, barely keeping it together.

"I’m back! I, uh, forgot… my keys," he explained, shaking them a little to prove it.

"I forget mine all the time. So… ready to go?"

He nodded so fast it was almost embarrassing.As you walked, Todd felt like he was floating. Your house was close to the store, and when you stepped inside, Todd couldn’t help but drink in his surroundings. It was small, but cozy—just like you.

He wanted to be cool about it. Casual. Normal. So, naturally, he started copying every single thing you did like some kind of socially awkward robot.

You took off your jacket? Boom. Jacket off. You took off your shoes and put them neatly on the shoe rack? Guess what? Todd was doing that too.

Smooth. Totally natural.

"So…" you started, taking a step closer to him. "What do you want?"

Todd choked on absolutely nothing and immediately backed up a step. Oh God. She moves fast. Is it happening? Is this it? Shit, I don't have any condoms here.

"W-What do you mean?" he stammered, hands awkwardly hovering at his sides.

You let out a soft laugh, but internally, you were screaming. Come on, Todd. Pick up the hints. Please just kiss me already.

"Do you wanna check out the comic or do something else first?" you clarified, hoping he’d catch the very obvious subtext.

Unfortunately, you were dealing with Todd Haynes—a man who had never been close to a woman that wasn’t his own mother. Todd, however, was trying to trust his instincts—and the questionable advice of his friends. With a burst of sudden confidence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of gum.

"Wanna… gum?" he offered timidly.

You blinked. "Do I have bad breath?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

At that exact moment, Todd mentally began digging his own grave and jumping inside with a cheap bouquet. Dave crying looking at the rainy sky and Marty singing Love Hurts on his grave. R.I.P. Todd Haynes, the biggest coward to ever exist.

"NO. Oh my God. Fuck, no," he panicked, his words tripping over each other. "You smell… really good. Like, so good. I—uh. Shit. That sounded weird. I just—ugh, I shouldn’t have—sorry, I don’t know why I did that—"

Mid-breakdown, Todd shoved the gum back into his pocket and rocked back and forth on his heels, suffocating in the crushing weight of the awkward silence. You thought fast. You weren’t about to let this moment die, remembering the apron tip.

"Hey," you chirped, forcing casual confidence. "How about I cook for us?"

You turned toward the kitchen, heart pounding, silently praying the pots and pans would swallow you whole to spare you from the embarrassment.

Todd perked up immediately. "Yes! Yes, absolutely. I love everything you make," he rushed out, practically jogging after you before settling into a chair—the perfect spot to admire you while you cooked. You tied on an apron, completely unaware of the effect it had on Todd, who sat there, staring in silent awe.

"Wow."

You turned. "What?"

"Nothing!" he blurted, immediately crossing his arms like it would somehow make him look cooler and less flustered.

"Okay," you muttered, shaking your head as you turned to rummage through the cabinets. Erika was right, you’d definitely thank her. You stretched up on your tiptoes, but—unfortunately—your genius past self had placed the glasses way too high.

"Damn it…" you muttered.

Todd immediately jumped up. "I got it!"

He reached past you, his height making the task effortless—and for the first time, you actually registered how much taller he was than you.

"What do you need?" he asked, voice much closer than you expected.

"Uh…" You blinked up at him, suddenly feeling a little flustered yourself. "The glass cups. I, uh… accidentally put them super high."

Todd grabbed them easily, handing them over with a small, proud smile—totally unaware that his casual helpfulness had just made your heart skip a beat. He carefully set the two glasses down on the counter. You bit your cheek, your gaze meeting his—and lingering just a little too long.

The air between you suddenly felt thicker, heavier. His eyes flickered to your lips, and your breath hitched as you instinctively did the same. When you looked back up, his gaze was still there, locked on your mouth like it held the secrets of the universe.

Okay. Enough was enough.

Before your nerves could get the best of you, you moved, your fingers lightly brushing over his hand. Todd stiffened at first—face heating from the tiny touch—but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he exhaled sharply as he let his palm travel up to your cheek, hesitating for half a second before finally leaning in, closing the gap between you.

The second your lips met, you melted. Without thinking, your arms flew up, wrapping around his neck as you deepened the kiss—half in excitement, half to make sure he didn’t chicken out.

Todd, on the other hand, was very much spiraling.

Oh my God. Oh my God. I am kissing her. This is happening. She’s kissing me back. This is—

His brain short-circuited before defaulting to its best coping mechanism—imitation. Todd mimicked your lips movements, following your lead, and shockingly it worked. His hands instinctively gripped your waist, pulling you in closer.

And then, without really thinking, he tilted his head, stepping forward just enough to press you gently against the counter. It was official.

Todd Haynes had zero idea what he was doing. But somehow, it was going very, very well.

He moaned when your hands reached his hair, anchoring on his frame, he sucked your bottom lip like his life depended on it, he kissed hungrily. It was hot. So freaking hot, you were losing your mind, loving how he changed about it and just devoured you.

Everything was so good that he almost forgot about his cock pulsating inside his jeans. He pushed back, eyes wide as he looked down to the tent, eyes up to meet your mouth swollen, three tones redder and a huge teeth mark as the cherry on top.

“Fuck, I'm so sorry,” he whimpered, embarrassed with his hormones controlling his brain. “It’s just— I have no fucking idea of what I'm doing, but it's so good.”

“Yeah, it's really good,” you encouraged, coming closer, chests touching as you leaned to kiss him, slightly opening your legs, him entering the small gap you conceded.

The kiss was slower, more sensual. He was a fast learner, holding back on the vacuum-like sucking, concentrating on gentle nips. He pushed back, eyes closed.

“Is it better?” He muttered, ghosting his lips over yours.

“Yeah, but I think this would be better,” you breathed, taking his hand and directioning them to your lower belly, guiding him to your panties.

He gulped, nodding, opening his eyes to see you rolling your skirt up, giving him a sight of your panties. Todd Haynes was too stunned to speak. He just moved his hand to touch the covered spot, almost flicking his hand back when he felt you shivering.

“You can touch directly if you want to,” you suggested like you weren't the one dying of embarrassment.

Todd sighed. Spider-Man hands. He remembered when he pushed your panties down and patted his fingertip on your clit, watching your reaction. He gulped at you and looked at him with doe eyes begging to be touched. He wouldn't deny it, so he gently rubbed your clit, licking his lips, dying to feel your taste on them.

“Yeah, you're—pretty good, Todd,” you purred, your sounds making his head blurred, focused on your cunt getting wetter and wetter.

“Is it?” His eyes lit up, going down at your slit to collect more liquid and keep the stroking on your spot.

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, spreading your legs wider. Todd's chest rose and fell rapidly, increasing the rhythm until he successfully inserted his middle finger inside. “Fuck.”

He froze his finger, searching your eyes to check if he did something wrong, but your flushed face, so beautiful biting your lip as your hips longed for his finger said the opposite. He was doing really good.

Encouraged by your lewd expression, he joined his ring finger inside, setting a pace by the reactions you were making.

“Faster, Todd,” you pleaded, grinding on his fingers. He couldn't even believe, looking down, seeing his fingers glistening in and out, disappearing on your cunt sucking them, your walls clenching around them, he was panting.

“Like this?” He asked in a whimpery voice, doing what you needed. He searched for your lips, brushing them as he heard the wet sound of your pussy.

You grasped his biceps, feeling the knot forming on your lower belly as you purred and whined on the kiss. Todd started to breathe faster, grinding on your thigh, his free hand palming your ass.

“Todd, I'm cumming,” you mewled, coming undone on his fingers, legs shivering as he held you in place, preventing you from falling down. He kept fingering you til he opened his mouth, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back, swaying his hips on your thigh.

He groaned, taking off his fingers from you and directioning it to his mouth, sucking your arousal. He hummed, looking back at you panting, hands gripping on the counter.

“You taste better than milkshakes,” he shyly added, planting an adorable peck on your lips.

“You're so cute,” you giggled, pecking him back. You weren't done, your hunger for Todd might never end. He was just so damn irresistible. “Hey… do you wanna, like… continue this?”

“Oh… uhmm…” He stammered, his nose doing the little frown you find cute. “We have to wait a little.”

“Why?” You pouted, tilting your head.

“Why?” He echoed, thinking about all the manners of saying the obvious, choosing to say it straight. “I came.”

You grinned, giggling at him getting beet-red. “Hey, don't worry about it. We can eat something while your body reacts.”

“Can i eat you?” He blurted, suddenly digging courage from the bottom of his heart.

You blushed, nodding, too shy to say something. He grinned, kneeling on the floor. “Hey, don't you wanna go to my room? It might be uncomfortable for you.”

“It's just…” he began, tilting his head up to meet your gaze, warm breath next to your cunt. “I kinda fantasize a lot about eating you out in the kitchen.”

“Really?” You panted, hands making their way to his head.

“Yeah,” he replied, licking his lips in anticipation. Venom tongue. Flash speed. “The apron is a bonus.”

That night, you finally lived your dream—becoming Todd’s milkshake straw in the best way possible. And Todd? He finally mustered up the courage to take a real chance on you.

You spent the rest of the evening wrapped up in each other, sharing a blanket that neither of you really needed. Your legs brushed. Your fingers tangled absentmindedly. Every now and then, Todd would steal a glance at you like he still couldn’t believe this was real. As you both talked for hours about the thing that brought you together in the first place—comics—he realized something:

Super heroes were cool. Spider Man and Flash? Even cooler. He couldn't forget to thank Venom as a villain.

But nothing—nothing—could top the way you looked at him like he was your favorite issue in the entire collection.

[mrs-starkgaryen]

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

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

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

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

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

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

A) we all are Mason, shut up

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

A) well I didn't like that foreshadowing

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

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

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

A) Or when Aegon dies...

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

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

A) mother? What you doing here, loca?

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

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

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

A) Sunshines reminder that social media is fake lmao

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

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

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

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

A) Aegon ever heard of playing it cool?

B) damn he's down bad

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

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

B) HE DID! Mf ain't old

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

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

A) and if I say 👀

B) foreshadowing...

C) also hello Simon Bassett from Bridgerton?

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

A) for now Aegon...

B) He will show her the different flavours

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

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

A) said every man ever 😉😂

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

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

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

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

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

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

A).... need I say more

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

A) you're killing me

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

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

A) either becca is crazy

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

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

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

A) a possible other nickname?

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

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

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

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

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

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

E) under artificial light? The Hollywood spotlight..

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

Also- Are the eyeshadows representing things?

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

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

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

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

A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

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

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

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

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not.”

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

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

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

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, do what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who is it?” Dad says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

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

“Neat.”

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

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

“What size?”

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

“No, you have to say the real name.”

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

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

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

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

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

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

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

“I got you a part.”

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

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

“A part in what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

“When’s the shoot?”

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

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

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

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

“Of course I’m going.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He appears startled. “What?”

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

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

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

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

You are puzzled. “Why?”

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

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

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

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

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

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

“Aegon?”

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

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

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

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

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

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

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

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

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

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

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

“Lose Yourself.”

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

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

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

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

[dirt-str1der]

Just finished Dr Stone Reboot

[dukeofthomas]

Jason Todd's the aroace guy who doesn't realize he's aroace but is also not oblivious to how big a driving force sexual attraction is for other people. He's the type to dislike and judge men for thinking with their dicks so much and kind of think himself better than them because of the fact that he doesn't

[dizzyrobinsims]

Ok so talking about Arcane spoilers on rewatch for my fic I'm working on ~under the cut~

One of the tragedies of Arcane that I want to unpack is the "too little, too late" aspect. The biggest example of this was the council deciding to free Zaun while all the domino pieces were already falling from their ignorance, neglect and parasitic relationship with the city.

If they had even called for independence the day before, the attach wouldn't have happened. But because of their delay and inaction, it resulted in the council getting blown up and all the effects that spiraled from there.

LIKEWISE.

Rewatching it- on my first watch through like, I love Mel, she is my fav alongside Viktor right? But I was leaning towards being a purely Jayvik shipper since Jayce chose Viktor. I wanted Mel to have someone who would choose HER.

But on rewatch it's the scene on the council where she is fighting to keep Jayce's promise to Viktor alive, the look of betrayal and pain in her face when she sees the hextech weapons- hoollly shit.

And like. Original arcane timeline and how things worked out, def Jayvik. But if she had opened up and allowed the intimacy and closeness sooner with Jayce, if she had known sooner how important Viktor was to him and had developed a relationship with Viktor outside of purely seeing him as a wise investment-

It makes me wonder how many things might have changed.

The tragedy of Mel in Arcane is how due to being the fox, and not allowing anyone to truly get close and know her on an intimate level, she was forced to become the wolf and lost the man she loved (and who loved her, but by the time she started fully reaching back Viktor was dying and Jayce was spiraling and- excuse me I need a moment to cry for my girl).

She girlbossed too close too the sun and it cost her SO MUCH.

Also my read is Mel only had a business relationship with Viktor since he was like, very rarely on the politics side. So she never really got the chance to know him.

Now what would happen in an alt timeline where our Jayce and Viktor get shunted into the past and cause a butterfly affect maybe the tragedy can be averted for the baby versions of Jayce, Mel and Viktor maybe not I am FURIOUSLY WRITING.

[jungkoode]

Lost | @kooppss

Oh. Oh, this is filth. This is so much worse than I thought it would be, and by worse, I mean better because holy shit, Jungkook is UNSPIRALING.

I thought we were just here for a little fuckboy POV fun, a bit of self-indulgent "hot roommate" delusion, but no. Koopsy said, "What if we made him deranged?" And I, for one, am obsessed. The way he thinks he’s in control? The way he actively stops bringing girls over because he wants her to stop too??? The way he convinces himself he’s not jealous but then does shit like jerk off to her Instagram in defeat??? Cinematic parallels to every clown behavior we have ever seen in a man.

And then. And then. She sees him. SHE FOLDS FIRST. Do you understand what this means? Do you understand that his entire existence has just shattered? He was LOSING before, but now he knows she’s been paying attention, and suddenly, this is no longer about if he gets her—it’s about when. And that "when" is going to drive him insane.

Koopsy, you menace. You evil genius. I hope you sleep well at night knowing you have single-handedly ruined my peace.

lost

Jungkook POV from thirsty.

warnings: male masturbation. mention of sex and female masturbation. Jungkook is a fuckboy. This is his inner monologue, zero dialog.

word count: 2.1K

Jungkook chose you as his roommate because you're hot. 

He thought that, worst case, you’d fuck, and he’ll have to find a new roommate. Returning to where he was. 

He was sure it would be a treat to have a pretty little thing like you wandering around the apartment. He did ask you some questions about your cleaning habits and shit like that. But frankly, you could live like a raccoon, and he’d still choose you. 

Well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. 

You are a treat when you walk around in your pajama shorts or your slutty going out outfits. Not to mention the thin tank tops with no bra. He likes to imagine you put in extra effort for him to enjoy. 

Earlier today, you were a vision—your too-tight, too-short sports set clinging to your body, messy hair stuck to the sweat on your skin. Jungkook hopes he managed to fool you with his cool act when you talked to him. For the life of him, he has no idea what you were talking about. The final straw was the flush on your cheeks—a look he’d imagined on you more times than he’d like to admit.

It’s not his fault. He swears!

But what can he do when the walls in your apartment are so thin that he can hear you being fucked in your adjoining room? When he can hear every beautiful sound you make.

He loves how loud you are. 

Sometimes, it was just your beautiful moans and whines.

Sometimes, he could hear choking sounds. He imagined you choking on his dick. 

Sometimes, he could hear the guy’s name spill from you. He preferred it when you didn’t. 

He didn’t mind when you moved in and started bringing your hookups to the apartment. Like, free porn, right? Who would complain? 

Also, he isn’t a hypocrite. He does his fair share of bringing people to the apartment. And you never nudged him about it, unlike his previous roommate.

Was it weird of him to touch himself to the sound of his roommate fucking in the next room? Maybe. 

It’s not like he could do anything else when all the blood in his body traveled south. 

So why has he stopped enjoying your little shows for him lately? 

Why did he go to the gym when he heard a guy’s voice from your room? 

It’s not like he’s jealous or something stupid like that. No way. 

It was just annoying that they got to have what he couldn’t. 

Why weren’t the two of you fucking to begin with? 

Wasn't it the original plan? 

Do you not find him attractive? 

What do they have that he doesn’t? He can fuck you better. He knows it. 

So Jungkook tried to stop bringing girls when you’re at home. He thought that maybe it’ll make you stop as well. 

He hasn’t stopped fucking around, obviously. No need to be radical. 

But now he has a new problem. He misses hearing you. He wants to hear more of you. He wished you’d make those sounds for him, but until then, he’ll handle whatever he could get. 

And fuck. You looked so hot earlier. You’re not making it easy for him. 

You returned from your yoga class or whatever hot girls' workout you’re doing. But how you looked; he couldn’t stop thinking this is exactly how he imagined you. Usually, in his head, you’re wearing way fewer clothes and sprawled on his bed. But close enough. 

Shit. You’re driving him insane. 

He’d usually just fuck you out of his system. But you don’t seem to be affected by him like he expects you would. He needs to do something about it. 

Jungkook is lying in bed, trying to think what he could do. 

He has been lying for a little while now, hand lazily stroking his length under his boxer. It doesn't seem to be evolving anywhere, but he’s too bothered to just fall asleep like that. A sound from your room snaps him out of his dazing state. It sounded like you dropped something. Maybe it was the water bottle you always take back to your room. 

It doesn't matter; the noise reminds him that you’re right there, on the other side of the wall. He really wishes he could hear you right now. That’s always helped him get going in no time. 

He wonders, did you also touch yourself when he brought girls home? He wants to think that you did. He always tried to recall if he heard you, but it’s hard to notice when he’s balls-deep into someone else. 

He never heard you alone. Are you quieter when you masturbate? Do you use your fingers? He bet they’re not enough—not like he could use his fingers on you. Maybe you need battery-powered help? He never heard a buzzing sound. He could help you use it.  

Fuck. 

Jungkook sits up in his bed, pushing his boxer down to free his dick. He spits in his hand and spreads it over his length. The added lubrication makes him groan. It feels good. 

He wishes it was your hand on him. 

Would you act shy, or would you grab him with confidence? Would you be a good girl for him or a little brat? He’d know how to put you in place. 

He thinks about all the ways he’d take you. How he’d utilize every surface of this apartment. A louder moan slips out of him, and he halts for a second. 

Do you hear him right now? God, he hopes you do. 

The thought pushes him further towards the edge. He increases his pace, thinking about you listening to him in your room. That cute flush of your cheeks spreads as you lie in bed. And with that image, he comes. 

Fuck. He needs to get a grip. 

Or to get you.

__________________________________________

Jungkook had a good day. He slept like a baby last night and hit a new PR at the gym.

He’s just out of the kitchen on his way to his room when you decide to ruin his day.

Seriously, where the fuck do they sell skirts this short?

Because he wants to buy you a hundred more.

You look amazing. You really do. Why do you have to do this to him?

And it’s not even 24 hours since you made him lose his cool. 

You didn’t see him, and you fully bumped into him. You look all flustered and cute. 

Well, now it’s his time to shine. 

He gives you his best nonchalant grin and teases you until you walk out of the room. He knows the fact that he’s shirtless and a little sweaty works out to his advantage. He caught you snicking looks. 

Good. He should do this more. 

He can’t lose.

Later that night, after he showered and made dinner, Jungkook sprawled on the couch, mindlessly zipping through shows on Netflix.  

Nothing catches his attention; he just clicks on something as a background noise while he scrolls on his phone. He goes through stories on Instagram when something is catching his eye. It's you, in your little teasing outfit from earlier, sitting on a high chair at some bat with a drink in hand. 

You look fucking hot. He knows if he’d meet you there, he’d 100% try his luck with you. 

Stupid random guys have a chance with you, yet he doesn’t get one. 

He clicks on your profile without much of a thought. Scrolling through your photos. He’s stuck on one from your last vacation; you went to a beach house with your friends. You sit on the sand next to the water, a beautiful smile on your face. And you’re wearing one of the smallest bikinis known to mankind. 

He barely processes that his hand is already inside his sweatpants. And if he weren't fully hard by now, the next photo would have done it. You stand with your back to the camera, still in the same location, same deviled-creation bikini, ass cheeks on display, covered with sand. Your ass looks fucking amazing. Before Jungkook finishes thinking about all the things he’d do to it, he’s already coming in his hand. He sighs; you make him like a teenage boy. Cuming in his hand from a photo of you in a bikini. Fucking embarrassing. 

He reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table and grabs some to clean the mess before cleaning himself better and washing his hands in the bathroom. 

When he returns to the living room, you’re there. He takes his spot on the couch, and before sliding his phone into his pocket, he realizes it’s still open on your Instagram. He knows how it looks. He assumes you can piece together what happened here. He expects you to call him out, to lash out. But instead, you look… shy? Could it be? He never pegged you for the shy type.

And you’re blushing now? Oh, Jungkook likes this game.

He looks at you, waiting for you to say something. To make your move. But you fold first.

Jungkook has won this round.

A slow grin spreads across his face as he watches you walk to your room, knowing this won’t be the last time you’ll play.

Later, Jungkook is still thinking about what happened. He feels like he should make a move, take advantage of the momentum. He has proof that he’s had some effect on you; now he just needs to break through your walls. He’ll keep up the teasing, building this tension between you two. He saw an opening, and he should go for it—

Even if it’s just to see you blush more because of him.

__________________________________________

Jungkook pulls the headset down to rest on his neck. They just had a win, and now he’s waiting for Taehyung to come back after taking a piss. He grabs his phone and scrolls through it almost automatically.

Until he sees it.

WTF. 

Holly fucking shit. 

He mumbles into the microphone, “start without me,” and tosses the headphones away. 

He stares at the photo; he can physically feel all the blood in his body traveling directly into his penis. It’s so intense he almost feels lightheaded. 

What the fuck do you think you’re doing? 

So this is it. After days of him teasing you and trying to catch you off guard, you finally played your move. And what a fucking move it is. 

You fucking tease. 

Oh, you think you’re so smart with that. You want him to collapse? To fold down? No problem. You’ll get a front-row seat to him burning in hell. He’ll drag you down with him. 

You little devil.

Jungkook head spins with the image of you; he’s going to come embarrassingly

fast. 

Fucking hell, you caused this problem; you should be the one fixing it. 

He can’t figure you out. You act all shy and flustered, and then you pull this? Why the hell did you even take that photo? Did you know you’ll need to torture him?

Jungkook doesn’t know if to bless you or to curse you. He doesn't know if he hates what you do to him or if he can't get enough of you. 

He thought he had the upper hand and was about to win. But you’re all-consuming. He thought he was the one hunting you, but he feels like your prey. It’s so good and so sinful, this little game you play. He’s a player, and he’s addicted to the game. 

He comes loudly. He doesn’t care if you hear him. You need to know the extent of your effect on him. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? He lies back in his gaming chair, head tilting back, trying to cool down. 

Even with his mind fucked up, Jungkook knows what it means for him. He’s at the gate. He’s almost at his destination. The game is about to end. And honestly, he doesn’t care who wins or loses at this point—as long as he gets you.

After a few more rounds, they finally call it a night. Jungkook shuts down his computer and sets the headset aside. He pulls off his sweatpants and tosses them into the laundry bin. He’s about to get into bed when he hears noises from outside his room. He glances at his phone—it's already past 2 AM. You should be asleep. He grabs his phone and heads to investigate the source of the noise.

You catch him off guard again. He sees you bending down in front of the fridge, reaching for a water bottle from the bottom shelf. You’re wearing nothing but a shirt and simple white cotton underwear. Cute. You look even better in real life. You turn around, startled by him. And even though it’s too dark to see, he knows it’s there. He knows you’re blushing.

Yeah.

He lost.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

i like ghostflower (hell I draw fanarts for them) but I’ve decided I like the version of them in my head more and will just stay away from the fandom in general cuz I’ve seen some discussion and they just make me go “what on earth are y’all on” 💀💀💀💀