flourish_or_perish | MHA #8

So. Last night had happened.

There had been no pollen involved. Just a little breaking and entering (and a silly neighbor who Faye hadn't really minded seeing shirtless, but she wished had left earlier. Or not come at all, since he was the cops.) But it had, ultimately, turned out pretty well.

Meaning that Faye had woken up being...held. One might even call it cuddled. And -- this was now Faye's deepest secret. Deeper even than her debt or her real age or her identity -- she had liked it. And cuddled back, however briefly.

So, naturally, she'd kicked Stark out of his own bed and sent him off to the kitchen to make breakfast, before she could get too used to how much she'd liked it. And now, having taken her sweet time to get out of bed, she padded out to the kitchen in what was definitely Stark's shirt, because she wasn't just going to put on her own clothes again, okay? Not before breakfast.

"Are you actually making pancakes?"

[for the glowy guy. NO LIAM, NOT YOU, YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE YESTERDAY]

Threaded | Flat

Stark had not been expecting any of this, which would have been obvious to anyone who had seen (or heard) his reactions. He'd definitely
not expected being kicked out of bed with a not-quite-demand for breakfast. He would have been quite happy to stay there, cuddling, as long as he could manage.

Instead he was in the kitchen, wearing more clothes than last night (which wasn't difficult, he'd lost his grip on the towel very shortly after Liam left), working on a batch of pancakes.

He looked up when Faye came in (wearing his shirt and he didn't know how to react to that at all but he certainly wasn't complaining) and nodded, just a little uncertainly.

"You were serious about the rest. I thought you were serious about the pancakes."

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