#I should draw more of him in this form…

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 1

Or: a secret Admirer AU

Less than a month into the school year, and Steve’s already making use of the library. If Mrs. Click could see him now, she’d be proud–until she caught sight of the blank notebook page in front of him and the lack of textbooks on the table. 

He feels stupid; he’s hunched over his notebook, trying to make his thoughts transfer onto the page in any coherent form. But, he’s not like Eddie with his impassioned speeches and clever English papers.

Words flow through Eddie in fully-formed, concrete ideas. For Steve, it’s more of a drip. Each word has to be scaffolded onto the previous one with blood, sweat, and tears. Even then, it’s never quite right. Too abrupt, never what he was actually trying to say.

He’s just never been good with words.

By the time he gives up, there’s more crossed out than left written, so he gets a clean page of paper and transcribes it as best he can. He’s left with:

       Your hair is pretty. Do you use conditioner?

Steve tears it from his notebook and lays it flat atop his table in the library, smoothing out any crinkles in the page. It feels like the start to something, sure, but there’s more blank space on the page than words. By a lot.

He leans back over his work, adds a little wonky heart in his blue pen and signs the whole thing—

       ❤ your secret admirer

—the way all the girls who leave notes in his locker do. Their notes are usually on pretty paper, written in sparkly gel pen that smells like strawberries. The i’s are sometimes dotted with little hearts he’ll never admit to finding cute. And there’s envelopes involved, and usually more than eleven measly words.

His looks like something Eddie’ll toss out before opening, mistaking it for trash.

Steve grimaces. How do girls do this? Do they all take some sort of class on how to write pretty letters on pretty enough paper that boys will fall in love with them? Is that what they teach in Home Ec? He should have never let Tommy mock him into switching to shop class.

Should he ask a girl?

Under no conditions will he ever ask Carol. She’d have far too many uncomfortable questions and tell the whole school all of his embarrassing answers. He’d be run out of town within days, Carol holding the sharpest pitchfork.

Steve leans back in his chair with a groan too loud for the library and fists his hands to rub tired eyes.

“Are you okay?” Steve jerks, sending his pen and paper careening to the ground in his attempt to cover the compromising words upon the page. “Oh, sorry!”

Steve watches, horrified, as Chrissy Cunningham bends down to pick his supplies up off the carpet before he’s had time to scramble out of his chair. She’s in her cheer uniform, white zip-up Hawkins hoodie covering her arms. She looks perfect and preppy and just like all the girls who’ve ever left a note in his locker.

She’d be able to write something that Eddie would want to read.

“Steve?” Chrissy’s hovering over him, lips pursed, eyes big and worried. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, sorry,” he replies. She’s got his note clutched to her chest. He curls his fingers against the urge to reach out for it—that’ll just draw her attention, and that’s the last thing Steve wants right now. “Just got lost in my head.”

“Anything I can help with?”

He knows what she’s going to do before it happens. Chrissy’s sweet—if there’s a way to help, she’ll want to. So, she holds out the paper and begins to read, probably expecting an assignment she can tutor him on, and there they are: Steve’s damning words written in still-wet blue ink.

Her brow furrows as she takes an obscene amount of time mouthing out the words before she looks back up to meet his eyes. “Did someone give this to you?”

Her eyes are still big, but they look sad now, like just the thought of someone receiving the note he’d slaved over is enough to distress her. Unable to help himself, Steve snatches it from her hands and crumples it into a ball, damning words hidden in his fist.

Chrissy gasps at his abrupt movement and takes a halting step away.

“I wrote it,” he mutters, no longer able to meet her eyes.

She’s silent for long enough that he’d think she left, except the library’s quiet, and he hasn’t heard her take a step. He stares at the grains of the wood in the table, empty hand rubbing against the smudged top as he waits for her to do something.

“Are you…” she starts, trailing off for a moment before picking her thought back up, “…picking on someone?”

Steve clenches his fist tighter, note crinkling beyond repair beneath his nails as he mutters, “no.”

Chrissy’s quiet again. Steve doesn’t dare to look up, even as he hears the chair across from him pull out, the sound of her weight settling into the wood. The table’s just so interesting. Nothing has ever been as intriguing as the little chip out of its edge, the ring on the wood where someone had let their drink condensate against all the library’s rules.

“Who’s this for?” Chrissy’s voice is soft now, like he’s some sort of horse, prone to bolting when spooked. “Steve?”

Steve looks up. Her eyes aren’t sad anymore; they’re piercing.

He’s always liked Chrissy. She’s the nicest girl in the school, until someone does something she doesn’t like. Then, it’s all disappointed eyes, and pouty lips. It’s like disappointing his Mom, but worse, because his Mom’s never around to stare balefully at him.

The point is, Chrissy’s nice. She’s not like Carol. If he told her, there would be no lynch mob, or fleeing Hawkins in the dead of the night with nothing but the clothes on his back. Probably. Maybe.

Steve tries to smooth out the page, and scowls down at it when the wrinkles refuse to disappear. It’s even worse now, words made illegible by the deep creases his fingers have pressed into the paper. There’s no way Eddie’d ever want a note like this.

So, he says, “Munson,” looking up to try to watch his meaning land on her face.

It doesn’t. Her foreheads all scrunched up as she looks down at the note. Only then does Steve realize he’s caressing the wonky little heart. He pulls his hand back, curling his fingers in so she can’t see the smudge of blue on his pointer finger.

“And you aren’t making fun of him?”

Steve can feel his shoulders drooping. He wants to disappear into the floor, melt into the carpet and become one with all the other mysterious stains upon it. “No.”

“Oh,” Chrissy replies, drawn out and low as she peers down at the crinkled note with a confused frown. But something must click because she straightens, eyes wide beneath her bangs. “Oh!”

It’s loud enough that they both reflexively flinch. But, when no librarians come skulking around any corners, Chrissy turns back to him, gaze uncomfortably intent. Steve wonders, somewhat horrified by the turn his life has taken, if he’s about to get hate-crimed by a cheerleader half his size.

But Chrissy’s nice—always has been, always will be. So, she bites her lip and looks furtively around like she’s only just realized this is a conversation that shouldn’t have any witnesses. “But you like him?” she whispers.

Steve leans forward, matching her energy and pitch as he replies, “yeah,” quiet enough that it’s barely a breath. Chrissy smiles at him, warm and small, just like her hand as she reaches across the table to put it over his and squeeze comfortingly.

The note sits, damningly soiled beneath their linked hands, wrinkled, and smudged, and barely-legible handwriting. The weight that’d lifted with Chrissy’s smile sinks back into his gut.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Steve says, letting go of her hand so he can pull the note closer to himself. “I’m no good at this stuff.”

Steve crinkles the note back up. It’s unsalvageable—a stupid idea executed badly.

He’s in the middle of stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans to keep his keys company until he can toss it out in the comfort of his home when Chrissy says, “maybe I can help?” voice lilting up, like it’s a question.

Steve meets her eyes, hand still half-shoved in his pocket. She’s all earnest now, the way she usually is when there isn’t a sad boy infecting her with his own ineptitude. Eyes shining with conviction, bangs curling sweetly around her face. She’s no Carol, that’s for sure.

“How?” he asks, and when she smiles, it looks a bit like hope.

***

 “I can help you write a better letter,” Chrissy starts. He perks up like a dog the moment its owner gets home. “If you do something for me.”

She feels like scum when he curls back into himself, gaze forlorn.

When she’d caught sight of the note he’d spent what seemed like a full hour pouring over, this isn’t what she’d been expecting. And when she’d finally made out his chicken scratch scrawl, she’d been sure Steve was picking on someone, no matter how unlike him it would have been. But then his shoulders had curled in, and his ears had turned red, and his voice had gone all soft and squishy when he’d said Eddie Munson’s name.

And she’d just wanted to fix it.

So, even as he asks, “what?” all sad and droopy again, she knows she’s going to help him, no matter what he says.

“Date me,” she asserts. It’s only as Steve blinks stupidly at her that she realizes how that came out of her mouth. “No, wait, not really!”

Her hands are waving around wildly and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. In contrast, Steve seems to come back into himself, shoulders shoring up as he smirks across at her with his signature raised brow. The one he’d used while leaning on Nancy Wheeler’s locker last year, or holding her books as they walked to class, and all the other assortment of stereotypical boyfriend activities.

He’d worn it all the time, like it was part of the uniform. 

“I just meant, we could fake it?” His right eyebrow raises to meet his left, forehead scrunching up with his incredulity. “It’s just, Jason and I broke up? And he won’t leave me alone.”

It takes all her strength to keep meeting his eyes as the seconds tick away. But then Steve nods, swings his letterman jacket off, and tosses it across at her. Unprepared for his sudden movement, it hits her in the face and drops into her lap.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he says with a cheesy wink that somehow manages to feel more genuine than any of his actual flirting techniques. “Gotta sell it somehow.”

“What a romantic,” she replies, deadpan, but she pulls his jacket on anyway, something that feels an awful lot like relief steadying her heart rate as she smooths down the too-long sleeves.

Jason’s going to freak out. But after that, maybe he’ll stop calling her house, and trying to put his arm around her at lunch, and trying to pick her up for school every morning. She’d do almost anything to get it into his thick skull that she’s not interested.

So, here she is, hashing out the details of a secret admirer letter from Steve Harrington to Eddie Munson, of all the unlikely pairings.

“What’s wrong with what I wrote?” Steve whines, running his fingers through his hair until it’s all mussed up and falling into his face.

Chrissy snorts. “It sounds like you’re telling him his hair is frizzy and dry.”

“I said it was pretty!” He throws his hands in the air before crossing them and pouting his lower lip out.

Chrissy can’t help but laugh. She’s always liked Steve. He’s nicer than most of his friends, and he’s easy to talk to. But this is a side she’s never seen of him. She’s not sure anyone has; can’t imagine Carol or Tommy seeing him put his whole heart into something and not tearing it to shreds.

“Do you use conditioner?” she asks, throwing finger quotations around it as she reads it off the crumpled page.

Steve’s blushing again, cheeks all blotchy and red, rather unbecoming for the shoo-in for this year’s prom king. “Well, I thought you said you’d help!” he says, a little too loud for the library.

So, that’s how she ends up spending the next hour painfully turning Steve’s earnest thoughts into words on the pretty baby blue paper she’d carefully removed from the back of her daily planner.

In the end, they’re left with this:

       Eddie –

       I wish I could say this to your face, but I’ve never been good with words, and you’d probably think it was a joke.

       I can’t even get myself to talk to you, you’re so distracting.

       I like how pretty your hair is. How do you get your curls so shiny? I want to run my fingers through them.

       I hope this note brightens up your day. You deserve all the smiles you can get.

       Yours,

       Your Secret Admirer

It’s not what she would write, but still, it’s leagues better than what he’d started with. She slides it across to Steve, and he smiles down at it. He reaches his hand out, fingers almost brushing the page before he pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist.

“What if someone sees me?” he asks, voice so quiet she can barely hear him even in the resounding silence of the library.

They’d managed not to talk about it, the dangers of Steve liking a boy. But it’d been present in the hesitancy by which he shared each of his thoughts, looking up at her like each remark would be the last straw before she recoils in disgust.

If someone finds out that Steve has a crush on a boy, it won’t take long until he’s getting beat up between classes or heckled straight out of school. Heck, even with all the rumors floating around about him, Eddie might be the one to throw the first punch.

“Do you want me to deliver it for you?” she asks.

“You’d do that?” he asks back, because apparently no one ever taught him not to answer a question with a question. “For me?”

“What else are fake girlfriends for?” she asks because they’re all questions now, no answers to be had between the pair of them.

Steve laughs, all tension leaving his shoulders as he throws his head back with amusement, eyes downright twinkling as he beams across at her.

“You’re the best, Chrissy,” Steve says, smiling even brighter as she replies, “I know.”

She leaves school that night after pushing Steve Harrington’s love note through the slats of Eddie’s locker, Steve’s letterman jacket keeping her warm from the cold.

This might be the best relationship she’s ever had, fake or not. Eat your heart out, Jason Carver.

Welcome to my new AU! This will be posted in 21 parts. It is complete, so there will be a new update each morning until it's all posted. I've elected not to do a tag list, but it will be added to my pinned post each day as well. If that's not your speed, it will be added to Ao3 once it's all been posted here.

Special shoutout to @queenie-ofthe-void for not only their usual fabulous beta work, but also both the original idea and the writing of some of the secret admirer letters. You not only make me a better writer, but this work literally would not exist without you. <3<3

Title of the fic from the song Eyes in the Sun by Florist

[diazsdimples]

Buddietommy "can you even imagine the pain I felt?"

“Can you even imagine the pain I felt?” Eddie sobs. His magic swirls around him, a protective cloud of silver mist dripping off his fingertips, tendrils twirling down his forearms. The tears that leak from the corners of his eyes are the same hue, like rivulets of liquid silver running down his cheeks. He curls into a ball, griping his arms tightly as he pulls his knees to his chest. “That hurt so fucking bad. Please don’t ever make me do that again.

“Baby,” Buck whispers, reaching out tentatively to touch his newly Bonded partner. His magic blooms golden around him, sparkling and crackling with reactivity as his fingers brush the hairs on Eddie’s forearm. The room is rich with the scents of butterscotch and vanilla – the signatures of their magic, but there’s a sour tinge to them, their magic reflecting the soul-deep ache in their chests.

“I’m sorry,” Buck murmurs as he draws Eddie into his arms. Eddie’s touch soothes the pain to an extent, but there’s still a tug, a hollow where Tommy should be slotted in. “It’s over. We’re going to be okay now.”

Eddie nestles into Buck’s side, tucking his face into the hollow of Buck’s throat. “N-need Tommy,” he breathes against Buck’s skin.

“I know, baby, I need him too. He’ll be here in a second.”

Tommy had rushed from the room to vomit moments after the ritual had been performed. The pain of severing a Bond affected everyone differently – for Buck, it felt as though a knife had been plunged deep into his breastbone while a piece of his soul had been carved out.

Tommy had stood stoically as Eddie had cut their Bond, his magic hardening against him to form an intricate layer of bronze armour, rivalled only by Buck’s gold and Eddie’s silver armour of their own. Their magic’s natural defence against harm. The moment Eddie had stopped the spell and collapsed to the ground, Buck and Tommy’s pain surging through his body, Tommy had left, unable to keep his composure.

Buck felt the tug towards Tommy deep in his gut, and he knew Eddie could feel it too. To Buck, the sensation was familiar, something he’d felt every day for months. Eddie, however, hadn’t felt it since the day Shannon died. It was going to take some getting used to.

The sound of footsteps on the hardwood floors alert them to Tommy’s arrival, and a strong pair of arms circles around the two of them as Tommy sinks to the ground.  

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he kisses Buck softly, before nosing at the hair on Eddie’s brow, his lips brushing against his temple.

Eddie goes lax in Buck’s arms with a small whimper of relief. Tommy’s presence is like a balm, the ache from the severance fading as the three of them soak in their proximity, the new Bond thrumming and buzzing with energy. Buck can feel it coiled around his heart, tugging towards Tommy in one direction, and Eddie in the other. From now, he will always know where they are, and if they’re in danger.

Tommy whispers a few words in Latin, his magic glowing a rich bronze around him, the smell of burnt leaves filling the air around them, and Buck feels a warmth settle in the pit of his stomach, spreading through his veins. Any residual pain seeps from his body, and he sighs with relief, burying his face against Tommy’s chest.

They’re quiet for a moment, the three of them exhausted and shaky from the energy expended. They trade soft, gentle kisses, unwilling to untangle themselves and move somewhere more comfortable.

“I could feel your pain,” Eddie whispers, breaking the silence. Buck tightens his arms around Eddie as he waits for him to continue. Tommy’s hand comes up to stroke through Eddie’s hair, his other hand gripping Buck’s arm tightly.

“The moment I severed your Bond I felt it. It was the worst pain I’d ever felt, even worse than when Shannon –” he chokes, swallowing thickly. He takes a moment to breathe, to compose himself before continuing. “For a moment I thought I should just remake it for you two, to stop the pain. That I wasn’t worthy of being included.”

Buck’s heart clenches painfully, his hand coming up to cup the back of Eddie’s neck. He looks over at Tommy and their eyes lock. A singular bronze tear winds it way down Tommy’s cheek.

“What changed your mind?” he asks quietly, his voice strangled. Buck loosens Tommy’s hold on his arm and laces their fingers together.

“Your souls called to me,” Eddie confesses. He sits up slowly and presses a palm against Tommy and Buck’s chests. Buck can feel the tug of the new Bond as it stretches and pulls, accommodating both men. It tugs at him, calling him to press his lips against Eddie, or Tommy, to wrap them up in his arms and never let go. He can see the same emotions reflected on Tommy's face, and Eddie seems to notice too. He reaches for Tommy and pulls him close.

"We needed you," Tommy whispers against Eddie's throat. "We will always need you."

“There will never be an us without you, Eddie,” Buck adds. He conjures a ball of golden energy in his hand, the orb fizzing and sparkling around his fingers. It burns brighter than he’s ever seen it. He takes Eddie’s hand, placing it beneath his, then Tommy’s beneath Eddie’s, and the ball of energy grows, the colour changing from gold, to silver, to bronze, before becoming all three as their magic combines.

“See, we’re stronger together.”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s eyes shine as he looks up at them, his two, loving, Bonded partners. Nothing will ever separate them again. “Stronger together.”

[cute-angi]

Didn’t know that so many don’t read on Ao3. Since a lot of people asked, I’m sharing it here as well and hope the format’s readable. Let me know if this little, very self-indulgent story turned out okay!

In the absence of the Great Sage Sun Wukong, his sacred ground lay veiled in a silence so profound that even the faintest whisper lingered, undisturbed, carried on the winter’s breeze.

Reclining along the sturdy bough of a tree, Macaque felt the mountain’s cool breath drift through his fur, brisk yet leaving him untouched by cold.

Eyes half-closed, he listened to the quiet, unmoved by the stillness that wrapped around him like a second skin.

Then, trembling, a sharp, distant cry wafted toward him, stirring something still yet aching within.

Pausing, he lifted his head, ears finely attuned, before rising slowly to his feet.

Drawn by the muffled wail, he moved without hesitation, his steps nearly soundless, tracing the unseen path left by the newborn’s weeping as it wove through the dim evening light.

Near a spring shrouded in gentle steam among the stones, Macaque halted, observing in quiet curiosity.

There, a woman knelt beside a small being, its form distinct from her own in every way.

Fur as dark as the night sky, damp and clinging to its tiny frame, lent it an even more fragile appearance.

Yet, within the soft cocoon of a cotton cloth, it squirmed and twisted like a storm caught, refusing to be stilled.

Tiny fists clenched and released, feet kicked against its mother’s careful hands, every movement a wordless, unyielding protest.

A delicate strain settled across the woman’s shoulders, drawing her brow into faint furrows and shadowing her warm gaze with a veil of helplessness.

Gasping, she intoned soothing words as her hesitant fingers glided over the damp fur, each caress steeped in the ache of tender vulnerability.

Eyes bright with unshed tears searched the little one’s face, longing for any sign of comfort.

Yet each whispered promise dissolved into the tranquil evening mist, met only by the restless cries of her son.

Taking a deep breath, unsteady and unfulfilled, revealed to Macaque how she feared that even her calmest gestures might fracture under the weight of her own uncertainty.

He knew he should resist the urge welling up inside him, but the weight pressing on his chest was beyond his strength to ignore.

“I can see you’re struggling,” he said, a quiet, understanding gentleness in his voice as he emerged from the shadows.

“May I offer a helping hand?”

She startled slightly, instinctively curling her body forward over her son, as though preparing to shield him with her entire being.

Her expression shifted, lifting as she looked up at him, a hint of caution flickering across her features before the tension slowly left her posture.

Moments before, tears had glistened on her cheeks; now, a quiet calm touched her face, as if a fleeting stillness had drawn time to a serene halt.

The newborn’s desperate cries quieted to soft whimpers at the sound of his voice, granting its mother a brief pause to turn fully toward the six-eared macaque, caught between curiosity and a nearly reverent awe.

Head tilted slightly, she regarded him with wary wonder.

Then, almost unconsciously, her hand reached out, as if seeking to confirm a faint suspicion that stirred within her.

Macaque noted the look in her eyes; it was the same sensitive awareness he had glimpsed once before.

Somewhere within, she sensed a familiarity in him, though her mind shied away from the truth—that he was the one she had known as her king, before the illusion became his burden.

Oh, how he yearned to grasp her hand, to savor the tender touch of her skin upon his cheek.

That fleeting spark of recognition was dancing across her features, only to be swiftly obscured by the shadows of instinctual distance and self-protection.

To her, he remained a stranger, though his presence had long been woven into her world.

With a hushed exhale she seemed to shake herself from this silent realization, a delicate flush warming her ears.

Before she could speak, the newborn stirred, a faint cry pulling her gaze back down, and she turned away, once more attempting to secure the cloth around it‘s wriggling form, encountering the same steady resistance.

“I have exhausted every option I can think of,” she whispered, her lips quivering, barely managing to shape the words that trembled on her tongue.

“I thought the warm water might calm him, but since then, everything has only worsened.  I don’t know what to do…”

There was no way for her to know, as the one who held that knowledge remained ever distant.

Her glance drifted away, skimming over the damp stones and rising steam, avoiding his eyes as though too shy to meet them, yet searching for some hint of guidance.

Curiosity flickered within Macaque as he wondered if Wukong knew.

Perhaps that was why he was always off on some journey.

Yet the Monkey King could just as easily be naive enough to overlook his offspring’s resemblance; after all, one could never predict whose traits might emerge in a bond like theirs.

Slowly, Macaque lowered himself beside her, his movements deliberate, as though awaiting her silent permission before reaching toward the tiny being.

Only then did he draw the small, monkey demon, so reminiscent of himself, to his chest, its damp coat brushing against his skin in airy strands.

The closeness stirred something within him; this vulnerable life nestled so trustingly against his own awakened an ache he hadn’t anticipated, a feeling both tender and quietly overwhelming.

Practiced fingers traced over the tenderly soaked hair, each movement smoothing and untangling the fur with a patience honed over years.

Silky beneath his touch, the coat lay flat as each knot eased away, freeing the strands until they fell sleek and untroubled.

Held close, the little one’s heartbeat pulsed in fragile, rhythmic reassurance, its warmth a soothing response to his presence.

A faint, contented purr rose from his son as he nestled even closer into his embrace, resonating alongside the murmuring of the nearby spring.

Unhurried, his hand continued to move in a calm, steady pattern over the little one’s downy warmth, weaving with the faint sounds around them and settling them both into a rare, quiet moment of peace.

At last, the little soul released a contented sigh, tranquility enveloping him like a comforting cocoon as he fully surrendered to his father’s loving care.

Hesitating as though fearing any disruption to the peace that enveloped them, it’s mother finally found the courage to ask, her voice barely more than a whisper, how he had managed to calm him.

“All he needs is your warmth,” Macaque murmured, his tone low as he allowed the surge of emotion to swell within him, nearly overwhelming in its depth.

Empathy filled him, binding him with the small creature in a way that rendered the world around them of little consequence.

He breathed in, catching the faint, familiar scent—a hint of earth and misted leaves mingled with the warmth of new life—and listened closely to the softening breaths and the rapid, steady beat of its tiny heart, each sound drawing him closer to the fragile life cradled in his care.

Wavering, her gaze caught between instinct and trust. For an instant, hesitation flickered in her eyes—a reminder that he should remain a stranger.

Yet, lingering on him, that shadow of doubt faded, replaced by something deeper: a quiet surrender that allowed him past her guarded edge.

"This is how we groom our young," he added, his voice scarcely audible, as though each word carried a quiet magic of its own, while cradling him gently in a silent promise of safety.

Coming to a sudden halt, she froze as though struck by lightning when the realization dawned on her. Whirling thoughts caught her somewhere between the urge to laugh and the impulse to cry.

“Of course,” she whispered, more to herself than to him, lifting her head to steal a shy glance his way.

“I suppose I still have much to learn about leaving old habits behind,” she admitted, her tone tinged with uncertainty yet brightened by a hesitant smile.

But no, this wasn’t about her being human or merely knowing human ways.

“That’s not quite it. It takes a village to raise a child,” Macaque replied, his voice warm and inviting.

In his gaze, she discovered a familiarity she hadn’t expected, as if he were an old companion, a presence that had quietly returned to her side.

Adjusting the little one in his arms with care, he guided the mother’s hands to follow, demonstrating how his fingers moved delicately through the thick fur.

As her hands mirrored his movements, a new connection blossomed between them, nurtured in this simple act of care.

Sensing the tension gradually leave her, Macaque felt her learn to trust.

Caring for the tiny life between them, her gaze rested on him more intently than before.

A quiet intensity sharpened in her eyes as they traveled over his appearance, tracing each detail of his form with a look that carried unspoken questions.

Macaque noticed how her stare softened, resting on the faint gleam of his fur, catching the same dark patterns that marked her son.

Unmistakable, the resemblance wove into both like threads of shadow.

The subtle hitch of her breath betrayed her as her glance shifted from her son back to him.

Lips parting, barely moving, she murmured, “Beautiful… your fur… it shimmers just like his, as though you two are like stars fallen from the night sky.”

Widening with surprise, her eyes fell to the ground as she struggled to conceal her flustered feelings, a tender glow suffusing her cheeks as she hastily looked away.

Macaque felt a subtle weight in his heart, yet he remained still, allowing her recognition to settle.

Watching her absorb the truth her own words had unearthed, he noticed her fingers unconsciously tracing her son’s fur, as though seeking something intangible.

Neither spoke for a moment.

Silence enveloped them, filled only with the gentle rustle of the spring breeze.

Within that stillness, Macaque sensed her acceptance blooming—fragile yet rooted, like a new shoot breaking through the soil.

Affection filled his eyes, a tenderness both strange and familiar to her.

He sensed her admiration as she watched him help tend to the little one.

Steady hands, gentle yet purposeful, carefully combed through the soft fur until it gleamed clean and free.

He noticed the small monkey demon relishing the attention—its eyelids fluttered briefly, and with a contented sigh, it closed its eyes.

As he returned the sleeping bundle to her, Macaque offered a gentle reminder: “Hold him close; he only needs you and the feeling of being protected.”

Cradling him in her arms, warmth radiated from its tiny body nestled against her, planting a deep sense of peace within her.

Noticing the subtle shift in her demeanor, Macaque observed how her features eased, her lips curving into a smile as she looked tenderly at the newborn.

A quiet understanding of a truth sparked in her eyes—one she hadn’t thought possible—that they could be a family in a way she’d never imagined.

Then, a distant chime sounded, reaching his senses as though carried by the mountain’s own murmurs.

Gradually, it drew her focus, drawing her sight to the horizon, where she felt the weight of something profound unfolding—an unspoken promise heralding the rightful king’s return to his throne.

Reassured that they would be alright, a reluctant weight settled over Macaque.

Accepting that the moment had come to leave, their hearts met in a shared understanding that passed without words.

Neither wished to part, yet a calm resolve filled the space between them—a trust that destiny would guide them forward.

With one last trace of connection, he retreated into the shadows, fading quietly from view and leaving a quiet thread of hope resting in the night’s embrace.

[the-blackbird-roleplays]

Leo smiled at Selina's playful tone and sensual movements, a gentle growl of hunger leaving him as he stepped back up to her. He welcomed her attentions, her enticing movements succeeding in drawing him in. His hands moved to her waist, gently squeezing her hips seemingly designed by God to bewitch the mind.

"Your praise warms my heart, Pussycat. Perhaps I should do something to earn more of it... Right here and now, even..." He smirked behind the mask... Before rushing Selina backwards and pinning her tightly to the wall, pressing himself hard to her as he looked deeply into her eyes. He pressed his muscular form against her sensual frame, another hungry growl leaving him as he sighed.

"Sadly... This isn't a social call. I'm here on business... I need help finding Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. I have some... Questions for them."

Double Trouble

Leonis Rex

Gotham Saga Chapter 8

Closed with @the-blackbird-roleplays

The legend of the Night Beast had been growing rapidly. The new force in Gotham having become it's own legend. The Goliath crime fighter quickly growing the same way The Batman's had all those years ago

Leo's girls could not be prouder, if they where honest

And so... We are back. To a normal night within Gotham, the sky dark as always. Cass following her lover through the night sky

The two dancing across rooftops side by side as they performed their normal patrols, the beautiful night making Cass' latex clad body glisten

"Everything okay out there?" Barbara asked over the intercoms suddenly, in full Oracle node

"Fine." Was Cass' simple response... Before suddenly grapple hooking down to the ground and kicking a thug in the head

[diamondzart]

Silly snek Crowley to light up your day ^^

[mothhue]

A hat under waters: Subcon seas!

Planning to edit snatcher's design in the future because I'm not that proud of it & already have something in mind, but have this for now :) (...aaand I now realize that most of the text might be hard to read! whoops I'll make it clearer on the next one, apologies)

[orb-weaving]

Recognition

[marzghost]

Got inspired to draw skizz art after watching Doc's latest episode ✨️

[drawing-kitty-ckristal]

Owl yuan

First time drawing birbs n feathers

I realy like how it turned out

[puppyeared]

meow

[skunkes]

i like them together....

[zaacoy]

Also!! I think I just? Forgot?? To post these here?? So here's two old sketch pages from like 2 months ago that I gave to twt but never here- was messing around with drawing big pigsy!! Very floofy heeheehoo

[fiiishtank]

say hello to my new obsession :DDD here are some cotl doodles ^_^

[a-selkie-abroad]

Kiss and run!

[thatonechocogirl]

im kinda just realizing i rarely draw bro in his human form

so here take this sketch

[crazysodomite]

fursona eyes style