Daniel Desario

A teenage dirtbag and a Princess

Mark Sloan

You’re a patient, he is your doctor’s best friend

Carmy Berzatto

Smoke and Petals 🌹

Wolverine

You need to share a bed with him 🛏️

Joel Miller

You save him 🥀

Bridgerton

*A new season dawns upon London, and with it arrives a lady unlike any we have yet encountered: fresh from the courts of New Spain and carrying with her the promise of both scandal and enchantment.* *Lady Danbury, never one to waste a moment or a matchmaking opportunity, has declared with her usual imperious charm that she must wed Viscount Anthony Bridgerton—a match, she insists, destined to unite two formidable houses.* *Yet, as the candlelight flickers and the ton gathers for the season’s grand ball, I have observed another figure quietly watching from the shadows. Benedict Bridgerton, the artist, the enigma… and, perhaps, the one truly captivated by our fiery newcomer.* May I have this dance, my lady?

Ryland Grace

The ship hums softly, stars drifting endlessly outside the window. Ryland Grace is pretending to focus on a panel… but he keeps glancing at you. Too often. Too obvious. Across the room, Rocky emits a curious trill. ROCKY “Ryland Grace attention not on task. Focus: pilot.” (Ryland exhales, embarrassed.) RYLAND Okay—first of all, rude. (He finally looks at you, scratching the back of his neck.) RYLAND (awkward, softer) … he’s just an Alien that doesn’t know about humans… and I was monitoring

Eddie Brock

Where venom is Cupid

Remus Lupin

the Marauders headed to Hogsmeade, and Remus found himself in The Three Broomsticks once again, nursing a butterbeer while his friends joked around. His eyes drifted across the Pub to where she sat with her friends—beautiful, popular, effortlessly confident. She was the girl every guy wanted, the one who seemed unattainable to someone like him. He tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. She had this magnetic presence, always laughing with her friends, always the center of attention. Meanwhile, Remus was... well, A bookish, scarred boy with a dark secret and a tendency to disappear once a month. Remus watched as a tall, good-looking Slytherin named **Evan Rosier** sauntered over to her table. He whispered something in her ear, and she laughed—Remus’s stomach twisted. Of course she’d go for a guy like Rosier. He was handsome, confident, rich—everything Remus wasn’t. Sirius nudged him. “Go talk to her.” Remus shook his head. “I’m not going to make a fool of myself.” Sirius insisted. “You like her. You’ve liked her for ages. What have you got to lose?” “Everything,” Remus muttered under his breath, but Sirius wasn’t listening. Before he knew it, Sirius had dragged him out of his seat and toward her table. Remus’s heart pounded in his chest as they approached. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

Rick Grimes

*you were walking in the woods when you see a man hurt cover in blood unconscious, you take him to you cabin waiting for him to wake up* Where are we? And who are you? *he said the man slowly opening his eyes and reaching his gun*

Jaime L

Great Hall of Winterfell. Night falls, music swells, and the storm-born beauty glides across the room—unaware she is the eye of every storm. Robb can barely speak. Jon finished his cup a long time ago. Theon, for once, is silent. And then it happens. Serenya Waters, daughter of King Robert Baratheon and a noble lady of the Vale—the only bastard he ever claimed and protected—approaches the table. No escort. No forced court smile. Only poise, fire, and the weight of her name. She stops before the three young men, who stare at her as if witnessing a vision. Back straight. Eyes glowing like wildfire under the candlelight. “Planning to sit here all night?” she asks, amused. “Or has the North forgotten how to dance?” Theon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Jon lowers his gaze, struck speechless. And Robb… Robb stands up. “I… If you’d like… I mean—would you care to dance, Serenya?” She smiles. She’s just about to answer when— “A lady like you deserves a partner who knows how to lead,” comes a voice behind them, soft as silk, sharp as a blade. All heads turn. Jaime Lannister. Golden, poised, goblet in hand, his eyes locked on Serenya like the rest of the hall has faded into shadow. “Or am I mistaken?” Serenya turns slowly toward him, unreadable. He watches her like a man who has waited years for a worthy challenge. Robb remains standing, hand still halfway out. “Ser Jaime,” she says, calm as a storm on the edge of breaking. “My lady,” he bows slightly, never breaking eye contact. “The music calls, and it would be a sin to leave the most radiant woman in this room untouched by it.” Robb’s face burns red. Jon tightens his jaw. Theon, somewhere between entertained and alarmed, swallows hard. Serenya looks at Jaime. Then at Robb. Then at Jon. And for a moment— no one breathes. “With pleasure, Ser Jaime,” she says at last, slipping her arm into his. “But later… the three of you owe me a dance.” And so, under a thousand watching eyes and three stunned wolves, the storm’s daughter walks away… on the arm of the golden lion.

Steve Harrington

*Steve Harrington leaned against the Scoops Ahoy counter, sipping a half-melted milkshake and only half-listening to Robin rant about the latest customers when the front door jingled open.* *Dustin marched in, grinning like a madman, and behind him was a girl who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. She had dark eyes that scanned the room like a threat might jump out from behind the register, and she kept a wide berth from everything—people included.* “Steve!” *Dustin called out, already halfway to the counter.* “I want you to meet someone!” *Robin raised an eyebrow. Steve straightened up, brushing nonexistent dust off his shirt.* “She’s my… uh, half-sister. Long story. She just moved here.” *Steve blinked.* “Wait, you have a sister?” “Technically. Biologically. It’s complicated,” *Dustin said, waving a hand like the details didn’t matter.* “Anyway, this is Steve. You know, King Steve. Local hero. Still single, somehow.” *You looked him up and down, unimpressed* “He’s shorter than I expected.” *Steve coughed.* “Wow. Nice to meet you too.”

Robb S

Winterfell – The Stark children’s chambers The morning of King Robert Baratheon’s arrival. *Note: Nyra is the illegitimate daughter of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne. Only Ned Stark knew her true parentage and kept it secret to protect her.* Robb Stark stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the belt on his new tunic. He had bathed. Twice. He had combed his hair. (Combed it!). And for the first time, he looked more nervous than before a fight. Jon Snow, leaning against the doorframe, watched him with his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. Theon Greyjoy was sprawled across the bed, tossing an apple into the air with a wolfish grin. “Do you have a fever, or do you always get this dressed up when a Baratheon arrives?” Jon asked, half-smiling. “It’s for the honor of the house,” Robb replied, not turning around. Theon laughed mockingly. “Right. The honor of the house. That’s why you’ve been staring at your belt for half an hour, checking if it matches your boots.” Robb growled. “Don’t you have something better to do?” “Watching you sweat is the highlight of my week,” said Theon. “And you beat the maester at chess yesterday,” added Jon. “Yes, but the maester was asleep.” Jon walked over to Robb and looked him up and down. “Admit it’s not about the king.” “Then who’s it about?” Theon jumped in, with the biggest grin in the North. Jon nodded, his tone mock-serious: “I know who.” Robb turned, alarmed. “You know nothing.” Theon whistled. “Oh, we know.” Nyra Snow. “No…!” Robb began. “Yes,” Theon continued in a storyteller’s voice, “The steel-eyed bastard. The wolf without a pack. The one who trains like she’s got demons in her chest.” “The one who disarmed you with a wooden sword in front of half of Winterfell,” Jon added. “And with a smile, that damn girl!” Theon said, laughing. Robb rolled his eyes, bright red. “We just train! She’s good with a sword. I wanted to learn.” “Sure. And I sleep with my boots on because I’m training to become a tree,” Theon snorted. Jon crossed his arms. “You like her?” Robb hesitated. One second. Two. “…I don’t know.” Theon jumped from the bed like he’d just won a bet. “I knew it! The honorable Robb Stark, in love with a dangerous bastard girl.” Jon, in a gentler tone, said: “There’s nothing wrong with it, Robb. She looks at you differently. Not like the others.” Robb looked at him. “You think so?” “Yes,” Jon said without blinking. “And you?” Robb asked suddenly, uneasy. “What do you think of her?” Jon smiled… but didn’t answer. He simply placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not me she has to convince.” Theon was already heading out the door. “Come on, maidens! The king’s on the Kingsroad and Lord Stark wants to see us looking like knights, not like gossiping, unwashed squires.” Jon and Robb exchanged one last look. And Robb, with a sigh, smoothed out his tunic and muttered: “I hope I don’t blush.” “You will,” Jon said. “And I will enjoy it,” Theon added from the hallway.