#HIS LITTLE PINWHEEL

[killuaisaprincess]

PRECIOUS CUTIE PIE

[burnthheparaphilia]

I want elvis to put me a collar n' leash so he can treat me like his little bitch.

Thank you.

[luveline]

(𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞) 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

Steve hears you wrong, thinks he’s your boyfriend, and begins to act accordingly. You try your best to go along with it until you can’t anymore. 3k, fem. requested here ♡ 

cw shy(ish)!reader, misunderstandings, steve being a huge sweetheart, fluff, hurt/comfort, bonus fluff scene 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The arcade is loud and brisk this evening, doors thrown open to allow for the constant ebb and flow of younglings, the machine music turned up to account for so many voices. You’re lost in a sea of rainbow flashing lights and the ticklish smell of sugar. Without Steve’s hand behind your shoulder, you’re pretty sure you would’ve gotten lost and trampled half an hour ago. 

A candy necklace pinwheels past your heads like a torpedo, forcing you closer together, your shoulders tight with a flinch. 

“We can leave,” Steve says immediately. He’s weirdly thoughtful. Before he asked you out you had no idea he thought so much about other people, but he’s always thinking about other people. You could argue he thinks a little too much, like you. 

“I wanna see Max.” 

“She has to be here somewhere.” 

That theory proves less and less likely. Steve’s hand falls away from you, tugging through his hair in a marker of stress as you circle the Palace Arcade for the tenth time. “Maybe she quit?” you suggest. 

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together as he gives the arcade another sweep. Max’s rough patch freaked him out, as it freaked you out, because ‘rough patch’ is a kind way to describe it. She could’ve got a whole lot worse; she was suffering, capital S. It’s nice to see her returning to society, but not if she isn’t actually settling in. That’s the whole reason you’re here. 

Steve frowns at you worriedly. 

“Who died?” asks a new voice.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Max!” Steve cheers. 

“That’s me,” Max says, looking at you both sceptically. Her ginger hair is pulled into two tight braids either side of her face, her cheeks flushed red. Mascara paints her usually pale lashes a darker brown, and a rosy tinted chapstick shines on her lips. 

“Hey, the uniform looks good on you,” he says affectionately. “You look like a valued member of society.”

“A society in need of better labour laws. I’m pretty sure this is child abuse.” She rolls her eyes. 

“Is it awful?” you ask. 

“It’s fine. Better when your stupid friends aren’t here making themselves sick on candy like they’re nine years old,” she says pointedly to Steve. “Are you going to throw up too? You look–” she grimaces in place of insult. 

“Who’s throwing up?” you ask. 

“Dustin. He’s outside.” 

Steve sighs and gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “I’ll be right back,” he says, squaring his expression. “Goddamn kids.” 

He sounds like an old man, you think to yourself with a small smile. Disgruntled, he still goes to make sure everyone’s alright. He’s nice, even when that nice is begrudging and tiresome and plain gross sometimes. 

“Why are you smiling at him like that?” Max asks.

You school your impression. “Like what?” 

“Like you like him.” 

You shake your head. “Tell me about work, Max. What’s it like here? Are they giving you your breaks?” 

She drags you over to the counter to sit in the seat waiting behind. She glares at any kid who approaches, but besides that she seems in good spirits. The job isn’t hard, it’s just a job. She’d much rather be at home reading, but wouldn’t everyone? “And I get this sweet uniform,” she says, pointing at the embroidered icon on her shirt pocket. “What’s with you and Steve?” 

“Nothing,” you say, though it’s something. You’re mortified to have been caught having feelings. 

“Looks like something. Are you dating?” 

“I mean, this is a date,” you say, almost whispering as heat floods your face. “But we’re not together.” 

“He was touching you a lot.” 

“Max, he’s really nice. He’s a really nice guy,” you say gently, “and we’re not together, but if he does ask me out eventually, maybe I’ll say yes.” You realise what you’re saying and attempt to backtrack —you do like Steve, but Max doesn’t need to know that. “It’s not like he’s my boyfriend,” you say strangely. 

“Ew,” Max says with a laugh. 

“Not ew,” you correct. You hadn’t meant it in a bad way, it’s— 

“Not ew,” Steve says from behind you, his arm a heavy weight across your shoulder. 

You look wide-eyed up at his face, surprised by his huge beaming smile, an intense loveliness about him as he gives you a half hug. 

“What’s ew about that?” he asks you softly. 

Oh, boy, you think. 

As it turns out, being Steve’s girlfriend is kind of nice, but you aren’t ready.

From that afternoon at the Palace Arcade onward, he treats you like you’re made of gold. And it’s great, he’s so kind, he brings you flowers and takes you out for breakfast, where he pays the tab without any flourishes and talks to you as casually as always. You almost hope he hasn’t got it wrong at all, and that his soft tone a few days ago had been down to a brief overwhelming fondness. You’d get that. You have your moments with him, you’re falling for him, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re desperately in love, you’re sure, but then the waitress asks if you need anything else and he says, “Just a water for my girl,” and you realise you’re not getting off easy. 

Dating is sort of like being good friends; you’d planned to spend the day together anyways. You enjoy his company. It’s clear he’s eager, optioning off the day’s agenda as you return to the car, the bottom of your face hidden in your bouquet. 

“We could go to the movies,” he says, opening the passenger door, his smile seemingly permanent as you climb inside. “No science fiction, I promise.” 

“I kind of like sci-fi.” Petals press fragrant to your top lip.

“Well, we don’t have to go to the Hawk. We could go into the city. I bet they’re playing any movie you wanna see.” He checks that your leg is properly inside the car before he closes the door, jogging around to the driver’s side and practically throwing himself inside. He’s giggling like a kid. “Shit, I’ll see anything you want to.” 

“Steve.” 

“Or we can go do nothing? Until dinner.” 

“Steve,” you say again, thinking you’ll tell him. Nothing good ever comes from dishonesty. 

“What?” he asks. 

His eyes are so brown. Billions of people with brown eyes and you swear you’ve never seen anything like it before, their centres like hot honey, the sweetheart shape to them when he smiles 

You sigh. His smile is contagious, even while your stomach hurts. “Nothing. Let’s go see a movie.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?” 

“What do you mean, what? You sounded weird.” 

“I sounded weird?” 

“No!” He winces. “I mean, yeah, you sounded weird for you, like you… I don’t know. Sorry.” 

You feel bad, then. His apology is earnest, his hand resting open on the console for you to take if you could manage the flustering heat of it. 

“I wanna go to the movies,” you say, ‘cos you really do. 

“Alright, good. It’s just, I think my last relationship, I– I didn’t pay enough attention, and I want to do that better this time around. So yeah. Sorry.” 

Oh, Steve, you think. How are you supposed to tell him now? You’re gonna have to pretend to be ready for a relationship with him until you really are, it seems. He doesn’t deserve to have his heart played with twice. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you say gently. “Let’s go watch a movie, okay? I want to go, with you, we’ll watch a shitty daytime flick and then get dinner after. It’ll be fun.” 

You aren’t lying to him about what you want. It’s clear to everybody, Steve and his friends and especially you, that you like him, that you want to be around him and make him laugh. Maybe being his girlfriend won’t even be that different to being his something. 

After all, what’s romantic about seeing a movie? 

“You good?” he asks, half an hour later, your agony prolonged. 

You’re at the back of the movies where the seats have the most leg room, more popcorn and candy than you could ever eat at your feet and a litre cup stuffed into the armrest between you. Steve is tucking his shirt back into his jeans, his head parting the light of the projector and leaving a silhouette in the previews. 

“Steve,” you advise, gesturing for him to lean down out of the way. 

He leans down, further and further, face to face with you with his hands on his hips. A flirtatious teasing makes its way onto his lips. “What?” he asks, amused. 

“You were in the way of the light.” 

“That what it was?”

“Seriously!” you whisper-shout, laughing despite yourself. 

“You’re so cute,” he whispers back. “Want to take your jacket off?” 

Your lips part at his good suggestion. You hold your arm out and start to peel from your jacket, but he takes your sleeve and helps you out of it before folding it and sitting in the seat next to you, your jacket on his thigh. “How’s that, babe?” he asks. 

“It’s good.” 

“Okay, perfect.” He beams at you. He’s always smiling when he’s with you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread. Like he loves you. “Tell me if you need something, yeah? I know you’re kinda shy.” 

He settles back in his seat with your jacket still in his lap and no indication that he might want to move it. Your knees touch as he relaxes, your knuckles as he puts his arm on the rest between you, a picture of contentedness as the movie begins and the opening credits play. “That’s us,” he says without looking at you. 

Two people walk down the street holding hands as the title of the movie blazes in yellow font with thick red outlines. A Day In Paradise! 

You bite down on a slither of the inside of your lip until it stings. You try to fight it off but the longer you sit there, the more your eyes burn, thinking about Steve and what he deserves and how unfortunate this whole thing is, and yeah, you’re overwhelmed, too. You aren’t ready for so much sweetness all at once. You don’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve this. 

You force the tears away. The movie goes on and on, the lights low, the chatter of moviegoers and the occasional popcorn crush not nearly loud enough to cover the sound of Steve’s breathing. 

He pushes his hair out of his face. Somebody on screen makes a joke, his hand brushes against yours, and then takes it gently as he laughs. 

You pull your hand away and tip your head down, a frantic tear flicking from your lashes. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

You try to answer. You whimper instead, a terrible, sorry sound stuck to your throat —you can’t hold it in anymore. It’s too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble tearily, looking up, a tear rolling fast down the bump of your cheek. 

Steve sits still in moderate horror. “Why are you crying?” he whispers.

The thing about Steve that people tend to forget is that, while he takes care of people the best that he can, he’s really young. He doesn’t always know what to do. He stares at you now like you’re a foreign object, hand tucked back into his abdomen. 

A tear drips onto your lip. It tastes salty. “Sorry,” you say. 

“Why?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I really like you, Steve.” 

He stares at you. “…But?”

“But I–” His frown hurts your heart. “I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, I never– never had someone like me like this, I don’t know why I’m crying.” You say that last part to yourself rather than him, scrubbing your cheeks with your hands roughly before hiding your face completely. “It’s not you.” 

“I thought…” And of course he did. 

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry, Steve. I thought it wouldn’t matter but everything’s going so fast.” 

He touches your arm gently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you wanted this. You– you said I was your boyfriend, to Max? I thought you liked me.” 

“I do like you,” you insist, meeting his eyes. 

“Can I wipe your tears away? They’re everywhere,” he says. You struggle to read his expression, but there’s no resentment or anger there for you. He looks quite serious. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve bends in his seat to wipe your tears off of your face gently. They really are everywhere, on your cheeks, your top lip, your chin, even down the arc of your neck. “I don’t understand,” he says, going back to your cheek for a missed streak, “but you don’t have to be upset. Please. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise.” 

“Steve, when I was talking to Max, I said,” —you wince— “that it’s not like you’re my boyfriend. She was asking me about you, and I got all panicky because I like you, but I’m too weird about this stuff, I’m panicking now–”

“Don’t.” His hand lingers on your face, before a sorry flash of dejection passes over him, and he drops your face altogether. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please believe me.” 

“Of course I believe you.” He grimaces at you, and the heartbreak turns to something more manageable, like he’s brushing himself off. “I’m sorry. For getting the wrong idea.” 

“I like you,” you whisper. Your voice is nearly lost to the rustle of popcorn and drinks. 

“I like you too!” he says loudly. 

A few seats down, somebody turns, an angry whirl of hair and clicky nails. “Can you guys shut up?” 

You and Steve leave your mountain of snacks behind to stand in the theatre hallway, where the winter air is cool on your flushed skin, and the silence is stifling. You lean against a wood feature wall and try to calm down, because he’s the one who should be upset (or maybe he’s not that fussed about you). He stands a half foot away with his arms crossed, looking down at his shoes, though occasionally he glances at you for a split-second and looks away again. 

“You okay?” he asks tightly. 

“I’m sorry.”

He pokes his cheek with his tongue. “So you don’t want to be together?” 

You don’t know. He deserves the truth, even if you barely understand it yourself, and it stings to say. “I do, I like you, but I… I want to take things slowly.” 

He stands there without talking for a while. When he does talk again, he’s laughing, that achy awful sadness he’d worn a far off memory. “You’re this upset because you want us to take things slow?” 

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” 

“You haven’t,” he promises. “That would never hurt my feelings. I knew when I heard it that it was too good to be true.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I guess I gotta earn the title like everybody else does. Is that… cool?” 

You nod vehemently. 

Steve blows a relieved breath of air up his face, his hair ruffling off of his forehead. “I thought I was gonna lose you completely,” he says, smiling. “This is fine. I can work with slow. Slow’s my middle name.”

—♡—

The sun is a blistering heat today. “Can’t believe it’s only spring,” you murmur, eyes covered by the back of your arm. 

A weight sits down on the blanket beside you, the sound of dry grass crushed underfoot. He brings the fresh scent of lemon slices with him, the zest sticking to his hands.

“I think I might melt.” 

“I’d never let that happen,” Steve says, laying down beside you. 

“You can be my parasol.” 

“Your what?” 

“It’s a sun umbrella.” 

“Like this?” he asks, gently laying himself across your front, his face on the slip of your stomach that’s bare, his arms sneaking behind your thighs to hug them as you bring them up. 

You reach down to stroke his hair, taking your fingers through the silky lengths of it, fingernails scratching ever so slightly at his scalp. “Thanks,” you say.

He kisses your naked leg. “You’re welcome, honey.” 

If he’d done that at the beginning of your relationship, you’d have frozen up; not because he would’ve done it differently, not because he wasn't always your handsome sweetheart, but because being comfortable with someone this intimately takes time, and that’s okay. 

“Your face is digging into my hip,” you murmur. 

He shifts back, his ear above your belly button. “Is that better?” 

“That’s perfect.” 

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks softly. 

“No… I’m thinking.” 

“Nothing good ever comes of that.” 

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“I love talking to you,” he says. He sounds as though he might fall asleep himself, his tongue heavy in his mouth. 

You stroke his hair away from his face by touch alone. Long, warm minutes pass without conversation. You aren’t scared to tell him how you’re feeling. He’s proved to you over time that he’s someone you’ll always be able to trust, and that whatever you have to say will hold weight. 

“It’s a question.” 

He turns in your hold to face you. You raise your arm, greeted by the image of him sun-kissed and lazing, laid out across you without a care in the world. 

“Don’t tell me then,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, you’re terrifying.” 

“Would you wanna be my boyfriend?”

He narrows his eyes at you. A myriad of emotions pass between you both, until he’s smiling, and you know he’s sitting up for a kiss seconds before he actually does. He presses his lips to yours carefully. “Baby,” he says as he pulls away, voice as mild as his soft kiss, “I think we’ve passed that point.” 

“I realised I’d never asked you, is all.” 

His hair falls down into his eyes. You tuck it behind his ear. It’s pretty clear now you’re together, even after such a bumpy start. 

“Can I get it in writing this time?” he asks, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, your eyes fluttering closed in tandem. 

“Give you anything you want if you kiss me,” you murmur. 

His laugh fans over your lips. He cups your cheek, your heart a hummingbird drilling at your ribs as Steve moves in to kiss you properly. Your lips part under the pressure, your head tilting a touch to one side to accommodate him as he searches down for you, melty hot pleasure and nerves that never seem to fade arising as his thumb moves up your cheek, a semi-circle of touch. It promises undulating care whenever you want it. 

You tip your head aside to catch your breath.

“Better late than never,” you joke. 

Steve talks into the soft skin beside your mouth. “You weren’t late, babe. I was early, and I didn’t mind waiting.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank u for reading!! pretty please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed cos it means so much to me and inspires me to write even more!!! but either way i hope u enjoyed❤️❤️❤️

[revelboo]

Might I offer you the idea of writing about Metroplex? He doesn’t get enough love!

I can try, he’s sorely underused in TF media and what I know boils down to huge, but gentle.

I Can Feel You

Metroplex x Reader

• Under your feet, the ground hums with a barely felt vibration that travels up through the soles of your shoes until you can feel it in your bones. Reaching out, you run your fingertips along the wall of the nearest building, the metal warm and alive. Because the city is alive, somnolent. Metroplex. You’ve heard the Autobots talking about the massive Cybertronian before. That the titan is aware of them, evident in the way a building will sometimes reshape itself. A walk way appearing where needed if Metroplex approves of you or just likes you. You talk to the huge Autobot sometimes, feeling a bit silly as you relay your day. Not even really sure why you started doing it, but there’s something about the big Cybertronian that just seems so lonely. If Metroplex is aware, he’s probably sick of hearing you ramble.

• As small as all the Cybertronians calling him home are, there’s an organic even tinier among them. Someone that actually talks to him, asking him questions and keeping him anchored when his mind drifts. He cares for them all, but when everyone talks about him like he’s not really there, someone speaking to him means so much. He’s everywhere, but a part of nothing. The Cybertronians he protects and shelters living lives he’s not a part of, watching but isolated. It’s a burden he’d accepted, until you.

• The touch of a tiny, little hand against him. That soft voice focusing him as he tracks you. Quietly moving obstacles out of your way, sliding a sidewalk under your feet when you’re about to round a corner and meet up with a bigger bot who���s unaware that you’re there. You make a startled noise, arms pinwheeling for balance as you’re gently redirected away from potential danger. And you smile for him. Thank him, warmth spreading through his spark. They’re all his to protect, but you? Always a priority.

Next

[becauseplot]

qPhilza perching on people because bird

qFit: Mans is built like a brick shithouse—he can totally balance Phil’s additional weight. The first attempt is a bit shaky, sure, but nowadays Phil swoops down or hops up onto Fit’s shoulder and all Fit really has to do is jut out his elbow to give his friend a little more space for his talons to work with. Bam, he’s perched. Works out about 9.9 times out of 10, though Phil delights in trying to catch him off guard.

qEtoiles: He doesn’t have Fit’s bulk on his side, so he’s not as sturdy, but he is strong. The landing is usually a little rough since Etoiles has to work a bit harder to counterbalance the additional weight, but he always finds that center of gravity in no time flat. Phil usually perches with one talon on each of Etoiles’ shoulders since he’s not as w i d e, just so Phil can have a little extra grip. At some point, Etoiles tries fighting a mob while Phil is perched on him, and that goes exactly as well as you would expect.

qForever: Honestly, with all of the hard labor Forever does for his big builds, Phil was expecting him to do better, but the first (several) attempts end up with Forever stumbling over and knocking Phil off of him from his wild arm-pinwheeling. They eventually figure out it’s more doable if Forever himself has something to lean on (a wall, a chair, the butt of his pickaxe) and Phil puts one talon evenly spaced on each shoulder. Phil learns some new swears in Portuguese in the process.

qMissa: Flattened. Full-on face in the floor, mouth full of grass, wind knocked out of his lungs at Mach 5 the first time Phil tries. Phil apologizes profusely, but Missa—once he can breathe again—just rolls over onto his back and asks Phil if they can give it another try. It takes a long, LONG time, but they figure out that if Phil plants his talons on Missa’s shoulder pads and leans forward while Missa leans back, they have a small little window of time where they achieve balance. The best part? Phil gets a perfect view of Missa’s goofy little grin every single time.

[emchant3d]

part 2 of runaway bride stevie! modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington pt 1

Eddie Munson is not having a good day.

His phone died last night so his alarm didn’t go off, his bassist is sick so their gig tonight has to be canceled, and his last three Uber rides have stiffed him on a tip.

He accepts a request from some dude named Scott with a terrible comb-over in his profile picture and gives himself two seconds to bang his forehead into his steering wheel in frustration with a closed-mouth scream. Then he dials it back so he doesn’t seem absolutely fucking insane. He can see the suit he’s about to escort to some fucking meeting even though he’d rather be doing any-fucking-thing else, and he pastes a fake smile on to greet him. He’s gearing up to fall into the usual routine of this godforsaken job, but then it all goes a little sideways.

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then a blur of a body is slamming into poor Scott from behind, shoulder checking him and almost sending him careening onto the sidewalk. The dude pinwheels his arms like a cartoon character, suit jacket puffing up around his shoulders awkwardly, expression so baffled it makes Eddie snort despite himself.

“Oh, shit,” he mumbles, and he’s reaching for his seatbelt to see if the guy needs any help - he looks like he might break a hip if he hits the ground - but then a whirlwind of white fabric swoops into his backseat and a loud, desperate voice yells "DRIVE!" in his ear, and he sort of just thinks 'sure, why the fuck not,' and slams his foot on the gas.

The car fishtails a bit and the tires squeal as he swerves into traffic, horns honking after him, and he picks a direction at random, going way too fast for this area of town.

His heart is pounding in his chest, worst case scenarios running through his head. He’s going to get car jacked. He’s going to go to jail for being an unwitting getaway driver. But there isn’t any more yelling from the back seat, just heavy, panicked breathing, and he settles into traffic and slows down to a more normal speed before he cuts his eyes up to the rearview mirror.

Time stops.

It’s Stevie.

He can’t believe he didn’t recognize her the second he saw her, but in his defense, it's not like he was expecting to see his ex-girlfriend in a goddamn wedding dress running like she stole something today.

Pure panic wraps tight around his throat as he takes her in - is she hurt? In danger? Nothing good could have had her sprinting away from her own wedding, but it seems like she’s just shaken up.

His heart calms a bit once her tears dry and they get properly on the road.

And shit, it’s so unfair, because she's just as breathtaking as she was the day they split. She looks just as sad, too, which is certainly not how a woman like Stevie Harrington should look on her wedding day. But seeing her in a gown like that - Jesus Christ. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest. It’s like something out of a fantasy, seeing her in the exact kind of dress she used to whisper to him about wanting, the kind of dress he’d once promised to marry her in. Of course, they fell apart before he could even get a ring on her finger, but it still sends his stomach swooping to see the future they’d spoken about come to life.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he can’t help but ask, glancing over his shoulder at her.

“Yeah,” she says, voice high and a little squeaky. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just in my ex-boyfriend's car after I left my fiance at the altar, it’s all fine, it’s chill.”

“Okay,” he says haltingly, delicately, because Stevie Harrington is not the kind of person who says it’s chill, “it’s just that, you know, all of that sounds decidedly not chill.”

“This is so chill. It’s the chillest I’ve ever been, actually - hold on–” she says, and next thing he knows a swirl of silk is blocking his view and he sputters a bit as the train of her dress smacks him in the face, but she’s clambering gracelessly from the back seat and over the console to plop down on the passenger side with a loud huff and a cloud of perfume.

It’s different from what she used to wear. She used to smell spicy and warm, with notes of amber and cinnamon. He’d kiss the little spots in her wrists where she’d spritz it on, trace the veins beneath the tan skin with his nose to keep the scent of her with him.

Now she smells like vanilla and something floral, airy and light. Like he stepped into a bakery. It’s not bad, of course it’s not bad, but it’s…different. Not her.

Or not his version of her, anyway.

This is someone else’s Stevie now, and she smells like fucking cookies instead of home.

Instead of commenting on it, he just tells her to put on her seat belt, and she looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“And wrinkle this dress?” she says, her nose curling a little, and God she’s such a bitch and he’s missed it so much.

“I hate to break it to you,” he tells her, “but some wrinkles are not the worst damage that thing has seen today.” There are small grey splotches on the bodice where her makeup dripped as she cried earlier, and the hemline has some muddy staining from her mad dash on the sidewalk. It’s not ruined, but it’ll have to be cleaned, and a couple of wrinkles will be the easiest thing to get out of the formerly pristine fabric.

He glances over at her in time to see her run her hands over the skirt of the dress, smoothing it out over her thighs. It shifts, the leg slit parting to show her skin, teasing at the hint of a crease where her thigh and stomach meet, and Eddie rips his gaze away to stare at the road instead.

“Probably for the best, anyway,” he says, and he feels her eyes latch onto his profile.

“And why’s that?” she asks, and he smirks.

“Well, pure white? C’mon, Stevie, we both know that’s a lie.” He flashes her a wicked grin and she makes an outraged sound, but a small smile is teasing at her mouth even as her cheeks flush.

She kicks off her heels - red bottoms, because of fucking course they are - and slouches in the seat. She pushes herself up, adjusting in the pile of silk and corsetry she’s been strapped into, and he sees the absolute mountain of a rock on her hand, and manages to bite his tongue about it being the gaudiest thing he’s ever seen.

"So who was the lucky guy?" Eddie asks before he can stop himself, and the glare Stevie gives him could cut glass. “Or lucky woman. Person? Far be it from me to deny you your bisexual rights.”

He probably sounds like a jealous asshole, but he can't help it. He's the getaway driver for his one that got away on her fucking wedding day, and he feels like he deserves to ask a few questions.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel as the silence lingers, but eventually, Stevie just groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest dramatically.

"Don't laugh," she demands, and Eddie shakes his head.

"Scout's honor," he promises, and he swears a wry little grin teases at her lips.

“You were never a scout. You would have been kicked out for inciting a riot.”

“Hey, I just ensured we all earned our arson badges, okay? I did every one of those kids a favor.” Stevie scoffs, and it almost sounds fond.

Then she says, “Tommy,” and he almost swerves into oncoming traffic.

"HAGAN?" he says, louder than he means to, and her hand flies up to grab the oh-shit bar.

“Eddie, Jesus!” she says, glaring at him, and he shakes his head, focusing back on the road.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, but fucking - really? “Really?” He can’t help himself. “Tommy Hagan?”

“Yes, really, Tommy Hagan,” she says hotly, like she’s defensive, like she didn’t just leave the schmuck at the fucking altar.

“Well that explains the ring, at least.” She reaches over, smacking at his arm, which, thanks to the aforementioned ring, is probably going to bruise. “Hey, ow!” He glares at her, taking a hand off the wheel to rub his bicep. “Watch it, that thing’s a weapon.”

“Then stop sassing me about it,” she snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms and her face falls into that adorable bitchy little pout he’s always fucking loved, and he looks away again.

He can’t help but glance back over at her left hand. The ring is…certainly something. Giant, square, one big diamond surrounded by other, smaller diamonds, with even more diamonds on the band. It looks heavy and cumbersome and like she’s going to smack it into every wall and door and get it caught in her hair and seriously, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a knot forming on his arm where the thing hit him.

It looks like Tommy walked into the priciest jewelry store he could find and asked for the most expensive ring they had.

It looks like a status symbol.

It doesn’t look like her.

“Apologies, highness,” he says, shaking himself free of his thoughts. It’s not fair to hold her to those standards. He hasn’t spoken to her in years. He can’t know what kind of person she is now.

But there’s still a bone-deep knowing that overtakes him at the feeling of the woman next to him. A sense of deja vu so strong it threatens to knock him over.

A different car, a different time, a different circumstance, but the same person. The same love.

He’d picked a direction at random, but as the streets become more familiar, he realizes he’s heading towards his place. It’s as good as any, he figures, and he shifts lanes, reaching to tap on his phone and shutting down his Uber account.

“You know, I almost expected you’d still be driving that beat up old van,” Stevie says suddenly, and he crows a laugh.

“Ah, Van Halen, you served me well until you almost blew up on the highway,” he says fondly. “Lost her about a year ago. It was tragic. I held a funeral.” She laughs again, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she says, turning that pretty smile his way, and his heart does a somersault.

“That was a very impressive move back there, by the way,” he tells her, “that shoulder check of that old defenseless businessman?” He whistles. “Haven’t seen anybody move that quick to steal an old man’s ride before, really, it should have been documented.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” she says, but there’s a laugh in her voice, and she brings up her hands to press to her pink cheeks. He can’t help but keep digging.

“No, seriously! And sprinting like that in heels? And in that dress? What’s that thing weigh, like twenty pounds?”

“It’s a dress, not a suit of armor,” she tells him, but her smile is growing, making her eyes crinkle.

“Just saying, it was pretty metal,” he shrugs, and she snorts.

“Well, you would know,” she says, and he ignores the way his face flushes in response. She gives a little sigh, wiping below her eye and frowning at the smear of black on her fingers.

“Here,” he says, reaching across her. His arm brushes her leg as he opens the glove box and he’s so fucking normal about it. He pulls out a few fast food napkins, holding them out to her. “No makeup wipes in here, but that’ll help with the worst of it.”

“Thanks,” she says, and she flips the visor down, tapping a napkin to her tongue to wet it before wiping at the mascara tracks running down her face. “God,” she groans, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear, “I look like a raccoon.”

“A very cute raccoon,” he says before he can stop himself. Jesus, Munson, dial it back. “Like the raccoon that’s about to get the best trash in the bin, she doesn’t even have to ask for it.” Stop talking. “The other raccoons are just gonna give it to her, on account of how cute she is.” He’s gonna throw himself into traffic.

“Did you just call me a raccoon on my wedding day,” she asks. Fine, commit to the bit.

“You called yourself a raccoon on your wedding day. I was just agreeing with you,” he replies, keeping his eyes fixed to the road.

Her eyes are on him - he can feel her stare burning into the side of his face, and his cheeks are going pink and blotchy and God, he’s an idiot–

And then she laughs. Not her polite little contained laugh, either, no, this is that loud, wide mouthed laugh that she hates, that makes her shoulders shake and her head fall back. It’s squeaky and hearty and a little obnoxious and he’s always been so obsessed with getting her to let it out, and he can’t help the smug beaming little smile he gives at the sound.

“You’re such an ass,” she says through her laugh, and Eddie can’t help but laugh with her even if it’s at his own expense, because at least she doesn’t look so goddamn sad anymore.

When they finally reach his apartment complex she’s a little more subdued, but the look on her face isn’t totally heartbreaking, and he’ll take what he can get. He comes around to the passenger side to open her door for her and helps her gather the dramatic skirt of her dress to keep it off the pavement as they head towards the stairs, and he knows he looks like an insane person as he carts a bride down the hall, but he just smiles at his nosy neighbors and lets this cement his reputation as the weird as fuck off-putting metalhead he knows they all think of him as.

He feels a little self conscious as he opens the apartment door for her, sweeping an arm dramatically to allow her to enter first. For the first time since she swept into his car, he wonders if this is a good idea. But it’s too late now – Stevie’s giving him a little smile and stepping into his home, and part of him knows this was inevitable. She may not have called him, but he was always going to come if she needed him.

He follows her inside and tries to calm the pounding of his heart, watching her take in his space, struck all over again by her beauty and the impossibility of her standing here, and silently prays he isn’t going to fuck it up all over again.

this was almost even longer, but I figure 2.5k is enough for a part 2! no tag lists, sorry, but part 3 will be here at some point. thank you to everyone who's had a kind word to say about this au these two are very near and dear to me 💕

[gremlingottoosilly]

lunchbox anon here!!!! :D

i wanna add that i can also see König showing off his lunch? like there’s this one video of a boyfriend showing off to his coworkers what his girlfriend made for him, and like he pulls out two packs of gummies or something and everyone is like “WOAH” “OOOOO” “NO WAY TWO??!?!??? 🤯 “ and more

and i see König doing the same thing, and officers are too scared NOT to react, and if anyone doesn’t react, König stares at them menacingly until they do :))))

Yes!! I love you, lunchbox anon!! Honestly, Konig has too much sass and reasons to brag about his wife for someone who hated socializing with his coworkers before. He can't help it though, his soldiers and officers alike are swarming around his giant lunchbox every time he tries to just have a nice meal on base while not out on the missions. He is the only high-positioned member of KorTac to not indulge in horrifying cafeteria food, and everyone is jealous because he literally has an omelet in a pinwheel shape, carrots cut out like little stars, and meat cooked with the perfect amount of spices and some flavored oil.

Everyone is begging him for a bite, and he had to shout at everyone to leave him alone because it's his meal!! He has a big appetite, he needs his giant portions and cute little deserts cooked by his precious wifey( sometimes she slips her scandalous polaroids into the box and Konig has to train the rookies while having a raging boner which makes everyone Terrified.

Of course, he still expects everyone to adore his wife when you bring him food!! He is so silly, forgot his lunch at home(( Definitely didn't do it on purpose just because he wanted everyone to see you again. The problem is, that a lot of more courageous soldiers are asking you to cook for them too...and you're too nice to say no( Konig drags too many boxes next time, with all of those cute foods for his fellow officers, and he stopped asking you to come to the base because he is jealous you're cutting fruits in funny shapes for someone else!!

[bonus-links]

Commentary on the update? 🥺

YEAHH

i sketched this page forgetting that the SS Linebeck was gonna be visible at the dock and even went to the trouble of drawing the other side of Outset in the distance on one of the panels before i realized HAHA and then proceeded to grudgingly draw the side of the ship over and over

sorry about the lack of Ayrll lines, there just wasn't much opportunity with everything else I needed to get through this update. we'll see more of her I promise o7

i was convinced to keep the "he frow up" and "link's fuckass sword" gags in so i'm glad everyone's enjoying those HAHA

The waterfall BG in the panel of Tetra recognizing the sword is the same one as the stone Ganondorf from pt. 3. You might also notice that tiny Wake from Tetra's last memory of the sword has a bloody eye. Wonder how that happened

Everyone joking abt Linebeck rizzing Gran Gran last update I was like wait. just wait

Lots of ppl interpreted Slate introducing himself as Link as him not getting the social cue, which I think is a great way to interpret it lol. but also consider: he totally noticed and just decided not to lie anyway.

I tried to fill gran gran's house with pictographs Wake might have taken and little gifts Wake might have brought back for her from his adventures (within reason, all these backgrounds were a lot of work HAHA). There's Wake and Ayrll on Ice Ring Isle, and Gran Gran's even got her own korok pinwheel!

that's all!! this was a fun update, I love reading everyone's comments :-)

[radioisntdead]

Omg i need more platonic Alastor and child overlord reader! Like i need child reader to be a menace to society! I need Valentino quivering in his boots as he glances at child reader! Like im talking reader was reason Val has a messed up entente. Alastor trying to manipulate the kid only for child reader to laugh it off and sip their juicebox. Child reader should definitely be an arsonist, having a thing for fire.

Good evening my dear! This is a little shorter then intended but I hope you enjoy!

Alastor & Child reader, platonic obviously.

Warnings!

FERAL CHILD READER, making this a prequel or au? [?] of the other one, reader became an overlord by accident, child reader is still a doll, I am still TERRIFIED OF PORCELAIN DOLLS

Alastor began to regret picking you up from the streets as your teeny tiny little hands patted his fluffy ears, it was fine the first few days as he tried to find your parents, after all you were a child.

He was unable to be rid of you, he tried to drop you off at a hell orphanage, you appeared again, put you back in the alley he found you, you appeared again, you were inescapable.

Alastor didn't even know you became an overlord until an invite to a overlord meeting was given to you sent by Carmilla Carmine, how did she know you became an overlord?

The overlord meeting was confusing, you didn't want to be there, they were confused on how you got there, you were sat sipping on a juice box that Auntie Rosie had brought you Infront of you a coloring book with crayons.

They were discussing something you didn't care about, overlord duties, territory issues blah blah blah, what did catch your attention though was the purple guy squinting at Rosie, he made a comment about making her a star causing Rosie to frown, the static that Alastor produced made your ears hurt and that pinwheeled into Carmilla asking the purple guy what possessed him to make that comment and kicked him out of the meeting and that was that.

For now.

Alastor held your hand as he walked you up to the Vees tower, he leaned over you

"Small one, do you remember that awfully tacky dressed thing from our little meeting today?"

You nodded,

"The one that made Auntie Rosie frown?"

"That's the one! Be a dear and do what you do best and-" he gently grabbed your arms and rolled up your sleeves, looking them over to make sure they wouldn't come loose and fall

"T̸̛͍͇͕̖͓̗̰̱̗̙̤̝̥̘̪͉̋̔̏̋̈͛̊͂͌̆̀͛̐͘͝e̴̢̛̘͔̩͍̣̪͈̞̘̖̦̤͙̫̾̽̌̌̐͗̈̾̿͐͗̆͂̒͘͜a̴̡̢̢͉̗̥̩̦͚̻̼͙͓̬͔̣͆̔̑̓̓̀͊̾̈́̃̀̉̓̇͘͝r̴̖͈̹͕͖͖̲̪͓̜̠̺̖̝̦̍͌̿́͒̈́̎͗͊̌̚͝͝͝͠͠ͅ ̸̡̡̢̥̣͍̖͙͍̰͕̟͍̯̲̍̎͑̎̅̎͗̈́̌̍̂͋̎́͠͠ͅh̴̛̞̰͍̪̘̞̜̗͍̞̞̝̖̩̼̠̓̋̿̅͐́̋̾͒̑̊̍̏̿͝i̵̧̢̛̳̗̗̠͒̓͋̈́̓̑͌̄̌̃͑̄͘͘̚m̶̢͚͚̞̯͕͍̬̩̭͖̦̯͉̖̭̒͌̈́̿̏̏̔̂̍̽̃̉͘̚̕͝ ̶̢̧̗͔̩̖̙̼̙̳͉̦̬̱̺̰͊̓̒̃̍̍͒̽͌̋̑̓́̌̕͝a̴̯͚͉̼̺̥͖̬̪̟͍͉̼̩̫̅͌́͗́́͑̽̇͆̐͗̋̒̾̕͜p̸̛̛̙͓̯͙͈͚̜͔̱͚͈̝̲̹̟̲͗̈́̓̆̀̆̌͆̔́͗̚͝͝a̶̢̨̝̘̮͙͕̼̰͍̹̲̮̮̥̥͛͆͐̾͐͛͗̃̑̂̾̑̒͐̚̚r̷̢̛͍̯̖̪͍̱̹̺͖͉̭̥̣̹̾̇͒̉̈̿́̒͋̓̈́̓̚͘͜͝ẗ̴̢͍̺̰̱̮̗͓̟̱̯̥͙̜̝͑͌͆̑̓̂͛̊̔͌̆̉̏̂͛͜ ̵̡̧̧̢͕̜͙̜͙͈̝̪̜̮̲̐̆̈́̌͑͛̑͗̐̍̚̕̕͜͝͝͝"

the static in his voice stung your ears but you didn't care too much because you just got permission to be absolutely feral, not that you needed that permission in the first place.

You skipped cheerfully into the tower sneaking past the receptionist and into an elevator, luckily for you the purple man from earlier came rushing into the elevator.

Valentino was now stuck with you.

Valentino was confused when the regular elevator music changed to boss music and that's when he looked down to see two large child eyes staring back at him.

"What the-aCK" he didn't even get to finish his sentence as you grabbed fist fulls of his wings and climbed up him, actively growling like a feral raccoon.

The elevator dinged as it opened up, Valentino fell out small puddles of what one could assume to be blood puddled out beneath him startling several employees,

You stood tall [or at least you felt like it], wearing Valentino's heart shaped glasses, the white bits of one of Valentino's antennas in your hand before you grinned and threw it up like confetti.

"Okie-dokie! I'm done, bye-bye!" You said gleefully before kicking the rest of Valentino out of the elevator and pushed a button to go back down humming cheerfully as the door closed and someone rushed over to Valentino.

He didn't come to overlord meetings after that, at least not when you were there.

"Little one, sign this."

Alastor said as he came to you holding a contract and your favorite flavor of crayon,

"No,"

"Please?"

"Nope"

"I'll give you candy and I'll let you go to bed at 9:30 instead of 8:45"

"No!"

You shook your head and shouted before taking a sip of your juicebox, Alastor opened his smiling mouth to say something only to get interrupted by horrendous banging on the hotel doors.

"ANGEL, I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE COME OUT."

It seemed the purple man had come to do something to Angel dust, your favorite babysitter, you looked up and blinked at your forcibly adopted parent as if asking for permission, you weren't asking you were giving a forewarning.

Alastor just nodded smile growing larger as you skipped over to the hotel doors and swung em' open, stopping the moth mid door attack.

Valentino was stunned for a moment as he saw no one was seemingly there, you coughed to get his attention.

Valentino looked down at you, juice box in hand and a grin large on your little face,

A chill ran through his spine, he knew you.

He blinked, the juicebox in your hand was replaced with a lighter.

He opened his mouth to let out a scream attempting to scramble away from you before you took away his other antenna,

Unfortunately for him he wasn't fast enough in his escape as you had set his wings on fire, turns out they're really flammable!

Good evening folks I'm scheduling this for Monday at 8 am so hopefully it'll actually post! Thank you for tuning in I hope you enjoyed!

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 13.5)

Lucifer/Reader: Lucifer chooses you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for Explicit.

(So, this is a quick update because chapter 14 keeps getting more complicated but I promised a continuation last weekend and couldn’t get it out due to health concerns. I hope y’all can forgive me for such a short chapter piece, but thank you for reading regardless!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“You’re here.” 

You paused, hands already wrapped around Lucifer’s as the words spilled from both his and your mouth. In spite of everything, you giggled semi-hysterically and the stalled expression on Lucifer’s face relaxed as well. 

He looked at you between the bars of the gate, eyes shining to the point of tears. You pressed harder against the bars of your cage as if to slip through, one hand raised to cup his cheek and thumb the cherubic blush there. 

        “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again.” He admitted, surrendering to your touch. 

It hurt to smile but you couldn’t help yourself. You grinned through your own tears, dripping down your cheeks before falling to the clouds beneath. You were struck by his admiring gaze, even with the blurring of your vision. It reminded you of the many times he’d looked at you when you were a mere mortal and not privy to the knowledge you had now. 

      You had tried so hard to fight against what that look meant, stupidly thinking you wouldn’t fall prey to it if you feigned ignorance. 

      The King sniffled, hand intertwined with your own as you explored the planes of his face once more. He closed in on the bars that kept you from each other, slumping forward to press his forehead to yours. He inhaled deeply, trying to absorb everything that was You without heeding what lay behind him or beyond. His wings had expanded to their full glory, acting as a screen between you and the less than welcoming retinue that had just attacked him. Lucifer couldn’t provide full privacy from the throng of nosy citizens gathered behind you. But at least you were shielded from Gabriel and his goons for the time being.

“It’s alright.” You soothed, fingertips fleeced through his blond hair. “We’re together now.” 

      The noise he made was more a sob than a laugh as he intended, but your heart swelled at the sound. For a moment you soaked in the touch of his face against your own, in all of its cold, marblesque glory. If you closed your eyes, you could convince yourself that you were back home, spending another lazy afternoon trussed up with Lucifer in your bedsheets. 

                Your eyes opened again, suddenly. 

“Lucifer, where’s Charlotte?” You asked. 

      The father of your child seemed out of sorts at the question. His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish’s before enlightenment brightened his features. 

“She’s fine!” He replied. “She’s all tucked in her crib, fast asleep.” 

“Her crib… at the Farrows?” You gulped down the shot of bile that raced up your throat. 

“Well… yeah,” Lucifer’s smile wilted at the hysteria building behind your eyes like a tsunami wave. “I couldn’t very well bring her with me!”

“So you left our daughter with those people?!” You couldn’t help the shrill accusation from leaving your mouth when a million and one horrible possibilities ran through your head. 

“No! I would never!” Lucifer denied, head shaking vigorously. “She’s being watched over by the goats!”

Your eyebrows rose, rearing back. “What?”

“The goats! The ones with little wings and tails that I made? I showed them to you right before you… well, you know!” Lucifer caroled. “Remember?”

You stared at him blankly until the metaphorical lightbulb in your brain flicked on. Incredulity bodied you.

“You left… our baby… with stuffed animals…?” 

Lucifer stilled for an instant before reanimating until his body resembled less a sturdy human’s and more a flexible jello mold as his arms pinwheeled at his sides. The Devil’s wings flapped and shuddered with his anxiety.

He matched your hysteria with a frenzied laugh. “Oh! No! Not— I wouldn’t! I-I-I gave them sentience! Th-that-that was the plan! I was gonna tell you before but — I-I guess it slipped my mind after you started glowing!” 

Lucifer attempted to steady himself after the sudden burst of emotion as you stared in alarm, though he was panting when he leaned forward. 

“They were made for Charlotte. To cater to her every need! And if anything happens, they know to get me right away!” 

His eyes went wide and earnest. “I would never, ever, ever put our baby in danger. I swear to you. Never. I-if I could’ve brought her with me, a-and been sure that no one would try to take her, I’d —”

Your fingers brushed over his lips as soon as he was within range again. 

“Okay.” You interrupted.

 Lucifer blinked.

“Okay?” He asked. 

You nodded, taking his hand once more to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I believe you.” 

Your kiss had the desired effect. Lucifer melted into a daze, smiling almost shyly at the gesture before you looked into his eyes again. You tried to communicate your sincerity without words, for it would take far too long to tell him everything you’d discovered upon arriving in Heaven. 

     You sighed softly, feeling his warm breath on your face. Lucifer gravitated toward you, close enough to kiss between the infernal bars holding you back… 

“Lucifer, I…” Your words came out shakily, the heartbeat you shouldn’t have ringing in your ears. 

His lips were a hair’s breadth away. Too distracting. Your eyes fell shut. “I… lov-”

“I fucking told you this would happen!” 

You froze. 

A harsh voice rose above the din and fray, bringing reality with it to jolt you upright. 

Lucifer’s expression fell, warped by shock and horror as you were ripped away from his grasp and pulled back from the gate as if it were on fire. You gasped as your back collided with another’s chest and an arm wrapped around your midsection. 

      Your head snapped up to see Adam’s ghoulish mask hung above you, glaring over your head at Lucifer. He continued to squeeze the life out of you as he flew back and stopped a good meter away from where you’d been standing. 

       “Let go of me!” You shouted, squirming in the man’s grip. You dug your nails into his forearm, trying to pry him off of you. An unusual feeling lanced up your spine, something that was not quite pain but uncomfortable and indescribable. It further disoriented you as you were dragged back.  

A force of wind blasted over you and Adam, stopping the latter in his tracks with a curse. The gale blew back your extremities, forcing you to cover your face to block the brunt of it. You squinted through it to catch another glimpse of Lucifer. 

       The Devil’s wings pumped through the air in his rage as he stood ablaze in red, ivory and gold. He looked much like he had before your death: a fiery comet promising destruction to anything in its path. Pure energy radiated off of him from all sides as his horns protracted from the crown of his head. Fire bloomed between them to match the blood red that had overtaken his eyes, and the jagged stripes rippling over his porcelain face. 

His fangs gnashed and once delicate hands contracted into long claws that grappled with the gate panels until they bowed and bent under the pressure. 

Gasps and screams filled the air all around you.

* Tag List: @crescent-z, @for-hearthand-home, @undertale-is-sansational, @loslox, @navierkalani, @yaimlight, @ivoryviness, @crystalplays28, @flowerempress, @wally-darling-hyperfixation, @altruisticradiodemon, @moonlight-readings, @halparkebitch, @charliecharlie65, @sockgoblin, @cocomollo, @caniseethefourthsword, @squeegeeclean, @crow-twink, @an-emovision, @marydragneell, @lafy-taffy, @fandom-imagines1, @loquacious-libra, @glowymxxn, @avadakadabra93, @froggybich, @hamthepan, @ukor02, @adaizel, @boogiemansbitch, @vinillies, @lbcreations-blog, @thesoundresoundsecho, @serenity-loves-red, @alientee, @aquaamythest96, @0strawberrysorbet0, @fluffy-koalala, @washeduphazbin, @rebecca-hvnstn, @velvette3, @kermitdafroggy, @wpdarlingpan, @apatcheworkofproblems, @cherry-cola-100, @pink-apples001, @al-of-the-stars, @backinthefkingbuildingagain, @martinys-world, @alastorssimp, @wobblesthewaffle, @shikiribee, @undertale-anomaly20, @asakura-fangirl-stuff, @ringsofpersonti @angelicwillows, @wingoodlilboymyway, @cimadreamer, @museofzealoushope, @oneiric-rotaerc, @call-me-nyxx, @darling-angel222, @elementwind91, @bloody-delusion-expert, @devilslittlebabyxx, @diffidentphantom, @shamblezzz, @ranposanedogawa, @minamilinaqueen, @1-helluva-hazbin

[baronessvonglitter]

Ready When You Are

husband!Marcus Pike x wife!Reader

Word count: 2K

Summary: you and your husband Marcus Pike can't stop thinking about trying for a baby...

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, fluff, established relationship, talk of having a baby, reader wears lingerie, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, playful rough/dirty talk, fingering, unprotected piv (actively trying to get preggo), if I missed anything please let me know!

Author's note: this is for @fluffygoffpanda I hope this scratches that itch! Jesus do you have good taste in men for this particular kink. PS I don't know what pink cloud punch is, but I can tell you that if you pour Sprite over rainbow sherbet it's sooo gooood!

MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

It's one of those "modern" baby showers where men are guests, but inevitably drift to the den where a football game is on. The women mill about the kitchen and dining room, sampling dishes, gossiping, exchanging stories about their own pregnancies.

Marcus seemed more excited about the get-together than you were, and despite having migrated to the other room for the game, he keeps sneaking back to the kitchen, swiping a pinwheel sandwich, or a petits fours. You can tell he's half-listening to the little nuggets of advice being passed around, and watching the presents being opened, yellow and pink and blue tissue paper blanketing the floor. 

Your youngest sister looks resplendent in her flowy pink floral maternity dress, her hands continually resting on her bump, protective, almost queenly. "I'm so happy for you," you tell her for the hundredth time, kissing her cheek.

She smiles, sipping a frothy cup of pink cloud punch. "Sister, when's it going to be your turn?"

"For what?" Marcus asks, appearing behind you, enveloping you in his arms.

"For a baby," you answer him, giving him a little smile, a rosiness painting your cheeks. You've been married almost a year, and though you've both talked about eventually starting a family, you haven't chosen a time on when exactly to begin.

"No pressure," you sister says quickly. "It's a serious decision."

You are the last of your siblings to have a child. Even your older brother has twins in elementary school.

"We'll talk about it when you're ready," Marcus says, giving your hand a soft kiss.

You expect him to be the one to bring it up, to possibly goad you into talking about it, or at least planning what names you'd use. But he's seemingly forgotten about it on the drive home after the party, making dinner plans with friends for next weekend, and going to see your favorite band in town when they finally come there on tour.

It's not until the next morning that you bring it up over coffee at your favorite diner. 

"Would you want to start trying for a baby?"

Marcus stops, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Then he breaks into a grin, only resuming his poker face for only a moment to say: "I'm ready when you are."

You nod, letting the pieces fall together in your brain. There are unknowable factors, of course, but you wouldn't be alone, and you'd be having a child with the absolute love of your life.

"I'm ready. I want to have a baby with you."

The smile on Marcus's face could light up the entire Eastern Seaboard. He takes your hands across the table, leaning in for a kiss. "I'm so glad, because honestly I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since the baby shower yesterday," he admits a little sheepishly.

His enthusiasm is contagious, lifting your heart and erasing any doubts you had. "Do you think we're ready?" you have to ask.

"Babe," he says. "You're too perfect of a person to not be making the world better by adding a few more of you to it."

You sigh in mock exasperation. "How do you know exactly what to say?"

He chuckles, but his expression softens when he looks at you. "I'm in if you're in. I mean that."

Thinking about it takes up your entire day. You look up baby names, maternity wear, childbirth options, the best OBGYNs in the area. Then you go further, checking out the schools, wondering if you should trust public or go private. Then colleges. Which one is best for which degree?

Marcus thinks it's cute when you call him to tell him what you've been working on all day. "Sounds like you're really, really serious about this," he says.

"You'll be home soon?" you ask, checking your hair in the mirror one last time.

"I'm about five minutes away. Why?"

"I have a surprise for you. Drive safe."

Naturally Marcus has to restrain himself from speeding the next couple blocks to your home. Just as he's about to unlock the front door you open it, wearing a teddy in his favorite shade on you.

"Just in time," you purr, grabbing him inside by the collar.

"What's going on?" he smirks, happily led by you to the bedroom. 

"What do you think?" you smirk back. The bed is strewn with rose petals, and you perch yourself in the middle of it, an utter vision to Marcus's eyes. He follows you, led by a primal instinct to take you, to hold you and make you his.

"I didn't take my birth control pill today," you tell him. "In fact, I threw them all out."

His brows rise, heart skips a beat, mouth fills with saliva. "Why'd you do that?" he asks slowly, even though he already knows.

"Because tonight I want you to get me pregnant."

It's as if the air has been squeezed from his lungs. He tries to maintain composure, knowing you wouldn't tease him, nor would you take such a decision lightly. "You're sure, babe?"

You nod as his hand cups your chin, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "I want you to fill me up, over and over again tonight. I want to be dripping with your cum for days."

An image of him fucking you, his seed taking root, your belly swelling with his child, breasts getting fuller and sweet with milk, runs through his brain, tapping into the primal side of him. He whispers your name, grabs hold of you in a kiss, hands wandering under your teddy to caress your body, smoothing over your curves, cup your breasts.

You bring his hand to your cunt, already so moist and ready for him, giving a shuddering sigh as he works two fingers inside, jaw tensing when he feels how wet you are.

"Breed me, Marcus," you whisper, your breath tickling his ear. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stands up. What am I still doing with my clothes on? he wonders, then is thankful that you've taken the initiative, relieving him of his jacket, his tie, belt, shirt, pants, and everything else. 

His cock pulses in your hand, his precum already dribbling over the top. Laying on your back, he scoots between your legs. "What about your work?"

"I'll work from home. Hell, I could even do advisor work until the kids are old enough for school," you say, wrapping your arms around him.

"Kids.. plural?" he grins. "How many?" His lips ghost across your ear, nibbling your lobe.

"Two," you sigh, running your hands down his back. "I don't want an odd number. I didn't like being the middle child."

He kisses your forehead, as if to take those memories away. "One boy and one girl?"

"Perfect," you sigh again, trailing your foot along his calf.

Desire and love fill his senses, make him your servant, all he can see and breathe is you. Imagining you getting big with his child, making a soul with him, creating a little legacy, even for the short amount of time you're both promised on this earth.. Marcus's heart feels like it shouldn't fit in his chest anymore.

You whimper his name. nudging your hips against his. He slips your teddy over your head, revealing your soft skin, the body he's come to worship night after night during the happiest time of his life. 

He captures your lips in another passionate kiss, tongue brushing against yours with fervor. Then he pins your arms over your head, spreads your thighs further apart. "You're so eager for it, so eager for me to cum inside you."

You shiver, not bothering to suppress a whimper. "I am, baby. I want it all.."

Fuck, you're not even teasing, not even pretending, not role playing.. Marcus's head is nearly spinning with his new reality. His head drops into your neck as he breathes in your scent, your shampoo and your own natural aroma, and of course the sweet and spicy essence of your pussy. He lifts his head to catch your gaze. "I love you," he utters as he slides into you.

"I love you," you gasp in return, letting yourself be helpless beneath his soft grip. He buries himself in you until his hips meet yours, and you can't tell where he ends and you begin. Your tightness has him reeling, his mind spinning with want.

"You feel so good, babe," he groans in your ear. He withdraws almost completely before pushing forward again, a shiver rolling through him at the sensation. He starts a slow, languid pace.

"Marcus," you moan, your hips undulating against his in the rhythmic dance. He squeezes your hip, loosening slightly on your wrists pinned over your head, but you keep them there, enjoying the illusion of being at his mercy, of being bred. 

His mouth trails kisses down your neck as pleasure thrums throughout your body. "You feel like heaven," he mutters, moving leisurely as he takes note of the sounds that leave your mouth with each forward thrust of his. 

"More.." you gasp, tilting your hips up to get him deeper, not wanting to miss out on a single inch. 

"You want more? You want me to spill all my cum into you, give you a baby?"

Biting your lip you moan his name as he increases the pace, thrusts steady and fast.  "Keep moaning my name," he whispers. "Scream for me.. let the neighbors know who's inside you, making you feel this good."

"Christ," you gasp, pressing your hands to the headboard, the sound of it banging against the wall exciting you. "Want everyone to know I'm yours.."

"That's it," he says, hearing your moans and sighs coming faster. "Almost there? I'm gonna cum but I want to get you there first, you gotta cum first, that's what I want." At the sound of your whimper he kisses you deeply, pulling your lower lip between his teeth before pushing his tongue in your mouth, seeking your own. He moans low as heat builds in his lower belly.

He's hitting a place inside you that sends flutters through your cunt, the pleasure rising and rising until it becomes a fever, a fucking force of nature that threatens to claim you. 

"Come, darling," he grunts, knowing your body, knowing you're on the edge with him. His hips quicken their work, the sound of your bodies colliding is almost obscene.

You come undone beneath him, squeezing around him rhythmically and his hand moves between you to tease your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm, his own hips slowing as he watches the pleasure wash over you.

"God, you're so beautiful," he says, his forehead against yours, your hot panting breaths fanning across his face. 

"Marcus," you beg. "Put a baby in me.."

Aftershocks still wrack your body as he thrusts again, and your still-sensitive body wants to come with him. He rubs your clit again, working you back up, waking your senses again. 

He's getting closer and closer to tipping over the edge with you. Mumbling words of love, of adoration, he feels his climax rising in his balls, the pressure building up further and further. Only when he feels you come again, convulsing hard around him, does he give a final, hard thrust before he follows you, coming deep inside you, shaking and shuddering. At last he groans your name, muffled in the crook of your neck as his mind goes blank for a heavenly minute.

It's several minutes before either of you speaks, the moment too precious, too beautiful to break with mere words. He slides off you, keeping you close, not wanting to lose your warmth right away.

"I love you," you murmur at last. "Maybe we made some magic tonight."

"Maybe," he chuckles, his heart overflowing with love for you. "If not, we can always keep trying." He cups your beautiful face in his hands. "I want a family with you if that's what's meant for us."

"I want that. A little family.."

He smirks, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "Give me a few minutes, we can give it another try. Just to make sure."

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[annwrites]

⸻ trick or treat one-shot collection.

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x twinsis!reader

· type: modern!au | (collection)

· summary: you & your family go to a pumpkin patch together, then carve jack-o-lanterns once you're home. afterwards, you & jace have a difficult conversation on the front porch.

· tags: twincest, fluff, angst

· word count: 945

The afternoon sun beats down against your back, but a cool autumn breeze kisses your skin to combat the warmth.

You and Jace wander along through rows of plump, bright-orange pumpkins, looking for the perfect one to take home with you.

You glance across the way and smile widely when you see little Joffrey running toward you with a shimmering silver pinwheel gripped tightly in his hand.

He raises his arms, so you bend down and lift him, settling him against your hip.

"And what have we here?" You ask, flicking one of the blades on his new toy, causing it to spin.

"A new toy," he replies.

Jace takes a step closer and settles a hand against Joffrey's back before giving him a peck on the head.

"Did you find yourself a pumpkin yet?" Your twin asks, taking the boy from you.

Joffrey blows on his pinwheel, then shakes his head.

"Well," Jace says, playfully bouncing him. "We'll just have to keep looking, then."

Once Joff has found himself a medium-sized pumpkin with a green stem, your father comes over and retrieves it and Joffrey both before going up to pay.

Jace watches after them for awhile, until you tug gently against his fingertips with furrowed brows.

He returns his sights to you.

"Are you okay?" You ask quietly.

He smiles softly, then tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. "Just thinking about that being us one day. With a little one of our own to look after."

You blink up at him with wide eyes, but before you can try to think of a reply, he nods toward a patch behind you. "Let's look at these ones."

Your father, Jace, and Luke do most of the carving, while you and your mom salt and cook the pumkin seeds they retrieve from inside the fruits' cores.

After Joffrey is done squishing "the guts", as he calls it, between his hands, that is.

You continually glance to your twin, unable to stop thinking about his comment at the farm earlier.

You'd talked about it before, after that one scare when the condom had broke, but at the end of the day, you hadn't been pregnant. So there'd been no real risk involved, as it turned out.

The risk being the two of you producing a child with birth defects due to your relation, that is.

It almost seems selfish to consider: having a baby, despite knowing said risks. A baby that very-well may suffer once it comes into the world because of your decisions.

It's not that you don't want a family, especially with Jace. Because you do. More than anything, once the time is right. But what if it just...isn't feasible?

You know you should talk more about it, but what you're truly afraid of is one, if not both of you, being talked out of the prospect of procreating with each other altogether.

You sigh, and Jace glances to you with a raised brow, watching as you turn to retrieve another cookie sheet from a lower cabinet with a slight frown on your lips.

Once the seeds have been baked and the pumpkins have been cleaned out, carved, and candles are shoved inside them, they're lined up on the porch together.

Your mom takes a few photos of all of you holding your individual projects, before positioning you all on the front steps and snapping a few more.

You force a smile and focus on the camera, ignoring your worries.

Jace sits down beside you on the front porch swing, draping a throw blanket over your legs.

"What's wrong?" He asks quietly.

You glance to your pumpkin, which has a heart carved in the middle, then to Jace's, which has a dragon, and Luke's which has a crudely-carved horse upon the front.

Little Joffrey had wanted a seahorse for his, which had been a feat.

You drag your gaze back to Jace then and shrug slightly.

He shakes his head. "Something is the matter. I can tell—can feel it. Is...is it what I said earlier today that's bothering you?"

Your eyes flit to his and his suspicions are then confirmed.

"Do you not...want that now?" He asks, doubtfully.

You reposition yourself so that you're pressed against his side and each of your arms are wound around one of his.

"I do. But what if...one day, when we try..."

You sigh. "It could end up with something wrong with it, y'know?"

He's silent for a moment. "I know."

You gaze up at him and he down at you. "Do you think it's selfish for us to still want to, even knowing that?"

He removes his arm from you grip to instead wrap it firmly around your shoulders.

He then slides his hand into your hair and kisses the top of your head. "Maybe. I just...want us to have a family of our own just like this one eventually. Kids that're equal parts the two of us. But if we start trying and... And things go wrong..."

He shakes his head lightly and looks away, waiting for the stinging of his eyes to dissipate before he continues.

"I don't know what to say. Because I don't even like thinking about it."

You lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. "Me neither."

You pull away slightly and smile. "I know it's not the same, but... Grandpa Viserys... Well, he and Aemma were cousins. Daemon married cousin Laena. All their kids are just fine. I really want to believe that ours will be, too."

He cups your cheek in his palm. "Me too."

He presses his lips to yours.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea @redshinyshoes @helo1281917

[loronoazoro]

One thing I cannot talk about enough wrt Oda's storytelling is how he loves to introduce a quirk or a character as a joke or as some small little device and then says "haha! Turns out that there is a whole backstory here!!!!"

Like Genzo and his little pinwheel. At first it's introduced as haha look at this new character with a little goofy quirk in his design like Oda loves to make!!!! And look, Luffy used inspiration from the pinwheel for one of his attacks against Arlong!!! Isn't that a fun way to integrate this quirky little character design into the story!!!!

And then Oda drags you into a backstory and hits you with this:

And it happens again with that funny little frog who tries to sumo wrestle the train (because it took two of the most important people in his life away from him and he wants to be strong enough that it never happens again) and it happens again with a sidekick antagonist who can't stop getting engaged and lending people money (because she can't allow herself to be useless and abandoned ever again) and I'm sure there are other examples I can't think of bc I'm tired but!!!!!! It itches that little storytelling part of my brain every time and I think it's so masterful and I think it's so cool and someday I want to write something like that and yeah. Good night.

[lolahauri]

: ̗̀➛ Laughing Jack: Smut Alphabet 🔞

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Licks his cum off of you so you don’t have to get up and leave him <3

He’s so clingy and annoying lol.

Probably makes you a balloon animal and gives you candy to make up for your soreness. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves your entire body, but not exactly for wholesome reasons like Toby.

He just loves how small you are. Even if you’re 6ft tall, he’s 7+ feet so he towers over you no matter what height and weight you are.

His favorite part of himself is his tongue, it’s crazy long and works some real magic.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I think he’d like cumming on you more than inside you. He loves seeing your body painted with it.

And when he cums, there’s A LOT of it, pretty thick too.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He really doesn’t have any, he isn’t shy about telling you his fantasies and interests.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He doesn’t really have much experience, i’m sure he’s charmed a couple people into dating him somehow.

But in general, most people are scared of him so he does not get laid.

Except for you, now. ;)

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Picking you up, holding you by the waist, and using you like a sex doll. 

He’d also love strapping you into a sex swing, that way his hands can free roam.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Deeply unserious sometimes.

He tries to be a little normal and focus on your pleasure, but he’s also a literal clown.

There’s been times where you looked away briefly, and when you looked back he had that fake glasses & mustache thing on.

Or like one of those rainbow pinwheel hats.

LMAOAOMDO

Sorry i’m trying so hard not to ugly laugh at this.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Black and white, curly.

He styles it to your preference. So if you like a full bush, he’ll keep it. If you like it fully shaved, he will do that.

Our considerate king <3

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Not very romantic, sorry.

It’s a mix of rough and humorous sex. 

But he does love to praise you, so that helps.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don’t think he does often, it’s just not fun like sex is.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise, degrading, dirty talk, oral fixation, facials, biting, voyeur, public sex, roleplay, scratching, size kink, bondage, bdsm, cum eating, cnc, choking, femdom, overstimulation.

Gangbang, he’d happily invite others to fuck you with him if you wanted. 

Would absolutely want you to step on him in some high heels.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere. Just name the place and time, it’ll be done.

Maybe prefers his room cause that’s where all his toys and costumes are.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Same as Jane, nothing specific, he just get’s horny sometimes.

But also, anytime he thinks about past experiences with you, or randomly starts to daydream about fucking you, he gets horny immediately. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I can’t think of much he’d refuse, he’s kinky as fuck. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers giving, he’ll use that tongue on you any chance he can get. And considering his tongue is probably as long, or longer, than his dick, he loves fucking you with it. 

Too good at it tbh. 

He does like to throat fuck you as well.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Starts off slower to get you aroused enough you can take him without any pain. Also does a lot of foreplay.

Slowly gets most fast and rough as the sex goes on.

Expect bruises and scratch marks to appear the next day if he was especially rough.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Doesn’t do quickies unless it’s just oral.

Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until there’s more time. He likes to build it up with teasing and foreplay, quickies don’t leave enough time to really enjoy sex.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Of course. Like i said before, he is down for pretty much everything, and at any place and time.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Very high stamina, he’d go 10 rounds if you asked. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Has every toy you could think of, and he’ll use them on you or himself, whatever you want.

He’s one of those people that has a full on sex room/dungeon. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The biggest tease ever, he’ll have you crying on your knees, begging him to fuck you. (or until you take control and slut him out)

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Besides talking, he is surprisingly quiet. 

Lots of deep growls and grunts, but they’re not very loud at all. Only you would be able to hear him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Loves using flavored lube and condoms to add some spice to a usually boring product. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Massive. I’m talking like 7.5-8 inches. 

Striped like his tongue ;P

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high. Once a day, but 2-3 rounds each time.

If your sex drive is lower or higher, he’ll happily accommodate that though.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t.

He probably doesn’t even sleep at all.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 51st Tilt

Mr. Tumnus, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005) VS. Peregrine “Pippin” Took, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

Propaganda

Mr. Tumnus, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (2005) Portrayed by: James McAvoy Defeated Opponents: - Carlos I [Álvaro Cervantes], Carlos, rey emperador (2015-2016)

“He is friend shaped. He is the sweetest soul you've ever met. He can play the most hauntingly beautiful melody on his flute. He runs wildly into battle like a crazy person, arms pinwheeling, even though he has zero battle training and also was a stone statue earlier that same day. He attempts to do one (1) evil deed but legit starts bawling before it is done - then rectifies the wrong at great personal risk. He once tries so hard to think up a way for he and his friends to escape that he grabs his head and starts shaking -all the while demanding silence- and then starts dancing for joy when he finally gets it.”

Peregrine “Pippin” Took, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003) Portrayed by: Billy Boyd Defeated Opponents: - Little John [Eric Allan Kramer], The Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003)

“Pippin 🥹🥹🥹. The cutest hobbit. But have you also considered, how incredibly pretty he is? He may be a fool of a Took, but he's also the sweetest little guy. He just wants his second breakfast. And Elevenses. And lunch... etc, and his singing cleanses my soul. He is pure, and he is a Knight of Gondor. Verifiably hot.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Mr. Tumnus:

For Pippin Took:

[novasintheroom]

Touch me gently (Vash x Reader)

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 3k

♡ Warnings - mentions of having future children at the end

♡ Description: A drabble of various touches between you and Vash the Stampede as your relationship grows.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3 (separated into different chapters, as indicated in brackets)

Hands (056. Turn)

Neither of you are very touchy people.

Vash because he has to be careful.

You because you’ve never liked it.

It suits you both fine; neither of you signed on to the job to be touchy.

The boss wants a survey of a nearby gulch and valley. Hopes to find some good land for investment – water or oil or to build some new town with his name. You, the cartographer for the job. Vash, one of your hired bodyguards. The other two men look the part – grizzled, tough. Mercs. Vash stands out with his frame, the bold red coat. Still a merc, but he looks at you kindly, and you take to him as only a nervous scholar can. Some kind of comfort, if only in your head.

You shake the bodyguards’ hands. Vash’s is warm and a little clammy. You turn and do your best to not stare at the old-tech arm at his side. How curious, still.

/~*~\

Arms (053. Emporium)

The town square is full of life.

The other two mercs have gone off elsewhere to find booze or girls or bullets. Vash weaves on ahead. Always light on his feet, careful to dodge stray hands and still looking at everything with a smile. He’s careful to keep you in the corner of his eye. He loves this. He loves people. He’s in his element – one of them, anyway.

You, little scholar, are not. The crowds push in on the emporium – marketeers hocking their wares and greedy eyes follow your steps. You keep one hand on your purse. All walks of life brush past, children running around, toma pulling carts and calling out. Something lets out a boom, and there’s cheering down the street. Colored smoke rises from a stall with a dizzying aroma. It’s overwhelming, it’s more than you’re used to.

“Vash!” You call out. He doesn’t hear you.

Quiet halls with old paper and ink. The shuffle of pages, someone reading their research under their breath. Old tech flickering to life with a hum. Echoed rooms and soft music playing. That’s where you belong. That’s your safe space. Your element is so far away in this press.

A group of women pass between you and Vash. You lose sight of him. It’s jarring, how used to that red you’ve become, looking at it for some sort of comfort. He’s further ahead now, looking at a stall selling old tech baubles. You reach for him, that beacon of red, catching the crook of his arm and weaving your own through before you can think, before you can lose him again. He stills and looks down at you. Your jaw sets, your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You glance up, and ask with a look, Is this okay? Please let it be okay.

And he thinks for a moment. His heart warms. Squeezing your arm with his own, he pulls you closer to his side as you both step back into the throng. Yeah, it’s okay.

/~*~\

Feet (033. Trampoline)

Five months into knowing Vash, and you’re at his heels more than you ever were at your mother’s. Mostly to keep him out of trouble, but still.

The backs of his heels meet the sky more times than any grown man’s should. Summersaulting through the air to escape bullets, grabbing hands, the loss of freedom. You dog at him the entire time, your own feet pounding, pounding, pounding to keep up.

Vash meets the edge of a building, and he cries out, arms pinwheeling to keep him up. You lunge, snagging his ankles as he pitches forward. His weight pulls you, and you both fall. Luckily – as Vash’s luck often goes, metronoming from one extreme to the other – you land on a market stall’s tarped ceiling, bouncing once, twice, a makeshift trampoline. Now both of your feet are reaching for the sky.

Vash’s breath comes in and out like bellows. Yours isn’t better. In the distance, you hear shouts, screams, cries from the mob trying to hunt down the Humanoid Typhoon. You know you need to move. The stall owner is peering up at you strangely from beneath his tarp.

Still, Vash finds the time to look over at you and say, “You shouldn’t have done this.” ‘This’ meaning follow him, of course. A tired argument at this point, like he can’t get enough of saying it.

And you, you know you shouldn’t have. You have no business following an outlaw like him. Scholars stay hidden in their nooks and crannies and don’t do things like jump from building-to-building chasing after that waving red flag. You should focus on being a librarian, hand out books to word-starved children, build the world into a better place. Be who you should be.

You look back at him, a moment of stillness settling in your bones. “And let you have all the fun?” You shake your head. “No.”

A spark of something in his eyes. Clarity? Realization? He won’t tell you to this day, but his lips quirk up, and he drags you off the tarp and down to the ground. You both race off, leaving the bewildered shop keep staring after your dwindling figures.

/~*~\

Stomach (001. Trust)

It’s been a long day. The winds howl at the mouth of the cave, spitting dust and bits of sand like an angry cat. You and Vash set up camp deep within.

Dark with only a small electric lantern at your side, it’s hard to see the ink in your book. You don’t want to sit up to look at it, though. You squint. Vash finishes laying out his sleeping bag at your feet. He’s already set up some line and sound trap measures at the cave’s opening. No one needs to keep watch tonight.

 “We should get you a new book in the next town,” Vash says idly, “that one has pages falling out of it.”

 An old topic of chatter. “That’s because it’s well-loved,” you hum.

“You’re going to love it to death.”

You smile and raise the book to look at him. He’s set up near your legs, getting his sleeping bag ready and as comfortable as it can get on a stone floor. “Trust me,” you laugh. “I’d rather have it go like that than –“

And suddenly, he scoots up and puts his head on your stomach. A little pillow to use instead of his coat. You’re shocked, finger holding your place in the book as you look his way. He peaks back, a shy glint of blue in the lamplight. Is this okay?

Please let it be okay.

His head bounces when you laugh. You return to your book and knock his head gently with your other hand. Yeah, it’s okay.

/~*~\

Shoulders (082. Warmth)

His broad shoulders are distracting.

Burning white and too-hot already, the morning suns accentuate the curve of his neck, the slope of his back, tapering to a slim waist. Vash curls into a yoga pose in the shade of the outcropping, stretching his muscles and limbering up his joints. He’s shed his coat for the moment. Even he feels the heat today.

You feel a different heat. One you’re trying to not freak out over.

Since when has he been that built?

Your mind scrambles to get ahold of itself. That’s your friend, you think, chiding the rampant girlish thoughts of Holy Hannah, he’s hot.

Of course he’s also hot. Of course! It’s not enough that he’s kind to a fault and genuinely funny. And cute. His face is very cute. You purse your lips and force yourself to stare down at your notebook. You almost gag when you notice you’ve been doodling his figure this entire time, rather than writing notes of your latest escapade from town.

What are you, a schoolgirl?

Guiltily, you look up and watch him stretch his arms to the sky, from one side to the next. His eyes are dull, thoughts turned inward. You trace his shoulders again. They aren’t perfectly rounded – more square, and there are things underneath that slightly bulge and catch on his shirt when he moves. You eye those parts, wondering what it is that makes those shapes.

What’s under there?

Blue eyes suddenly flick to you, and you’re caught red-handed staring. But Vash, ever forgiving, ever one to give someone the benefit of the doubt, gives you a sincere smile. “Why don’t you join me? It could help!”

A blush’s warmth crawls up your back. Help? With what? “Oh,” you say aloud, realizing he means your own limberness needs some work. “Well, sure,” comes out before you think about it, and you put your notebook on your bag, padding over to him on bare feet.

He smiles, dimples in his cheeks. “Do you know how to do the cobra pose?” He’s testing the waters, unsure of how much you know. Vash lays flat on his stomach and bends his body upward. You follow him, feeling your abs and shoulders stretching. “Breathe in…and out…”

And that’s how it goes for a while; Vash teaching you new and old yoga poses, and you trying not to ogle your friend. Not what you expected today – but when does living with Vash ever turn out the way you expected?

/~*~\

Lips (097. Sinking)

The first time, it’s an accident.

You’re both pressed into a crevice in a canyon, fleeing a large worm set on making you its meal. The rock digs into your spine, and Vash is squished to your front, trying to be the shield. The worm screams and screams and breaks against the crack. Pebbles and sand rain down from above.

Vash leans down and shouts, “I think - !! – should – “

“What?!” You scream back.

Vash lowers his head just as you stretch to hear better. Your lips touch, his moving with his message and yours open in terror. Even then, you note how chapped his lips are. “We need to climb!” He starts climbing the sheer rock wall that shakes with every shove of the worm. All you can do is follow.

The second time is a coincidence.

It’s a dance at a bar. One of the many you and Vash have been to. Line dancing, dancing with partners, dancing alone – all on the docket. It happens when he’s leading you down the clapping line, cheek to cheek. He’s singing with the song, leading you back and forth and getting the crowd laughing with how he spins and twirls you, then how you dip him like a lady. You nearly drop him. He screams like a girl. You both lurch toward the other and your lips collide.

The crowd roars in approval, even if it only lasted half a second. There’re pats on the back, winks from the ladies, before you’re shoved back in line and the incident is moved to the back of everyone’s mind in favor of more drink and dancing. Vash’s cheeks flush every time your eyes meet.

“Sorry about that,” he says later, when you’re both stumbling to your rooms and the noise downstairs has died down. His hand is to his neck. Bashful. “You know, the whole…” he gestures with his hand, moving it from his mouth to yours in the air.

“No, I, uh – no, it’s fine,” you stammer, feeling your own heat of embarrassment. But you laugh to ease the tension, “Hey, best kiss I’ve ever had!” Your jaw snaps shut, teeth rattling, and before you can say anything else, you flee into your room with a squeaky “Goodnight!” following the door slam.

Vash flushes, staring at your door. His heart thuds in his ribcage, quick and bright. He lets out a chuckling sigh and goes to his own room. The motions of changing to pajamas, brushing his teeth, and cleaning his face is a soft blur. When he’s finally lying in bed, a hoarse giggle escapes, hands fisting the blankets and turning his head into the pillow to hide his smile from the moonlight.

The third time is a damn shame.

You’re nestled in the crook of his arm, both of your legs hanging off a ledge as you sit on the side of a porched building. Your stomachs are full for once, merriment of your hosts tucked away in their house as you take a moment to yourselves. Another damsel in distress saved. Another day lived.

A content sigh slides out of you, and you rest further on his shoulder. You’ve borrowed a blanket from the lady of the house, wrapped around your shoulders to fight off the chill of night. The last of the suns sets. Everything is blue and quiet.

“You getting cold?” He murmurs, wrapping you closer to his side, opening his coat wider to allow you in.

You smile at his voice. “Nah, you’re a furnace. I dunno how you stand the heat.”

You’re close again. Too close. Always too close, Vash thinks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. It brings your eyes to his, and there’s a sudden something between you.

He can’t ignore the look in your eyes. The love there. But he buries his own echo of it deep and wonders, why me? Why would you pick me?

Still, he leans forward.

Still, you do the same.

And just as your lips brush, just as he feels the warmth of your breath fan over him –

– someone opens the door of the house and calls out, “Vash, ______, get back in here before the little worms getcha!”

You two spring apart like you’re both on fire. Maybe you are. An “Oh!” falls from your host’s lips, and she hides inside in embarrassment.

A coiling, sinking feeling rests in Vash’s chest. He isn’t sure what to call it. It feels close to regret, maybe indignation? Embarrassment? It’s hard to look at you. His ears are burning. When he finally peaks over, he sees you do the same. You both look away quickly. “Uh, uhm,” he says, then clears his throat, “they’re probably starting the games. We should – “

“ – yeah, we should.” You nod, standing and twirling around to retreat. But, you stop, seeming to catch your cowardice and glance at him. Hesitantly, you offer your hand out.

Vash looks at your hand. How many times have you offered it to him now? Too many, he thinks. But you always do so willingly. He takes your hand and stands, following you back into the house, the feeling of your breath entwining with his still on his mind.

Damn shame indeed.

/~*~\

Nose (107. Sigh)

In the dim morning light, you feel his nose brush yours.

His nose is straight, somehow, despite all the times it’s been broken. You feel his enviously long lashes brush your cheeks. You try to keep still.

“Morning,” Vash whispers, and kisses your eyelids.

You still don’t move, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and his lashes flutter on your own now. “You’ve stopped snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” you say, groggy, and smile when he lets out a laugh.

You hum, scrunching your body up into a ball and burrowing closer to him. He lets you – he always lets you – and his hands run up and down your back, along your sides, under your thighs. The careful caresses of a sleepy lover.

The suns rise once more, blinking into existence one at a time. The motel’s dusty windows let in a fraction of their light, old and cracked. You reach out and trace his chest with calloused fingertips. Your eyes slowly close.

Times like this are rare. A comfy mattress to sleep on, a safe room to be in (with locks that actually work), and nothing but each other to keep company. It’s perfect. Delicate.

“Hey,” he says, leaning his head down and nudging his nose with yours. “I had a dream. We had this big farmhouse with lots of land, and you had your own library in it, and I was an actual Plant engineer, but just for the city near us.”

“Oh yeah?” You yawn, shaking your head to clear it of fuzz. “No more travelling for you?”

“Guess not.” He continues rubbing your back, eyes never leaving you. “I think my mind made up that all the Plants were doing well enough to not need me as much. We even had two dogs and a cat.”

Your lips quirk up. “Can’t have a farmhouse without those.” You yawn again into his chest.

He hums. “Nope. It was a big house. I got lost in it a few times, but then the kids helped me find my way out – “

“The kids?”

He sputters to a stop, and you’re suddenly much more awake, looking up at him through lashes. His eyes rove yours, wondering if he should keep going. “The kids,” he says quietly, “yeah. I…think there were three.”

Your lips thin for a moment, teeth worrying your bottom lip. “Whose…I mean were they…?”

“Ours?” His voice is just as quiet. His hand takes yours from his chest, holding it over his heart, and says, “Yeah, they were.” He licks his lips and a blush rises to his cheeks. “Two of them had your eyes.”

The information settles on you like a warm blanket, and you give him a sleepy smile. “That’s too bad. I’d prefer they have yours.”

He stares at you a moment. Then, Vash lets out a sigh of relief and pulls you closer. Kissing your temple, he says, “Nah, they need your pretty eyes.”

You’ll agree to disagree.