#If you’re curious the cartoon in question is

[st7rnioioss]

bestfriend!chris x inexperienced!reader lore fic? like pre smutty smut?

BSF!CHRIS x INEXPERIENCED!READER ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

˚𝜗𝜚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬... fluff, swearing, light angst, mentions of blood, mentions of reader being insecure and bullying, kissing, p in v, protected sex (short description).

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ the summer of 2008

the sun was hot and blinding in the backyard of chris’s house, the sun hat you had on nicely covering you from any sunburns.

you were sitting in the sandpit, legs sprawled out to each side, rummaging around with a cup. your curious eyes kept track of how the sand would ooze out, landing in the spot right in front of you, creating a pyramid-shape of sand.

“hey, i want that one,” you heard chris say from next to you, messily reaching over to grab the cup from your hands.

you were confused at first, looking over at him playing with it after he’d snatched it right from your grip. a pout formed on your lips, furrowing your brows while reaching back for the cup.

“no, chris! it’s mine, i was using it first!” you whined, grabbing the cup from him. chris groaned, standing up to move in front of you, but you held the cup close to your chest, turning your body away from him.

“go away, chris! i had it!” you protested again, but suddenly he sat down, his small hands reaching the other edge of the blue cup.

“give it to me! it’s my turn! you’re done using it, let go of it!” he whined back, pulling on the plastic, but not strongly enough to take it from your grasp.

“chris, i said stop!” you cried, growing frustrated and annoyed by chris and how he didn’t seem to understand you were using it first, how he’d basically stolen it from you.

“i said let go!” he yelled with his childish voice, obviously mad from how his brows knitted together, seemingly not caring about the fat tears starting to prick in the corners of your eyes.

all that went down, until you let go, not wanting to fight further. but chris was still pulling hard, causing him to accidentally hit himself right in the face with the cup, the corner cutting the edge of his eyebrow right open.

“ow!” he yelled, immediately losing his grip of the cup, which you carefully reached for to take it back, all while curiously watching his face twist up in pain.

hot tears ran down his chubby cheeks, his small fingers running across the bleeding wound while he cried from the stinging and ache.

“i’m sorry, chris. i didn’t mean to do that..” you mumbled while looking at him with a perplexed and puzzled look, your wide and confused eyes stuck on his eyebrow that was trickling with blood.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

later that day, chris was sitting in his living room with his brothers, all sucking on a popsicle while engrossed in some cartoon on the tv, a bandaid stuck to chris’s brow.

you had been out in your own backyard after your ran home when chris’s mom told you he was gonna cool down for a minute, picking some daisies for him, pinching them between your fingers.

the doorbell then rang in the sturniolo household, and chris’s mom opened it to find you standing there, shyly waving at her.

“hi, mary-lou,” you smiled, looking behind her to see if chris was sitting on the couch, which he was. “can i play with chris?”

you looked back up at her with big eyes, showing her the flowers you’d picked out.

“oh, sure sweetheart. he’s right in there,” his mom opened the door wider for you with a smile, noticing you seemed somewhat eager to get chris. hastily you made your way to the living room, waving at matt and nick.

“hi chris,” you smiled, crawling up into the couch to sit next to him, shuffling between him and nick.

chris glanced at you, before his eyes made their way to the flowers in your hand, looking somewhat curious.

“hi. why do you have flowers?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side, his brows furrowed. his lips and the corners of his mouth were red from the popsicle, clearly sticky from the sugar too.

“they’re for you. sorry about your eyebrow,” you held your hand out for him to take the flowers, somewhat squished and missing a few petals, but still—it’s the thought that counts.

chris looked down at them in his own hand when he grabbed them, before placing them on the coffee table in front of you to keep them safe.

he gave you a faint smile, before he looked at the lollipop that was melting down his tiny fingers.

“do you want a popsicle?” and that was all you needed to hear in order to know you were forgiven, smiling widely with a frantic nod, swinging your legs back and forth.

“mom, can i grab another popsicle?” he turned to look up at his mom, who was a little too busy with her camera, snapping a few pictures of the two of you.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

sometime in 2017

“mom, you’re not being fair!” you yelled from your room with a pillow clutched to your chest, your mom standing on the other side of the door.

you had a frown stuck to your lips, your brows furrowed in frustration, as well as tears welling in your waterline. you looked down at the small bag you had packed to bring for a sleepover with those few friends you had, only for your mom to tell you that you couldn’t go.

“stop, sweetie. i don’t wanna hear any more. dinner is ready soon,” your mom said before making her way back downstairs, leaving you angry and upset in your room.

sitting on the edge of your bed, you could look straight out your window, facing chris’s. you could peek some movements in there, and that was sign enough to pick up your phone and call him.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

“she was being so annoying! i literally planned it all out with my friends, and then she told me i couldn’t go!” you laid with your back to chris’s bed, staring up at the ceiling. chris was doing the same, laughing lightly along with you when you broke a laugh at your upset self. he turned to look at you, poking your shoulder.

“hey, but now we’re having a sleepover. it’ll be ten times more fun,” he smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back even wider, nodding along with his words.

“yeah,” you giggled, shooting a quick glance at the bag from earlier thrown onto chris’s floor. then to ruin the moment, your phone started buzzing with an incoming call. you rolled your eyes, grabbing your phone only to see your moms contact name.

“fuck,” you groaned, forgotten all about the dinner your mom had prepared and how’d you snook out. it was like this most days and weekends. whenever your parents weren’t being fair (in your eyes), you would immediately be welcomed in chris’s room and vice versa, spending the night eating snacks and watching some stupid show you never got to finish because you always ended up talking over it.

it was nice to have someone to hold your back, always there for you.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

winter, 2018

the tension in the room was thick—so thick you could basically cut through it and finally get out of the room you usually enjoyed staying it. but not right now, not at all.

you sat on the carpeted floor of chris’s bedroom, leaning against the bedframe, his bed occupied with chris himself and his girlfriend. you had this faint idea she had something against you, but you didn’t know what. did you presence annoy her? was this the typical “his girl best friend” situation? gosh, you needed to leave.

“i’m- i’m gonna leave, sorry.. uh- dinners ready soon, so..” you muttered awkwardly as you stood up, glancing at chris and the girl slung under his arm. chris’s eyes immediately flickered to you. “are you sure? i mean, we just- just started..” his words were quick, almost begging for you to stay.

“chris, let her leave if she wants to,” his girlfriend shot in, giving you a look that spoke nothing close to kindness. embarrassed, you nodded slowly, giving him a hesitant wave before you closed his door behind you.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

summer, 2019

the girls at your school could be.. heinous to say the least. chris had gotten a good handful of friends throughout freshman year who he decided to introduce you to—and lucky, you quickly all got along. but the popularity of him and his friends rapidly grew, and so did the attention from girls.

hot tears pricked in the corners of your eyes, sniffling and trying your best not to cry in the empty bathroom. you were anxiously bouncing your leg, staring down at your fingers while fiddling and fidgeting with them. you just couldn’t get those girls words out of your head.

“they’re definitely more than friends, but i don’t get it. she’s so weird.”

“you could never be good enough for chris, are you kidding?”

“chris would never go for a girl like her, have you seen her? they’re definitely not dating, he’d be dumb to.”

no one understood you were just friends, though maybe, just maybe, you wanted more than that. so with that feeling in your gut already, their words only made you feel ten times more shitty. you truly believed chris would never see you as more than a friend. i mean, at least he was single now, right?

you wanted to ask him out, you really did. but when most days were spent like this, crying and second guessing yourself, was it really worth it? to ruin a perfect and life long friendship?

and were you really that dumb? would chris ever like you as more than a friend? maybe they were right, you weren’t pretty enough.

all those thoughts kept running through your mind until the bell rang, and you hastily stood up, grabbing your bag and making your way out of the stall. quickly, you took a look at yourself in the mirror, attempting to wipe away the tears for your eyes and the few that had escaped to your cheek.

…

“what- justin? are you serious? he’s like, super annoying,” chris gasped, nearly losing grasp of the burger in his hand. you blushed, shrugging while avoiding chris’s eyes, adverting your eyes down at your fries instead. all this talk about chris and whether you were dating him or not lead to you trying to push it away—to find someone else to think about.

chris’s stomach did a weird flip when you said you had a secret crush on a guy, something twisted with jealousy. but he’d never admit it, not to anyone. his brows were furrowed, his head tilted slightly to the side while he stared at you, still struck.

“i dunno.. he’s kinda sweet. and his summer tan is really nice.” you mumbled, stuffing a few more fries into your mouth, looking up at chris. he raised his brows with a smirk, lightly chucking. “you’ve never talked to him, have you?”

your cheeks reddened, but you broke into a giggle along with chris, shaking your head from side to side before you breathlessly spoke up.

“no.. not really.”

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

fall, 2019

“i don’t know- i just.. i feel weird. everyone thinks we’re dating. don’t you think so? that it’s a little weird?” you questioned, turning to look at chris.

it was one of the usual friday’s. chris had finished practice earlier, just out the shower, and now sitting next to you in bed. just like normally, a movie was playing, but you had both forgotten about it.

he felt a weird twinge of feelings raise in his stomach at your words, suddenly feeling a little hot and quizzical—wasn’t this the perfect time to tell you? to pull you in for a kiss? no. there’s never be a perfect time, and he knew.

“i- i don’t know. a little?” his words were hesitant, keeping his eyes on the screen in front of you, acting interested. “but i mean.. we’re basically together all the time, so.. i-i kinda get it.”

your ears turning red and scorching when he spoke, as well as your cheeks. he kind of gets it? what was that supposed to mean?

all you could do was nod, giving his face a quick glance, flickering to his lips before a the tiniest, faintest smile pulled on the corners of your lips. “yeah.. makes sense.” your head leaned onto his shoulder, shuffling closer to him.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

spring, 2022

your eyes were avoiding chris’s, mindlessly searching around the café you were sitting in, chris doing the same. your fingers were laced together with his over the table, awkwardly waiting for the coffee you’d just ordered a few minutes ago.

your smudged lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile, your face tinted a little pink—but not as much as his. chris was trying everything against his will to pull you out of the, actually really nice café, and kiss you senseless, just liked he’d done fifteen minutes ago in his car. “um, so.. d-do you think this is a good?” his free hand turned the menu to you, pointing at the name of a sandwich.

your eyes dipped to the card in front of you, reading over the ingredients. “yeah, yeah it does. do you wanna get it? we could share it.”

all the times you’d gone out with chris for lunch never felt like this. but it made sense. he wasn’t just your best friend anymore. this time it actually had a meaning—he’d asked you out on a date.

he nodded, making eye contact with you for the first time since you had sat in his car, blinking a couple times, but keeping his eyes on yours. “that sounds good.. yeah.” swiftly, he leaned closer to leave a loving but soft kiss to your cheek.

you laughed, shoving him off when he continued, finally feeling that wall of awkwardness fall. “chris, stop. you keep doing that,” you continued giggling, finally succeeding in pushing him away. “i’m just making up for all the time i wasted not doing that,” he murmured with a wide, lovestruck smile, his free hand cupping the side of your face to kiss you properly, definitely making a few heads turn.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟

february 14th, valentine’s day, 2025

your face was flushed pink, a small layer of sweat beading across your forehead and bare chest. the marks chris had left earlier on your neck and collarbone matched the smudged but red color on your lips—which was now transferred to his chest, burgundy imprints of your lips pressed to his skin.

“gosh, i love you.. so much, you have no idea angel,” chris’s arms were tightly wrapped around you, one draped under your waist, the other one around the back of your neck while he jerked his hips forward, holding up close. chris’s lips occasionally brushed against yours, the moans you both let one mixing together in a harmony.

you hadn’t planned on having some clich�� valentine’s day plans together, especially the red petals and balloons on the bed you had seen and laughed at on the internet. sure, you went out earlier to enjoy the friday, but neither of you expected it to turn into this.. okay lie, you both definitely expected this, but neither of you vocalized it.

now you had your legs wrapped around his waist like he had instructed you to do. but to your pleasure, you dug your heels into his lower back with every thrust, pushing him deeper. “ah, chris, i- i love you too.. so good chris,” a whimper left your maroon, parted lips, before they collided with his.

your sweet noises and praise sent a twinge of fire down his spine, groaning loudly into the kiss when yours fingers pulled him closer by his hair. “can’t- can’t believe i wasted more than half my fucking life without you like this.. i- gosh, i’m so crazy for you,” his words sent electricity through your veins, arching your back to let his chest press to yours with a loud cry of his name.

in the end, you knew deep down it was all worth the wait. your friendship had bloomed into something much more beautiful, much more than just friends.

more bsf!chris x inexperienced!reader here!

˚𝜗𝜚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬... first part is based on a true story. i accidentally cracked a girls brow up, sorry! anyway, it’s valentine’s day so i felt like adding some smut.. just because. sorry😇🤍

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[ninadove]

Oh! The misery! No one wrote fic about this very niche French cartoon I obsessed over as a seven-year-old

[eufezco]

LOGAN AS A GIRL DAD°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

just pure fluff with pregnant!reader and logan <3

BEFORE PREGNANCY

being a dad at his age was something logan never imagined. starting a family seemed so out of reach, after everything he’d lived, he never thought that dad was a title he deserved. but then laura came into your life, and it was hard for him because you were a natural, effortlessly knowing how to care for her.

bit by bit, he began to follow your lead, picking up your habit of checking on her before bed and tucking her in, keeping an eye on her plate and making sure she finished her veggie, checking on her when she played outside and even sitting through her favorite cartoons.

and as you watched him, you’d catch yourself wondering what it would be like to bring another little life into this family you were building. the idea of getting pregnant crossed your mind more than once, and you could see it flicker in his eyes too, like an unspoken thought that made its way between you.

—you ever thought of having kids? —he asked, quiet but serious.

you took a few seconds to think about his question. not that you needed them, you'd always wanted to have his kids, and having laura had changed things, deepened the bond between you and logan, and brought your maternal instinct back. she wasn’t your biological child, but in every other way, she was yours.

the thought of bringing up the idea of getting pregnant to logan felt selfish, especially when you knew how much he had already given and how tired he was, you knew that, so you kept your hopes to yourself, not wanting to ask for more than the peace you had found with him and laura.

—we have laura —. you answered.

—yeah, we do. but… that’s not what i’m talking about.

there was a few seconds of silence while he waited for your answer.

—yes, i've thought about it but—

—have you thought about it recently?

you nodded to his question, feeling guilty.

he slowly nodded back to you. —i've been thinking about it too.

DURING PREGNANCY

logan started helping caliban in the kitchen, something that surprised you at first because he had never been much of a cook. but the two of them would work together, preparing meals that were good for you and the baby. logan would quietly chop vegetables or stir a pot, taking caliban’s instructions (also surprising because he had not followed anyone's instructions in a long time) as they worked to make sure you had everything you needed to stay healthy.

he’d help you with things like showering when it became difficult for you to balance or reach certain places. his touch was always gentle, his movements careful, making sure you felt safe. it became an intimate routine, his fingers massaged your scalp with care.

every night he'd gently rub lotion on your growing belly, helping to care for the stretch marks that had started to appear. he knew how self-conscious they made you feel. he could see it in the way you’d glance at your reflection, letting out a frustrated huff each time you noticed a new one, how you’d try to hide it from him, or how you’d wrap yourself in a towel quickly after a shower. so he took his time applying the lotion with steady hands, his eyes focused as if making sure he was doing it right.

—another one? —you muttered, feeling the weight of it.

—doesn’t change a thing —. logan just shook his head, kneeling beside you. —it’s just a mark. i'm covered in marks, and you never cared, right?

laura sat close to you, her eyes focused on your belly as logan gently massaged your skin. she was waiting, as she always did, hoping to see her future sister move. each time logan’s hand smoothed over your growing bump, laura’s gaze would sharpen, her small body leaning forward saying come on, little sis, just one kick. sometimes she’d place her hand beside logan’s, her touch gentle but curious.

—is she going to move soon? —she’d ask in a hushed voice.

logan glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. —she’s already kickin' when you’re not looking —. he teased lightly as he rubbed the cream over your stretch marks, carefully. laura’s eyes never left your belly, waiting for that one special moment.

and he'd give you foot massages, his calloused hands rubbing away the soreness from carrying extra weight. you’d close your eyes, sighing in relief, and he’d smile.

when your clothes stopped fitting, it was he who offered up his own. he’d hand over his t-shirts and flannels, which hung loose on you and smelled like him, making you feel him close to you even when he was away at work.

logan was a bit reluctant at first but when the doctor told him how important prenatal yoga was to you, he didn't have to think about it twice. he wanted to be there and help you in every way he could even though he felt a bit out of place among the soft music, peaceful atmosphere, and expectant mothers, but he never let it show.

he'd help you find comfort in each of the poses the instructor guided everyone. he was often the only man in the class, which certainly caught the attention of the other moms. perhaps they noticed the age gap between you and logan, but more likely, their attention was drawn to your undeniably handsome partner. some of them whispered to each other, half-jokingly expressing their jealousy at how lucky you were to have such a dedicated partner. you both noticed the glances but you were too focused on each other.

as the weeks went by, the mothers would often smile at him, offering you two the kindest words as they saw how attentive he was to your needs.

at the end of the class, logan leaned in and kissed you softly, his hand resting on your back. —you did great —. he murmured, his voice full of pride. as you started to gather your things, one of the mothers nearby smiled and said, you're a lucky girl.

you couldn’t help but blush a little. he gave a small, almost shy smirk in response but didn’t say anything. instead, he focused on helping you with your bag.

the moment you found out you were pregnant, he quit smoking. it was almost instinctive, he wanted nothing but the best for you and the baby, and that included kicking the habit that had stuck with him for years.

and giving up cigarettes was one thing, but quitting drinking was way harder. there were nights he’d sit in the kitchen, staring at the bottle in the cabinet, knowing he could just reach for it. but he remembered you asleep in the other room, a hand resting protectively over your belly, and he’d push the thought away. he didn’t want his daughter growing up with memories of whiskey lingering on her father’s breath.

DURING LABOR

logan was more terrified than he'd ever let you know. he had faced, battles survived unimaginable pain, and lived through horrors but this was different. watching you in pain, knowing that your body was going through something so intense shook him to his core.

he stayed by your side, gripping your hand tightly and leaning in close, his voice encouraging you to push. he'd brush the damp strands of hair that were sticking to your face and press his forehead to yours.

when the baby’s first cry filled the room, logan sighed in relief, his grip on your hand softening as he finally allowed himself to breathe. once the doctors placed her on your chest, logan leaned in by your side, his eyes shining as he looked at you. you did so good, baby, thank you so much he murmured as he kissed your sweaty forehead and one of his fingers brushed across the baby’s little cheek.

AFTER PREGNANCY

at first, he was terrified every time he held her, his usually steady hands suddenly unsure. he was afraid that even his touch might be too much. she was so tiny, so soft and fragile, and her chest rose and fell so peacefully even though her small fingers wrapped around logan's thick ones with such strength. he found himself holding his breath whenever he picked her up.

in those first few days after labor, logan seemed to be everywhere at once. checking on the baby, bringing you food, making sure you were sleeping and laura wasn't trying to sneak into your room to see the baby. she was fascinated by her little sister, how could a human being be so small? laura often asked herself.

logan would catch her on her tiptoes, face with curiosity, and he’d stop her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. laura would pout, glancing past him with wide eyes, eager to get closer, but logan wasn’t having it.

you surprised him when you caught him slipping into a soft, almost comical baby voice whenever he spoke to his daughter. but it was completely unintentional, just something that happened whenever he looked down at her tiny face, her big eyes blinking up at him. oh, what’s that little face all about, huh? you got somethin’ to say, little one? he’d murmur, his voice high and gentle as he rubbed one of her cheeks.

logan never thought he’d find joy in something as simple as dressing up his little girl, but there he was, surrounded by tiny clothes, immersed in a world of pastels and patterns. the laughter that escaped his lips as he put together the outfits was genuine. alright, sweetheart, what do you think of this one? he would ask her, holding the little one in front of the mirror. the baby had no idea what was going on, but logan nodded, approving the outfit. he’d try on multiple outfits, taking photos, and sending them to you for your opinion. how about this for school? he’d text you, proudly. this one’s a bold choice, but i think you can pull it off, he’d tease, pretending to be a fashion critic.

leaving for work each day became one of the hardest things logan had to do. he hated those hours he spent apart from the three of you. and every night when he came home, the baby was already sleeping but he'd tiptoe over to the crib, and he'd place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. then he’d make his way to bed, crawling next to you and pulling you close against his chest. he’d nuzzle his head close, murmuring softly, you okay, darlin’? and though you’d only mumble a half-coherent answer, he’d still give a small, satisfied nod.

and when he gets out of work earlier, he comes home exhausted, and you can see it in his face, the tired lines around his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders, the way he rubs the back of his neck, but despite that, he is never too tired to play with his baby girl.

as the baby grew, logan took on new challenges, like driving her to school each morning, packing her tiny backpack with her favorite snacks, and doing her hair. with dark brown locks just like laura's and his own, he gathered them into two little ponytails, a bit clumsy at first, his fingers were used to fighting and rough work, not delicate hairstyles.

laura, after seeing how much fun logan had with the little girl’s hair, wanted no less. she’d approach him, eyes bright with excitement. —can you do my hair too, logan?

—your mom can do it for you. she's much better at it than i am —. he answered, not sure if his hairdressing skills would meet the older girl's expectations.

—but i want you to do it!

logan huffed, ruffling her hair with his free hand. he used the same care gathering laura's long hair as he did for her baby sister and he found it incredibly satisfying to see laura's face light up when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

after all, he was meant to be a girl's dad. every moment with you and your daughters reminded him that all those years of solitude and struggles, had led him here to a life filled with love. he might have thought being a dad was beyond his reach, but now, he knew he was exactly where he was meant to be.

[mercillery]

ASL BROTHERS WITH A SHY S/O

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD

CHARACTERS: Luffy + Ace + Sabo

NOTES: Do Luffy haters exist? It’s a dumb question, yes—but I’m genuinely curious. He’s so cute and dumb, I find it hard to not love him.

LUFFY

Luffy wouldn’t really “get” shyness in the conventional sense. But here’s the thing about Luffy: he’s all about accepting people as they are, no questions asked. He treats you with the same bright-eyed, wide-grinned enthusiasm he shows everyone. The idea of you needing to be more outgoing wouldn’t even cross his mind because, to him, you’re already perfect as you are. Shyness? Never heard of it. Just pass the meat, please.

Now, Luffy’s approach to social interactions is, well, 100% Luffy. He doesn’t really adapt his wild and carefree style to match anyone else’s comfort levels. If you're quiet and reserved, that’s cool—Luffy just goes on living life at full volume like it’s another Tuesday on the Sunny.

At first, you might be left wondering how in the seven seas you’re going to survive the endless hurricane of chaos that follows this rubbery captain around. But soon, and without realizing it, you start to find that his reckless antics and headfirst approach to life are... kind of charming. Sure, it’s like living next door to a tornado, but it’s a tornado that makes you laugh until your sides hurt and never lets you get too deep into your own thoughts.

What’s funny is that while he doesn’t actively try to make you feel more comfortable, he ends up doing it anyway. It’s his Luffy magic. You find yourself smiling more often, your shyness loosening its grip bit by bit as he does dumb stuff and throws himself into trouble that only Luffy would consider fun.

He’ll walk up to you, grin stretching from ear to ear, holding out some bizarre, questionably edible snack and say, “You gotta try this!” And just like that, the nerves you felt melt away—not because he’s making an effort to make you feel at ease, but simply because he’s himself.

And sure, sometimes his energy is a lot. We’re talking sprinting-across-decks, yelling-about-meat kind of “a lot.” But in the middle of all that noise, you come to realize that you feel safer and more at ease when you’re around him. Why? Because Luffy has this way of making everything fun and natural, and soon enough, that includes you too.

Before long, your shyness isn’t something you worry about around him; it’s just another thing Luffy accepts without blinking, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And in his eyes? It is.

It’s cute because you two really are like the sun and the moon, with Luffy as the blazing, never-stopping sun, and you being the more reserved, quiet moon. It’s like a cosmic duo—he’s all light and energy, and you’re the calm, cool reflection of it all. You balance each other out in the weirdest, most wonderful way.

And when people catch wind of the fact that Luffy is dating someone—let alone someone as shy as you—it’s like watching a cartoon character’s eyes bug out of their head. Yeah, they’re not wrong to be surprised, but Luffy doesn’t care. He’s already busy thinking about what’s next on the agenda, probably involving meat or some kind of treasure hunt.

Luffy is anything but shy. He could probably talk to a rock and think it’s the best conversation he’s had all day. So when it comes to affection, he’s not exactly one to shy away from it. He might not be the clingiest partner out there—he’s not going to be hanging off you like a koala (okay, maybe sometimes)—but you can bet he’s there, always.

Whether it’s randomly giving you a hug in or tossing his arm around your shoulder like it’s no big deal, he’s just Luffy—and that means showing affection wherever and whenever he feels like it, no matter who’s watching. Basically, he’s like a “here’s my arm, it’s yours now” kind of guy.

While Luffy doesn’t exactly get what makes you shy, he’s surprisingly good at picking up on your feelings. If you’re feeling anxious, or if you’re shrinking back into your shell a little bit, Luffy has this unbelievable ability to sense when you need a change of pace. Without even thinking about it, he’ll grab your hand and drag you off on some wild adventure, just to get your mind off things.

He doesn’t even need a reason—he just knows that you could use a distraction, and he’s the perfect person to provide it. Besides, that just gives him more time to spend with you! And, of course, he might offer you one of his beloved snacks or a full meal if you’re feeling off. Seriously, do you know how big that is? Luffy parting with his food is like a miracle in itself, so if he’s offering it to you, you better believe you’re special.

And let’s talk about the food thing for a sec. Do you even realize how big of a deal it is that Luffy shares his food with you? Like, do you know how many times he’s turned down offering a bite of his meat to anyone? Probably never. So when he hands you a piece of his prized food, you know it’s a huge honor. We’re talking sacred territory here.

If you ever doubted your place in Luffy’s heart, just remember: he shares his food with you. That’s a level of trust and affection that not even the grandest feast can outdo. Trust me, you’ve got a special place in his world, and it’s right next to the meat and maybe a little bit of the chaos.

Luffy’s naturally the type of guy who’d include you in absolutely everything—because why wouldn’t he? To him, you’re part of the crew, part of his world, and that means he’s going to drag you into every single bit of it.

You’d be minding your own business, maybe sitting quietly with your book or trying to sneak in a nap, when suddenly—BAM! Luffy's in front of you, grinning like a madman, already talking about the next big adventure or game that everyone’s playing. “C’mon, join us!” he’d say, and before you could protest, he’s already tossing you into the mix.

It’s not that he’s forcing you to join, though—Luffy just has this way of making you feel like you should be there, without ever putting you on the spot. His carefree, inclusive attitude makes it feel like the natural thing to do. You never feel pressure; you just feel... valued. Like you belong, whether you’re quietly cheering from the sidelines or joining in with your own brand of awkward enthusiasm.

It’s like Luffy’s energy is so contagious that you can’t help but want to be part of whatever insane thing he’s cooking up that day, even if it’s just watching him eat his weight in food and making random, nonsensical decisions.

If anyone ever crossed the line with you—teased you, made you uncomfortable, or said something that got under your skin—Luffy would flip the script faster than you can blink. That goofy, carefree grin would disappear in an instant, replaced by a rare, uncharacteristically serious expression.

Suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you like a human shield, ready to take down anyone who dared upset you. He’s usually a chaotic force of nature, but mess with his loved ones, and that’s when you see a side of him that is all about protecting you.

He wouldn’t hesitate to confront the person, his voice firm and unwavering. “Hey! That’s not cool! You don’t mess with my crew!” He’s not one for subtlety or second-guessing, so you’d know right away that Luffy’s on your side. If someone’s being rude or making you feel small, he’ll make sure they know they’ve messed with the wrongggggg person.

The crew’s used to this by now—because Luffy, despite his childish nature, would go to the ends of the earth to defend the people he cares about. You’d feel like the most important person in the world in that moment because, in his eyes, you are.

Luffy’s loyalty is on another level entirely. Once he’s decided he cares about someone, they’re in—no questions, no conditions, just pure, unfiltered loyalty. If you’re lucky enough to be someone Luffy loves, you’d know it in every grin, in every spontaneous gesture, and in every single, joyfully shouted “Let’s go!” You’d never have to second-guess where you stand with him, because Luffy’s affections are as clear as day, as honest and unwavering as the sea he dreams of conquering.

So whether you’re officially part of his crew or not, in his mind, you’re always one of them, and he’d tell anyone who’ll listen, “Yeah, they’re with me!” with a pride that’d make your heart swell.

The best part? Luffy would constantly invite you to tag along on whatever wild journey or ridiculous stunt he’s about to pull. There’d be no hesitation; it’d be, “Hey! Let’s go on an adventure!” as if going on an impromptu quest was as simple as taking a stroll to the market. It’s almost like Luffy has this unspoken rule: every exciting, crazy, fun thing has to be experienced with you.

From treasure hunts that end up in unexpected fights with sea kings to races through bustling ports (where he definitely has no idea where he’s running but is laughing the whole time), Luffy wants you there, right in the middle of it all. You’d probably sigh at the thought of jumping headfirst into another unpredictable situation, but Luffy’s enthusiasm is like a gravitational pull—it’s impossible to resist.

And thank goodness for that, because your timid self wouldn’t stand a chance at taking the lead in any of these wild endeavors. Luckily, Luffy’s the type to charge forward, dragging you along by the hand with zero doubts and zero plans. He makes all the decisions for both of you, which, sure, sometimes means ending up lost on an island full of very angry, very large monkeys because, “They looked friendly!”

You’d feel a mix of exasperation and endearment at his antics. He doesn’t realize it, but his willingness to be the fearless leader—even if his plans are sometimes made with the strategic prowess of a rubber chicken—takes the pressure off you. You don’t have to stress over decisions or worry about whether you’re doing the right thing, because Luffy’s already ten steps ahead (probably literally sprinting) and dragging you along with a confidence that borders on reckless.

And honestly? That’s part of the charm. His “plans” might be half-baked and a little foolish, but he makes up for it by being completely and unapologetically himself.

You’d find yourself smiling more than you ever expected, getting swept up in the whirlwind that is Luffy, and realizing that being with him means never feeling alone, even if you’re quiet or shy.

His laughter, his outbursts, and his impulsive decisions would all become things you cherish, because with him leading the way, life feels a little less scary and a lot more exciting.

ACE

Ace is all warmth and energy, like a bonfire on a chilly night, and he’d go out of his way to make sure you feel comfortable in his presence. Despite his natural tendency for excitement and spontaneity, he’d be mindful of your shyness, making a conscious effort to dial down the volume when needed.

You’d catch him lowering his voice a bit, softening his laughter, or even sitting a little closer with a reassuring grin. His laid-back nature would do wonders for your anxiety, melting it away bit by bit like ice under the sun. He’d take a more casual, playful approach when he’s with you, balancing his liveliness with a kind of gentle attentiveness that makes your heart feel at ease.

Ace has a knack for starting conversations, even if the topic is completely random. He’d sense your hesitance and jump in without skipping a beat. “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to cook for the crew and accidentally set a whole forest on fire?” he’d start, eyes twinkling as he watches your reaction.

His stories are always ridiculous—stories of clumsy mishaps, epic pranks gone wrong, or that one time he fell asleep mid-battle. You’d find yourself laughing in spite of yourself, the tension in your shoulders easing as you realize he’s making himself the butt of the joke, just to make you feel more at ease. He’d keep talking until he sees that spark of amusement in your eyes, and then keep going, his smile growing wider every time you giggle.

And Ace’s teasing? Oh, he’d be a master of that fine line between making you laugh and making you blush. He’d lean in, smirking just enough to be charming, and say, “What’s this? A smile? I knew it was in there somewhere.” His playful comments would come with a wink and a laugh, just enough to make your face warm, but never enough to make you feel like you’re being put on the spot.

If he ever saw you growing quiet or noticed that hint of panic in your eyes, he’d immediately back off, switching to a softer tone and throwing in a quick “I’m just messing with ya” followed by that disarming grin of his.

Ace would be incredibly in tune with your reactions, watching for the tiniest signs that you’re feeling overwhelmed. The moment he picks up on it, he’d change gears—maybe suggesting a quiet spot on deck where you could sit together and watch the stars, or offering to take a walk to get some fresh air. He’d brush off the seriousness with a light, “Hey, it’s just us. No pressure, alright?” The way he says it makes you feel safe, like it’s just you and him against the world, no expectations or worries allowed.

Ace is the definition of a warm hug in human form, so being a tactile person comes naturally to him. But when it comes to you, he’d show an impressive amount of restraint—not an easy feat for someone who’d usually throw an arm around a friend without thinking twice. Well, you’re not just his friend but his lover, obviously—but what I’m getting at us that he’s a pretty affectionate guy.

He’d start small, easing you into it with light touches: a friendly pat on the shoulder when you share a joke, a playful ruffle of your hair that would leave you smiling and maybe a little flustered. You’d catch the subtle glances he’d shoot you afterward, as if he’s silently checking, Was that okay? Did that make you uncomfortable? It’s endearing how he’s so in tune with your comfort level, his natural affection turned into a gentle dance of patience and care.

As time went on and your confidence around him grew, Ace would start to introduce more meaningful touches. He’d sneak in side hugs when you’re sitting together, leaning into you with that easygoing smile of his that made your heart race. And when the day finally came that you leaned into him on your own, whether it was out of exhaustion or just because you felt safe, the soft, proud look on his face would be priceless.

Ace would make a big deal out of it in the quietest way possible, his hand finding yours in a reassuring squeeze as if to say, Hey, look at you, being brave. Eventually, he’d graduate to full-on snuggling when you were comfortable, and the first time he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you close, you’d know just how deeply he cared.

And when social situations become too much—because let’s face it, Ace has a lot of friends and a magnetic personality that draws people in—he’d be the first to notice if you’re starting to feel overwhelmed.

In those moments, he’d spring into action without making it obvious. He’d tell a ridiculously over-the-top story, one that would steal the spotlight from everyone else and have the whole room’s attention fixed on him, leaving you a moment to breathe.

Ace would always throw himself into being the distraction, whether it meant cracking jokes or reenacting a failed stunt that ended with him pretending to trip over his own feet. He’d shoot you a quick wink in the middle of it, as if to say, See? I’ve got you.

It’s not that he wanted to be the center of attention—okay, maybe a little, but only when it’s for you.

He’d take on the role of court jester, chaos-maker, or even reluctant hero if it meant taking the pressure off you for a while. If anyone questioned it, he’d brush it off with a laugh and a shrug, all while keeping an eye on you to make sure you were okay.

And if things really got too much, Ace wouldn’t hesitate to steer you away from the noise altogether, leaning in close and saying, “Let’s get outta here for a bit, yeah?” He’d lead you somewhere quieter, a hand on your arm or fingers interlaced with yours, the simple touch grounding you as you walked.

You’d both end up somewhere peaceful, maybe under the stars or by a flickering campfire, where he’d wrap an arm around your shoulder and say, “You don’t have to explain. Just take your time.” And you would, with the steady thump of his heartbeat right next to yours, knowing he’d take on the world just to make sure you felt comfortable and safe.

Ace would be your number one cheerleader, hyped beyond belief over every little victory you achieved. You managed to say something in a group conversation? He’d beam at you like you just solved world peace. “Look at you go! You’re amazing!” he’d shout, probably a bit louder than necessary, with that signature grin that lights up his entire face.

If you reached out to touch his arm or, heaven forbid, initiated a hug, there’d be a solid five minutes of him staring at you in delighted disbelief before breaking out into an excited, “Did you just—? You did! You did!”

What you might not notice is that whenever you step even half a toe out of your comfort zone, Ace is in the background punching the air with all the subtlety of an over-caffeinated kid at a birthday party.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny thing, like making eye contact with someone new, or a big step like saying a few words in front of the crew—Ace is celebrating it like you just discovered the One Piece itself.

He might look a bit unhinged to anyone passing by, but he’s never cared about that. You’re his person, and your wins are his wins. He’s just out here being the proudest guy alive, punching invisible foes and mouthing, That’s my partner!

And the way he looks at you? It’s like you’re the most priceless treasure in the world, and not just in the fleeting, pirate-wants-your-gold way. No, Ace’s gaze is full of warmth and genuine awe, the kind that makes you feel like you’re wrapped in a blanket of sunshine.

When you speak, whether it’s a confident statement or a hesitant mumble, Ace is all ears. His eyes would fix on you with this almost comically serious expression, nodding along like you’re revealing some ancient, life-altering secret.

You could point to the sky and say, “That’s the sky,” and he’d respond with a deep, earnest nod and a wide grin, “Exactly! I love that you noticed!” The rest of the crew might shake their heads and mutter things like, “Here they go again,” but Ace doesn’t care. If it matters to you, it matters to him—simple as that.

It doesn’t matter how mundane your observation is or how shyly you say it; to Ace, every word is golden. He’d hang on every syllable as if you were weaving a tale worthy of a bard’s song. You’d catch him repeating things you said back to you later, just to show he’d remembered, saying things like, “Oh yeah, like you said the other day, the sky really was a perfect blue.”

It’s almost ridiculous, but that’s Ace—he’d make you feel like every tiny thing you did was extraordinary, because in his eyes, it truly is.

SABO

Sabo is the calm breeze compared to the whirlwinds that are Luffy and Ace, which makes him the perfect blend of approachable and comforting.

With his natural ease and warm, diplomatic demeanor, you’d find yourself feeling more at peace around him sooner than you’d expect. Sabo’s the kind of person who could have a conversation with anyone, but when he’s with you, you’d feel like you’re the only one in the world that matters.

He’s just got this knack for making everything feel safe, like he’s a sturdy anchor in a storm. If you ever started to feel overwhelmed, Sabo would be the first to notice, with a quiet attentiveness that doesn’t scream I’m watching you but more like I’m here if you need me.

He’d be a master of subtlety, paying close attention to what made you nervous and what helped you open up, all without making it seem like he was analyzing you. You’d catch him making mental notes when you shifted uncomfortably or lit up at something specific. He’s probably like, “Write that down, write that down!” in his head.

And he’d use those observations to make your interactions more comfortable. If he noticed that certain topics or big crowds made you anxious, he’d steer conversations towards lighter things or find a reason to take a quiet walk somewhere less crowded.

Sabo would never rush you into sharing more than you were ready for. He understands that trust is built slowly, like adding logs to a fire, not dumping gasoline on it and hoping for the best.

Sabo would show his affection in the most considerate ways, taking into account what you’d find comforting rather than overwhelming. That being said, grand and dramatic gestures aren’t his style when it comes to you; he’d save those for his other acts of rebellion.

With you, he’d stick to smaller, more intimate actions. He’d brush his fingers across yours before holding your hand, always making sure it was welcome. He’d lean in a little closer when you’re talking, eyes fixed on you with that soft, attentive gaze of his that makes you feel like you have all the time in the world.

There’d be moments when he’d reach out with a light touch on your arm, or just the simple press of his shoulder against yours when you sat side by side, enough to let you know he was there but never too much to make you uncomfortable.

It’s like he has a sixth sense for what was just the right amount of closeness. And if you ever looked unsure or nervous, Sabo’s eyes would catch yours, full of warmth and encouragement, like he was silently saying, Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.

The patience he’d show would be unmatched; you could almost hear him mentally cheering you on even if you were just picking your words slowly or taking a deep breath before saying something important.

And the way he’d support you? Subtle but powerful. If you ever found yourself second-guessing or fumbling, he’d quietly step in to help redirect the conversation or offer a reassuring comment. “I think that’s a great point,” he’d say with genuine enthusiasm, giving you that extra boost of confidence.

And when you’d catch him watching you speak, the look in his eyes would always be one of admiration—never judgment, never pressure, just pure, patient support. And whether it’s a simple chat or a quiet walk together, Sabo’s presence would be your reminder that you’re valued, seen, and cherished, just as you are.

When it came to conversations, Sabo would be your guy for deep, meaningful talks, but with a healthy dose of humor to keep things light. He’d pick the coziest, quietest corner on the ship or at a café, leaning in with a thoughtful smile and saying, “Alright, you ready to hear some top-secret stories about Ace and Luffy’s greatest flops?” And he’d be off, recounting tales of Luffy trying to eat something he really, really shouldn’t have or Ace’s legendary nap times that ended in near-disaster.

His stories are designed not just to make you laugh, but to remind you that even these larger-than-life brothers were and still are total dorks sometimes. And before you know it, you’re easing into sharing a few of your own stories, prompted by his gentle encouragement and the safety his presence provided.

If there was ever a moment where you hinted at wanting to join in on an activity or step outside your comfort zone, Sabo would light up like someone just told him there was free cake on deck. But instead of jumping up and down and looking crazy, Sabo’s celebration would be the dignified, internal kind.

Picture a boardroom in his mind filled with 10 tiny Sabos all jumping out of their chairs, high-fiving each other, and throwing confetti in the air. On the outside, he’d just offer you that calm, reassuring grin and a simple, “You’ve got this. And if not, we’ll laugh about it later, yeah?”

He’d be your biggest silent cheerleader, always ready with a patient hand to guide you or a subtle nudge if you needed it. If you wanted to join in on a game or join a conversation but hesitated, Sabo would seamlessly include you, making it feel natural and not like he was pointing out your shyness.

He’d say things like, “Hey, I think Y/N would be perfect for this—what do you think?” and then shoot you a wink that says, See? Not so bad, right? And when you took that first step, whether it was a comment or a hesitant laugh at a joke, Sabo’s inner cheering squad would be losing their collective minds.

So while Ace might be punching the air and Luffy would probably shout, “You did it!” at full volume, Sabo would play it cool—at least on the outside. But don’t be fooled. The minute he see’s you trying something new or making a move outside your comfort zone, those 10 tiny Sabos in his head would be throwing a full-on carnival, complete with fireworks and dancing.

And he’d just keep giving you that look that said, You’re amazing, and I’m so proud of you. Because to him, you’re always worth celebrating, no matter what.

If there’s one thing Sabo doesn’t tolerate, it’s someone messing with the people he cares about. So if he spotted you feeling uncomfortable or noticed someone trying to be intimidating, he’d swoop in with the subtlety of a master diplomat. Sabo wouldn’t make a scene, but instead, he’d redirect the situation like an absolute pro.

Maybe he’d throw out a well-timed joke, ask a question that shifts the focus, or suddenly develop an urgent need for your opinion on something random, like, “Hey, didn’t you say you know a lot about… apples?” The offender would be left blinking, and you’d find yourself in a new conversation before you even realized what happened. Crisis averted, all thanks to Sabo’s suave social maneuvering.

And then there’s Sabo’s sweeter side—his covert operation of affection. He knows that grand, dramatic proclamations can sometimes make you want to dive head-first into the nearest bush, so he’s perfected the art of subtle, heartfelt gestures.

He’d leave little handwritten notes tucked in places he knows you’ll find, maybe in your favorite book or slipped under your plate at breakfast. Each note would be filled with the kind of genuine, thoughtful words that would make your heart do an embarrassing little flip. They’d say things like, I know you’re stronger than you think, and I can’t wait for the world to see it, too, or The stars were beautiful last night, but not as much as seeing you smile today.

And don’t even get started on the letters. Oh, the letters. Sabo would write you these intricate, beautifully crafted notes that read like they came straight from the heart of a poet who’s just returned from a victorious battle.

He could have just finished a day of intense Revolutionary Army missions, covered in dust and exhaustion, but you’d still get a note that starts with, Hey, you. I’m thinking about you, and ends with some metaphor about how your presence makes the world brighter, even when he’s knee-deep in chaos.

You’d find trinkets, too—maybe a small charm he found that reminded him of you or a pressed flower from somewhere he thought was pretty. It’s the little things that would make your day and remind you that, no matter what chaos he’s wrapped up in with the Revolutionary Army, you’re always on his mind. And when you’d look up at him, cheeks flushed from finding yet another one of his notes or small gifts, Sabo would just grin that charming, lopsided grin and say, “Did you find it? Good. I meant every word.”

He’s protective, thoughtful, and romantic in a way that feels like it’s tailored just for you. And even if he’s balancing the weight of revolutions and strategic plans, Sabo makes sure you know that you’re not just part of his life—you’re the best part.

[eddiernunson]

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways to Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Harrington!Fem!Reader | 18+

Next part

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You're home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve's daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve's freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

Word count: 5.3k

P2 Will Be Up Next Thursday and every Thursday from then on!

The sounds of the morning Saturday cartoons fill the living room, background noise as you scroll through your phone while slowly working your way through your bowl of cereal. Droplets of milk occasionally drip onto your lap, landing on your bare thigh as the videos you scroll through don’t seem to compute. 

For the thousandth time you spill milk on your lap, you huff out of annoyance as you wipe it off with the edge of your sweaters sleeve. Maybe scrolling through your phone and eating something with liquids wasn’t a good idea for someone as klutzy as you.

From the kitchen, your dad walks out as he uses a T-towel to dry his hands. “You listening, sunshine?”

”Huh?” You blurt out, the video you were half paying attention to still playing. 

He breaks into a smile, shaking his head as he tosses the towel over his shoulder. “Guess not. You have any plans this weekend?” 

You shake your head, wiping your mouth of the excess milk of this bite when you had scooped too big of a bite. “Naomi is working for the summer and Marley got stuck watching her little brother all weekend.” 

Coming home to see your dad for the week is nice, granted it would probably be nicer if you could see either of your 2 friends. You’d have to settle for Steve being extra doting on you, given you’re only one of four of his kids in the house for the moment. What you would give to have your snot mouth brother in town just for two seconds to make the extra big house just a little bit smaller.

He nods, rubbing his hands together. You can see the slight hesitation in his eyes, watching the cartoon as if he had forgotten the conversation which he had started. 

“Dad?” His brown eyes switch to you, smirking at your expectant face. 

“Right. I was hoping you’d be out of the house a bit more,” he sighed, popping his knuckles anxiously. ”I have an old friend that will be staying with us for the weekend. I thought if you were out of the house it might make things slightly less awkward.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, curious as to what he might mean. You’ve gotten to know any old friend of his that might be expected to stay for the night, ducking their many attempts to ruffle your hair over the years. The only person you’d let do it ended up being Robin, as she is the coolest person you’ve ever met. 

“Why would it be awkward?” The question has a sarcastic bite to it, garbled by the cereal in your mouth. 

He sighs, placing a hand in his brown locks, ruffling them as he tucks his lips in. “Well, because it’s one of the friends you’ve never met.” 

There’s a few of them, having never made their return to Hawkins, you never had a chance to meet them. A few names from the stories your dad has told you over the years flicker through your mind, one name in particular standing out from the rest. 

Well, it's the only name that pops through your head.

His likeness on Late Nite TV interviews charming the audience, his solid tenor voice playing on the speakers during family barbecues, his band’s name plastered on some of the albums in your dad’s collection. 

You’ve heard stories, seen the photos of him and your dad together, but he’s never come around before. 

“Who?” You ask, your heart palpitating at the very thought of the long haired angel who haunted your dreams making his first in-person appearance. 

“It’s Eddie,” he answers, crossing his arms as his eyes switch back to the tv. “Eddie Munson, that guy in Corroded Coffin I’ve told you stories about?” 

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile that threatens to take over your face. “I know who Eddie is, dad. His name comes up every time his songs are on the family speakers. Given how many stories I know about him, is a lot!” You tease him, satisfied by the quick twist of annoyance across his face.  

“Not like I heard you complaining about those stories,” he chuckles, playfully feigning a throw of his T-towel at you. “He needs to come into town to help his uncle move into a retirement home. Wayne has finally given in, despite needing to be in one for at least a decade,” you blink at him, giving him that same deadpan stare he has given time and time again. He’s taught you well. “Right, so. He will be staying for the weekend.”

You nod, putting down the bowl on the coffee table as the remaining contents are only the milk and soggy cereal. What a nightmare of textures. 

As you lift your phone to unlock it again the day of the week flashes as a reminder. “So, he‘ll be here tomorrow?” 

He hisses, reaching out his hand for said bowl. You pass it to him, the silence would be awkward if it weren’t for how easily it rolls off his shoulders. 

Steve Harrington makes his living off of awkward moments. 

“Short notice I know,” he apologizes, in so many words, “I offered to him a few months ago when he brought it up, and he called the other day looking to cash in on the favor.” 

“And you said I’d be yours for the weekend. You liar!” You accuse, playfully crossing your arms at him. 

Your dad shrugs, walking back into the kitchen. “It seems I have double booked Chez Harrington for the weekend, but it won’t be so bad.” You hear the sound of the bowl being put in the water in the sink. 

You pretend to be annoyed, because it’s what he expects of you. The truth is since you were old enough to find someone hot Eddie Munson has intrigued you. On the occasion you have found yourself staring too long at magazine spreads he has been featured in, letting his sweet tenor voice enwrap you whole as you turn on his music. Sometimes he bares a love bite or two on stage, smacking you in the face with envy. 

This weekend is bound to be torture for you, a vision of a rock god whose body and chisled arms you’ve practically memorized by now up close in person with all those sick and twisted thoughts bouncing around in your head. To him, you will be nothing but a school girl with a crush. 

You’re surprisingly okay with that. 

“Ah, yes, an unruly rockstar coming over for a weekend. I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending,” you sing the last part, smiling cheekily as he scoffs. 

“Taylor Swift references aside, he’s really gotten over his party hard rockstar days,” he insists, “or at least, that’s what he tells me.” 

You nod cynically, narrowing your eyes. “Fine. Not like I can tell you to refuse your friend a place to stay,” you shrug, acting a little too much. Relax, take it easy. You don’t need to overact out an emotion. “We have more than enough rooms.” 

“Well, your sisters don’t like to come home for whatever reason and your brother is gone away at camp for the summer, so, yeah, I guess you can say that,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms back at you. 

“Oh, I thought he’d just stay in the spare bedroom,” you tease, your arms flailing as he pushes you over on the couch in one last retaliation. 

The following afternoon there’s three knocks on the door, announcing the arrival of the person you’ve been waiting for all morning. You might have dressed for the occasion, a flowy summer dress that shows off your tits and just enough of your bikini top to keep him wanting more. 

You’d hoped the shine of your sunscreen on your skin will work in your favor, purposely messy hair and pretty lip gloss will do just the trick. 

You open the door, despite waiting a few seconds for your dad to come down so you didn’t have to, but the guest was impatient, knocking another three times and calling your dad’s name. 

“Alright, alright, coming!” You call out, swinging the door open to a real life legend. 

“Ah! Little Harrington!” He startles, his brown eyes wide, only adding to how comically yet gorgeously frazzled he is. 

But it’s not entirely comforting that the first thing he does when he sees you is jump. 

“Sorry, just thought you lot were gone for the summer,” he chuckles, fidgeting with his rings. Two seconds in and you’re already leering. 

“Decided to crash,” you shrug, stepping back so he might enter. “Not many places I can stay at for free that also have a pool.” 

He barks out a laugh at your attempt at humor, looking around your father’s admittedly sweet diggs. “Jesus,” he swears under his breath, dropping his gym bag on the floor. ”Forgot how big the Harrington house is.”

You laugh under your breath, keeping a comment to yourself. 

A V forms between his brows, having seen the thought cross your mind. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you dismiss, a tight lipped smile slowly spreading across your face. 

“I know a classic Harrington comment when I see one, spit it out,” he smirks, crossing his arms and raising his brows expectantly.

The comment spit it out raises a few images, but bite your tongue and ignore them.  

You raise your brows back, challenging his demand. You almost win, but the need to make a sarcastic remark, the one you inherited from a long line of sarcastic Harringtons, wins. “You’re a rockstar, aren’t you? Don’t you have a big mansion of your own?” 

He scrunches his nose, as if turned off by the idea. “A house, maybe. But a mansion? For one person? That’s excessive.” He moseys back over to the door, bending over the threshold to grab something from out of sight. His guitar. The prized one he wrote the song chopped full of innuendos Tasty Lick about. He carries it by the neck, the red and black pattern even more vibrant and captivating in person. 

You could say the same about him, especially how no photo seems to do him justice. The stubble on his chin is faint, but it’s there, looking ever so scratchable. His hands are rough, calloused from the hours of guitar playing. His forearms reveal a patchwork of black and white tattoos, all wrapped in a gothic theme or horror of some kind. 

You’re still leering at him. You should’ve known this would be a dangerous game. 

“Well what did you do with your riches, then?” You rebuttal as you peer up from under your lashes at a set of chocolate eyes that has your breath catching. 

“A really nice tour bus, good security,” he starts walking towards the kitchen, hands in his jeans pockets as he continues his observation of the surroundings. “As of recently, a damn good retirement home.” 

You smile at that, how charming it is that he’d rather spend his well earned dough on comfort for himself and others. It only adds to the boyish charm that overflows from him. 

“Oh, and a nice little red sports’ car,” he adds, completely nixing your previous thought about him. 

“I can make you something to eat if you want, you probably had a long road trip,” you offer him, leaning forward against the island counter.

Eddie’s eyes study you for a moment, his eyes flickering around your face. As they trail across your eyes, lips, studying your scattered moles you’ve inherited from your father, you nearly retract from his intense gaze.

The moment ends, Eddie leaning back in the barstool as he licks his lips in a quick movement. “No thanks,” his head shakes rapidly, sending a ripple down his wavy locks, “I’m good.” 

You hum, cheekily raising your brow. “Dad’s probably in the shower, which means you might be waiting a while for him to blow dry his hair.” 

Eddie laughs, broad smile wide enough to show those dangerous dimples. “Guess nothing really has changed.” 

You push yourself off the barstool, barking out one short laugh as you walk out the wide double doors to where your setup is. 

It’s best not to hover.

There are a few lounge chairs by the pool, each with its own glass table right next to it. Your phone is waiting for you, a singular AirPod right next to it, the music that was playing through the speaker earlier on pause and waiting for you to return. The hot sun blares on the 4th of July weekend, a chlorine blue water stagnant in the pool, just inviting someone to enjoy its icy depth, a shelter from the blaze. 

Your sandals protect your bare feet from the scorching concrete, the sunglasses that rested on your head are no longer forgotten as the sun sends daggers through your skull. 

You lose yourself in your Hot Girl Summer playlist, humming to an indie pop artist’s upbeat track that sounds like summer while mindlessly reading a magazine. Your dad blocks the sun, effectively announcing his presence after you couldn’t hear him over the music blasting in your ear. 

After you wave up at him with a smile on your face, taking the earbud out when he gestures for you to do so. “What’s up?” 

He tilts his head in a jerk move, his face shifting into a bewildered expression in a blink. “A-when did Eddie get here?” 

“Dunno,” you shrug, looking around him towards the double doors. “Maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago?”

His eyes widen, adding to the expression he’s given to you many many times in your adolescence. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” 

You lean back, switching your glance back down to your magazine, oh so coyly. “I figured you were in the shower.” You flip the page to a spread of heartthrobs. Somehow the rockstar has made his way into the mix. “Eddie can wait for fifteen minutes. He’s a big boy.” 

Steve blinks at you, considering this statement with a sour look on his face. “Did you at least offer a drink, something to eat while he was waiting?” 

“Of course I did! He said no. Now go say hi to your buddy,” you gesture back towards the house vaguely, playing closer attention to the glossy pages in your lap. “I’m not the one being rude, anymore.” 

He sighs, turning back around toward the house. The earbud is barely pressed into your ear when he turns back around, his long legs taking him back in quick steps. “This whole display doesn't have anything to do with Eddie visiting, would it?” 

“Display?” You parrot back to him, pushing your sunglasses onto your head. You gesture towards the pool, mirroring that same exasperated look he gave you. “Display? I’m sitting by the pool, like I told you I would. If I wanted a display, I would’ve worn a lot less than the dress I wore when I answered the door.” You pause, indicating to your pink bikini with a flourish. “I would’ve worn a lot less now.”

Steve falls out of his stern father pose, eyes closed as he throws his hands up in surrender. “Aah, okay I get your point.” 

“It’s hot, it’s summer.” You put your sunglasses back on over your eyes, shaking the product soaked hair you worked so hard to make look effortlessly messy. “I’m your daughter, I’m not a display.”

“Right, yeah. Just making sure, sunshine.” He leans in, lowering his voice as if so Eddie can’t hear through the open doors. “I just know you had a crush on him when you were younger. It ain’t happenin’, sweet girl.” 

You pull your head back, your jaw dropping as your dad does what he does best, come up with one more rebuttal just when you thought you’d won the battle. 

He always wins the war. 

It takes a minute for your mind to catch back up to yourself, blinking yourself out of it. “I-what!”

”You weren’t as subtle about it as you thought you were, sunshine!” He calls back, striding back into the house. 

You huff, watching your crystal blue painted toenails twitch as you mull the conversation over in your head. If nothing came of it, then at least Eddie would get to enjoy his view, and you’d enjoy yours. For a moment you wonder if you’re acting pathetic, but you toss your sunglasses and earphone aside, ignoring the glitch in self confidence as you approach the suddenly inviting pool. 

Were the set of eyes you felt on you as you made laps in the pool just wishful thinking?

-

The scraping of the knife against toast fills the kitchen as you slowly spread the strawberry jam, careful not to make more of a mess than you already have. 

“Mornin’’’ you hear behind you, your dad’s shampoo filing your nose as he leans in to plant a  kiss on your cheek. 

“Hi,” you greet him, pausing to ‘clean’ the jam off your thumb. You’re about to ask if he would like some toast when you see his suit on, perfectly tailored with his long hair groomed so specifically you clock it right away. “You’re all dressed up.”

He grins, walking around you to where you had a pot of coffee started. “About that.”

That’s exactly what you figured. “What?”

”Put some toast in for Ed, I’ll tell you both when he comes down,” he instructed, narrowly avoiding your pointedly annoyed stare. 

Your eyes remain on his to make your point, huffing as you place two pieces of bread in, adding more attitude in the action than was probably necessary. Your jaw locks, staring him down as he pours his cup of coffee, chewing on the toast with your arms crossed. 

Although Steve is apologetic, he eventually ignores your glare, wondering how all four of his kids managed to get his same attitude. 

Eventually you grow tired of glaring at someone who’s ignoring you so you sit down, waiting for Eddie to make his appearance as you pout at the kitchen island. 

The smell of his Irish Spring soap hits the kitchen before he does, walking into the kitchen mid yawn and fresh from his shower. Eddie’s shirt clings to his lithe torso like a second skin, showing off just the hint of a tummy with his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. You allow yourself one second to gawk at him and the hairs that peek out of his shirt until you reshift your focus back to your toast, panicking when you notice the jam that has dripped on your hand. Oh, shit again?

“What’s with the fancy get up, dude?” Eddie asks, pouring himself a cup as well.  

“Before we get to that, Sunshine has put some toast in for you.” Steve gestures with his coffee cup.

Eddie’s brows lift, looking just the littlest bit delighted as he turns toward the toaster. “Oh, thanks!” He snaps his fingers into a gun with his thumb and pointer finger, sending a wink your way. You’re mid-‘clean-up’ on your hand, rushing to finish before you nod to acknowledge his thanks. 

“Alright. My partner called,” he means work partner, “he needs help to close this deal. He’s having a really hard time doing it himself.”

”Who did you send?” You ask, knowing a little bit of his work drama. 

Steve hisses, wincing as he says, “Warner.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as the toast pops out of the toaster. “Well no wonder!” 

Eddie has been watching this like a tennis match, completely out of the loop but entertained nonetheless. “What, what’s wrong with…Warren?” 

“Warner,” you correct him, cleaning up yet another spill of jam off your thumb. “The guy sucks. Why Warner, why not Tommy?” 

“Wait, why does he suck?” Eddie asks as he spreads butter on his toast, looking way too entertained about this.

“Because he’s a 22-year-old fuckwit that doesn’t know how to close and only got this job because his dad gave it to him when he retired,” you huff, not at all distracted by how Eddie is eating his toast; like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, savoring every bite. His tongue occasionally pokes out to lap at the butter on his lips, his eyes closed as he muffles sounds at the back of his throat. 

He makes eating toast look depraved.

“Sunshine, you’re 22,” Steve squints, lifting his cup towards you accusingly. 

You scoff. “Yeah but I’m not an entitled dickwad who thinks just because his daddy had a job ‘oh, that’s my job one day!’. He has no experience versus his father who was in the game for 25 years.” You’re very passionate about this, more so than you had even anticipated. “Seriously, why him?” 

“He’s the only one who didn’t take the Fourth of July weekend off because he’s a 22 year old fuckwit with no family.” He takes a large sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter. “Well in any case, you are right. He has no experience and we need this account, so I gotta help him out.” 

“When do you think you’ll be back?” Eddie asks, giving you a fresh whiff of his soap when he walks behind you to sit on the other side of the island. 

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the table, mentally preparing himself before he disappoints the two of you, “Not til Sunday.” 

“Shitty,” Eddie sighs sympathetically. 

“Dad I can only take one week off,” you sigh, having only gotten two days with him. “When you get back I’ll only have one more day.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He does genuinely sound remorseful. You know he’d stay if he had any other choice, but he doesn’t. 

“You know anyone else in town who could…” Eddie starts, obviously reminding your dad of something he forgot about. 

“Shit. Hmmm.” Steve’s eyes flicker to you, “Sunshine can do it.” 

You pause mid-bite in hearing your nickname. “Sunshine can do what?” 

“I don’t wanna bother her on her vacation.” Eddie states, dismissing Steve’s offer. 

Your dad saved him off, “I’m sure she’d be happy to help.” 

“What am I doing?” You ask more assertively, finally grabbing their attention. 

Eddie finally speaks first, “Oh, I asked your dad to help me pack up my uncles things. It’s a tedious process, I can get—“ 

“No, she’d be happy to help,” Steve offers again, looking at you and jerkily nodding his head towards Eddie. 

You’d be happy to help, you’re just thinking about the amount of time you’ll be alone with Eddie. Your plan was to keep a safe distance from him, allowing a free show in your best summer clothing while enjoying the hot weather. The close quarters your dad is sending you into sounds dangerous, butterflies erupting into your ribcage as you picture the deafening silence surrounding the two of you knee deep in his uncle’s things.   

“I’m happy to help,” you tell him, getting up to put your plate away. 

“I don’t want to force her into—“ 

“My dad can’t force me into doing shit,” you scoff, ignoring your dads own scoff. Now Eddie on the other hand could demand you to bark and you would. Down on the ground, on all fours. “Besides. You two wouldn’t have gotten any actual organization done.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie lifts his mug, giving you a wink. Your neck hair rises, scanning his arched nose and the rebelling stubble already growing in despite having freshly shaved. His aftershave is intoxicating, the sound of a glass mug clinking as it lands on the counter snapping you out of your daze.   

“When are you leaving?” You suddenly remembered your dad’s presence in the kitchen, funny how fast you forgot about him. 

“I should get going within the hour,” he states thoughtfully, grimacing apologetically when you give him sad eyes. You know it's not his fault, but you’re not the adult here, and the disappointment you feel can’t help but twist your features. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, petting them with his thumbs. “I do feel better knowing I’m not leaving you all alone in this big empty house.” 

You tense up, avoiding his gaze as you attempt to smile. Being left all alone with Eddie in the big empty house is precisely what is worrying you. Your dad’s constant presence alone is the thing that has prevented you from even being tempted into going any further than elongated stares and late night fantasies. 

“I’ve been alone in the house before,” you say, tilting your head. “You’re about to be alone for the rest of the month.” That sentence just makes you feel sad. 

He smirks, shaking his head playfully. “I meant at least if I’m ditching you for work, then at least I’m not leaving you all alone. I was trying to alleviate my own guilt.” 

“I’ve already forgiven you, old man,” you tell him. “Go, rescue those poor investors from Warner’s slippery hands.”

He pulls you in for a hug, his heartbeat familiar as he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. Your head is swung back abruptly as he pushes on your shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey, there are worse people to leave you alone than the man that was once on a poster on your wall, hey?” 

That poster was stared down many times, finally taken down when you were about to move away, kept only because of the autograph in the bottom corner.

Regardless, your dad is having too much fun with this. You wonder who would have more fun if Eddie ends up bending you over the couch like you kept envisioning. Said rockstar currently bending over the couch to grab something jolted you back to the present. 

“And who gave me that as a gift after introducing me to his music?” You shoot back, meeting those chocolate brown eyes across the living room. 

“My ears are burning,” Eddie grins, walking around the couch to plug in the amp. 

“Are your keys burning, because I need a ride to the airport.” Steve interjects, smirking at your widened eyes. 

Eddie sits on the couch, one foot resting on the coffee table as he starts playing his guitar absentmindedly. “I am your noble steed at your service, Harrington. Just tell me when.” 

Steve answers with something, probably somewhat sarcastic before climbing the stairs to finish packing. You probably would’ve heard it if it weren’t for how absentmindedly his fingers were moving, individually plucking the strings as his other hand shifts easily to each corresponding chord. 

He is delicate with the instrument, expertly working her and zoned out as the guitar’s gentle tune fills the house. His many years spent playing is evident through how easy he plays the melody, getting lost in the song with his hands working idly. If it weren’t for his eyes being shut for the whole time, you would’ve probably pretended to go on your phone. 

His effortlessness of plucking the strings sends a thrill down your spine, has your thighs squeezing tightly together as your mind starts to picture his fingers expertly working you apart. 

“Ow!” 

Eddie’s yelp snaps you out of it, making you jump as you hurriedly switch your glance back to your phone. He chuckles as he sucks his sore thumb, the very same one the guitar string snapped on. “Sorry, did I scare ya?” 

“No,” you answer, sounding not at all convincing to yourself. Eddie lifts his brow to you, his face comically twisted as he continues to tend to his wound. “Okay, maybe a little.” 

He chuckles, smirking as he adjusts the guitar on his lap again. “Poster in your room?” 

Fuck, you were hoping he didn’t hear that, despite him being in earshot. 

“Well it was signed and it just so happened to be one of my favorite albums.” Despite your nerves tickling the surface right under your skin, you do your best to seem unfazed by his magic fingers.  

His brows furrow, delicately playing a soft rock melody. At least, you think it's soft rock. “Which one?”

”Hell’s Angels,” you answer candidly. You do like the songs of Freak! More, but you specifically requested a poster of Hell’s Angels because of the dark look in Eddie’s eye while he’s looking directly in the listener. 

There may have been a night where you placed it perfectly on the wall so it appears he’s between your open legs to make it easier to picture him glancing up at you while he—

He tilts his head dismissively lifting one side of his upper lift in a sneer. “Not my best. If I had to pick a favorite, and don’t tell anyone I said this, it’d be Freak!” 

You blink in surprise, grinning to yourself as you listen to the gentle strum of his guitar. 

“I do remember sending that poster off though, Steve never mentioned who it was for, I just figured It would earn him some serious brownie points for a girl he was chasing.” It feels so weird to hear about your dad dating, even after all these years. 

“Nope,” you shrug. “Just his favorite daughter.” 

“Shit,” he laughs, a hiccup in his guitar play, “if you wanted an autograph you should’ve just asked. Only takes me two seconds.”

Your mind buzzes with the offer, probably a throwaway comment of his, but just the offer alone is enough to send you almost on a mental spiral. 

“Alright!” Steve saves you in the nick of time, running downstairs with a gray suitcase occasionally colliding every few steps or so. “Let’s go, Munson!” 

“Ok,” Eddie sets the guitar aside and turns his amp off, a stripe of skin nearly irresistible as he stretches. Aware of the company in the living room, who actually paid no mind, you memorize the pattern of his delicious looking treasure trail. God what would it feel like to nuzzle into those pretty little hairs. 

You’re still gawking. 

“Dude, leather jacket with sweatpants?” Steve reprimands, one eyebrow tilted as he looks at Eddie perplexed.

You hate to say it but he really makes it work. 

“What? Not like I’m really going anywhere,” Eddie shrugs, patting his pockets for a double check he has everything.   

The former glances at you, pointing at his friend. “Look at this get-up.” 

You pretend as if you hadn’t already, giving Eddie a one over. You take advantage of it, really taking your time. “I’ll give him a break, he wears leather pants on stage in 100 degree heat,” you answer, crossing your arms. “Just this once though. Don’t let us see you slacking again.” You were going to add a Munson at the end of it, but you figured it’d go too far. 

A chorus of soft laughter from both of them fills the room. “Yes ma'am,” he salutes, sending a jolt down your spine. Oh, that’s something you’ll need to dissect…eventually. 

Two steps away from the door, your dad turns back towards you to initiate one last hug. You let out a hum of contentment, giggling as he tells you to take it easy on Eddie. 

“Safe flight,” you wish him, one last squeeze until he reluctantly lets you go. ”Text me when you land.” 

Eddie appears with his hair in a low and loose bun, some curly strands framing his face. “Alright, Harrington. Get ready for your mid-life crisis.” 

The slick, low car that takes up one half of the driveway right next to your father’s Mercedes SUV stands out, probably one of the only flashy things he owns. (However, he also paid someone to drive up his van when he realized he still needed to move an old man’s house worth of clutter and valuables.)

As you watch the car drive to the end of the ridiculously long driveway, you can’t help but feel like a decision has been made for you. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood turn to one. There is no more coke or pepsi. The radio will only air one station.

Being alone with Eddie Munson suddenly feels like a temptation. 

You just hope he has the good sense not to feel the same way.     

-

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

I'm so sorry how much of this was in the preview, I tried to give what was in the fic but I have most of the whole thing done and I can't wait to see some reactions to the later bits. Particularly the filthy smut

main taglist: @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

taglist for Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him: @emxxblog @transparentenemypenguin @stylesxmunson @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @miaajaade @dreamerjj @prestinalove @pretty-pink-princess

[frankenkyle19]

‘Fur-reaky’

Peter Maximoff x Werewolf-type reader

Description: Reader is a sort of beast like mutant. Peter takes a liking to reader and they fuck. That’s literally it. Not proofread or read over at all I’m literally in a coffee shop rn about to drive over to work. Enjoy my feral lovelies.

Word count: 2.9k

Of course Peter was more than a little curious when he heard about the new addition potentially coming to join the team. Or for Charles to train or whatever the hell. He didn’t know any of that. He’d heard about you in passing. Scott and Jean had whispered about you a few times. Nothing bad, just curious questions between the two of them. They hadn’t realized Peter was listening. He was always somewhere listening, though which was a bit creepy. Was he a creep? No, surely not…

Anyways back to you.. He wasn’t exactly sure what kind of mutant you were but from what he heard you were kinda like Hank just… increasingly less blue. Peter was curious about the fur and even more curious about what you’d look like but when he saw Charles escorting you down the hall towards your room, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. You weren’t covered in fur! You just looked.. Normal? What the hell! He sped off to the kitchen to grab a snack when he realized that like Hank, you were probably able to go in and out of your form and maybe he was just an idiot. Well.. He knew he was an idiot.. But if you know you’re an idiot does that actually make you an idiot or self actualized and smart?

Peter shrugged as he grabbed a pudding cup and zoomed off back to his room. He wasn’t ready to introduce himself just yet because he didn’t want to seem like he was coming off as a desperate creep. He’d meet you later. Maybe ‘accidentally’ run into you in the hall. Yup. That could definitely work.

After he finished his cup of pudding he still found himself bored. Entertainment was difficult to come by in the mansion unless he wanted to annoy the others and by now they were beyond fed up with him. He thought back to the new mutant that Charles had by now probably shown around the place and right now you were probably putting away your things and getting settled.

He knew he really shouldn’t go and bother the newbie but Peter had never been known for his self restraint now had he? So, he tossed the now sadly empty pudding cup towards his little trash can, missed, and zoomed out of his room and down the hall towards yours.

He miscalculated the time it would take to stop and he whizzed past your door before coming back a moment later. He ran a hand through his silver hair to tame it back down after running. The frizz he got was insane and he had even started to consider carrying a mini hairbrush with him to brush through it after running.

He hoped he didn’t look awful.. He was wearing his silver jacket that he never took off and one of his many band tees. Along with a pair of black jeans. His usual casual outfits that he wore pretty much anywhere.

Finally after gaining the courage he brought his fist up to knock on your door. Once. Twice. Three times-

He almost doubted himself for a moment and was about to just speed away but you opened the door, standing in front of him with a curious tilt to your head as you took him in.

“Hello.. Can I help you?” Your voice came out and Peter… Well Peter was fucked because you were cute and he liked the way your voice sounded too. Oh shit.

“My name’s Peter but everyone calls me Quicksilver, just thought I’d do my duty and come greet the newbie.” He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant when really he was mentally flipping out, stomach doing little cartwheels. No one had really caught his eye yet and he’d been suuuper lonely lately. He just wanted some company. Some good company if you caught his drift.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter,” you said before you gave him your name and fucking again it was pretty and Peter felt like he was going to blow up dramatically like some cartoon character.

“Pretty name, babes. So we haven’t heard a lot about you, Charles is prettyyyy confidential. What’s your power?”

A blush of embarrassment rose over your features and Peter wasn’t sure what that meant. Oh! Oh no… were you embarrassed? That just wouldn’t do…

“Because me, well I’ve got super speed and this funky lookin’ hair.” He said witn a comically large smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“I’ve… it’s-“ Your words stumbled over each other as you tried to find a way to explain it without it sounding weird. Really, you’d always thought it was a stupid power but Peter looked so genuinely curious that you decided you might as well show him.

You beckoned Peter into your room before closing the door behind him and Peter raised a curious brow at your actions. I mean like he was totally cool with all that he had absolutely no qualms about getting down and d-

Oh! Peter had it wrong like he so often did.

In the moment it took to close the door and step back from Peter you’d grown several inches taller and were now… practically covered in fur.

Peter’s eyes widened in awe as he took in your form. Holy hell that was cool! You really were like a regular, non-blue version of Hank! No offense to him but Peter found you much more attractive too. You also had what appeared to be super sharp nails or claws and he thought those just looked super badass.. Everything about you really.

“Holy shit! Look at you! That’s sick as hell!” Peter exclaimed, brown eyes still scanning your frame. He was immediately enamored.

——————————————

That was how yours and Peter’s relationship started. Well, not really a relationship but also more than just a friendship. You found yourself snuggled up to Peter’s side on team movie nights and there were always lingering touches shared between the two of you. Most of the other X-men assumed the two of you actually were full on dating and every time you or Peter denied it they just scoffed and looked at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were, but Peter and you didn’t really find it super important to try and label what you had. It was good, that’s all you knew.

It was another one of those nights, the X-men decided to watch some stupid movie together after a long week. All of you sitting around the tv with popcorn and various candies. It was actually quite sweet. Peter sat next to you on one of the large comfy chairs, arms wrapped around your waist to hold you close.

Eventually at some point during the movie one of Peter’s hands that rested on your hip had started to move closer to your… Well.. Y’know..

What was he doing?! Peter himself didn’t even really know. The two of you hadn’t done anything like that yet… It was a sort of boundary that neither of you dared to cross. A line in the sand if you will.

Until now. Peter’s heart was beating a million miles an hour in his chest as he tried to gauge your reaction. You didn’t seem too bothered by it but he didn’t want to ever do something you didn’t like. So instead of silently continuing, he leaned down to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling your skin.

“Wanna get out of here? This movies pretty boring and if you’re up for it I think I can give us some much better entertainment.”

You were at a loss for words so a little nod was all the confirmation you gave the speedster before he was standing up, pulling you with him. Some of the other X-men looked up at the both of you, confused as to what you were doing but for the most part they all kept their eyes on the movie that was playing.

“We’re gonna go head off to bed for the night, adios!” Peter gave a little wave before he grabbed onto you and sped the two of you off to his room. His room was… much more cluttered than yours. The walls were covered in band posters- Nirvana, Rush, Pink Floyd, as many as you could think. His bed was unmade and the drawers to his dresser were all slightly open, clothes spilling out of them.

“Sorry babe, didn’t get a chance to clean,” He said a bit sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with a little chuckle.

“Peter I could care less what your room looks like- but what were you doing out there?! In front of everyone? What were you thinking? I mean someone could have seen and then-“ Yours words were cut off as Peter pressed his lips against yours, cupping your cheek in his warm palm, letting his thumb run across your skin gently.

Once you got your bearings you kissed back, hands bunching up the fabric of the band tee he was wearing, feeling the fibers beneath your fingertips. You’d wanted to steal a few of his t-shirts for a while now but didn’t know how he’d take to that.

Right at the moment he was absolutely lost in the kiss, gentle lips coaxing yours further and further into a glorious unity that was the two of you.. Peter was really beating himself up for not doing this sooner.. Especially with the way you were reacting to it.

You gave him a gentle nudge, pulling away to take a breath as he stared at you with his wide brown eyes, looking a lot like a deer in headlights. Like he didn’t know what to do next.

“So…” You started, eyeing him curiously. “You said you had better entertainment than the movie? Ready to prove that?”

And if Peter’s eyes already looked like they were going to bug out of his head before you said that, they really really did now. He couldn’t believe his ears! This was better than any Twinkie or snack cake in the world..

He wanted to come off cool and collected but really he just gave a gentle shrug of his shoulders and bounced on the balls of his feet nervously, not making eye contact with you. “Well I- Yeahhhhh babe, definitely got… I mean- or- ahh fuck!” He facepalmed, shaking his head as his cheeks began to heat.

“Peter- calm down. I’m just teasing you. You look cute when you’re flustered… But, I was serious. Y’know.. If you wanted to.” And now your cheeks were red too and the both of you were dancing around actually talking about it because neither of you were sure what to say.

Peter knew that one of you had to say or do something though so he decided to actually take charge and he pulled you into another kiss, his mouth practically devouring yours as he grabbed at your hips with a bit of force behind his actions this time. He didn’t seem as unsure of himself. Now that he was sure you weren’t going to turn him down.

“Peter-“ you breathed out, chest rising and falling heavily and Peter had to admit- he was definitely staring at your breasts.. Like for sure and he wasn’t even really that ashamed of it.. You had great titties! He couldn’t just not.

Peter gave you a lazy smile and looked like he was about to open his mouth and say something stupid again so you intervened.

“Take your clothes off.”

It was forward but it caused the reaction you wanted out of him. He looked a bit taken aback, mouth agape for several long seconds before he managed to respond with words.

“I- my clothes?”

“Yes, Peter. Your clothes.” You said once more, and to help encourage him a little more you took off your own shirt, giving him a beautiful view of your breasts in the bra you wore. It wasn’t anything special but to Peter? God, he’d never seen anything better in his whole life.

He didn’t need much more coaxing after that because he was tossing off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head with a speed that made it hard to actually see what he was doing. He was already stripping down to his boxers and it had only been like.. Five seconds. It took you a bit longer because you unfortunately were not graced with the speed Peter had. Your mutation was something you thought much weirder.. Something you kept hidden as much as you could.

He looked up at you, silver hair falling into his eyes which he quickly pushed back. He let out a low whistle, unable to stop the grin that appeared on his face when he saw you. God.. He was stupidly in love and it was going to be the end of him.

The two of you fell into bed quickly after that, hands everyone, touching, grabbing, coaxing moans out of the other with satisfied twin smirks on your lips.

Eventually in the whirlwind of it all, Peter found a condom and slid it on, positioning himself at your entrance before looking up at you to make sure he was good to go.

You gave a little nod and he slowly slid into you, silver eyebrows furrowing at how tight and warm you were wrapped around him.

He placed his hands gently at your shoulders, giving you a few tender kisses before he pulled out and started to move at a pace that was excruciatingly slow for him but just right for you to get used to his girth.

Your head was thrown back into the pillows, moans spilling freely from your throat as your hands reached for Peter, gripping onto his biceps tightly as you clenched around him.

Peter’s eyes had been closed practically the whole time, trying not to bust a nut in the first five seconds and embarrass himself, but when he did open his eyes he saw that you looked.. Quite a bit different than when he’d closed them.

“Holy shit..” Peter whispered under his breath, glancing down at you. At first you were confused before you glanced down at your body, now covered in fur. Quite a bit less than… Say beast, but enough that it obviously made a difference. Your eyes had also changed to a deep, almost glowing yellow.

You made a move to shove at Peter’s chest, trying to get up and cover yourself but he stopped you. “Hey- hey woah look at me. You’re beautiful, okay? I’m not good with all this lovey-dovey stuff but I mean it. You’re gorgeous like this, baby. Doesn’t make me want you any less.”

Your brows furrowed heavily at him, trying to see if he was really telling the truth or if he was just trying to make you feel better. But you remembered how bad of a liar Peter Maximoff actually was and came to the conclusion that he had to be telling the truth.

You also came to the realization that he was still balls deep inside of you, twitching rather eagerly, desperate to move again.

“Can- Can I?” He asked rather shyly, giving a little jut of his hips even further against yours, hands resting at your sides, feeling over the soft fur there. All he could think about was fucking the shit out of you and then cuddling up to you afterwards. You felt so warm.

A little nod of your head had Peter pulling back before plunging himself back into you with a shaky gasp, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. You smelled like perfume and warmth and god dammit if Peter wasn’t already addicted.

Your back arched into him, trying to get more. He felt so damn good inside of you it was actually criminal. That the two of you could have been doing this the entire time instead of dancing around each other in fear of rejection.

“Peter-“

“I know, feels totally outrageously good, doesn’t it? Just like that, fuuuuuuck.” Peter tossed his head back, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his silver hair falling from his face. His hands clenched gently at your sides, not being too forceful but also not exactly gentle. He couldn’t help himself.

The two of you continued that slow, nearly torturous pace until you were arching against each other, breath hot, the room filling with heat and the smell of sex.

Your lips were connected as the two of you barreled towards release, trying to prolong it as long as you could.

“I’m so close baby girl- so close fuck I’m gonna cum- you almost there sweetheart?”

The pet names had your cheeks heating as you gave a little nod before pulling Peter down into another harsh kiss, nipping at his bottom lip.

The cry that left him was nothing short of heavenly, his hips stuttering before he stilled inside of you, panting against your lips. His hips may have stopped but the feeling was quickly replaced by a low vibration on your clit that you soon realized was coming from his fingers.

He’d turned into a whining mess after his orgasm but he was so eager to see that you came as well.

“Please- cum for me baby please, want it so bad please-“ he begged, practically slurring his words as the vibrations intensified.

You didn’t need much more convincing after that, a strangled cry leaving your lips as finally that band snapped and you came, whole body shaking underneath him.

He helped you through your orgasm before you were gently pushing his hand away, nearly wincing with overstimulation.

“Alright Peter that’s- that’s enough… Jesus that was good.”

Peter, who had caught his breath by now pulled out of you and grinned playfully. “See baby, we could have been doing that the whole time!”

[vivmaek]

Hi! I hope you’re doing good! Do all aspects and placements in someone’s chart make up their appearance? I’ve heard that it does, and I’ve heard that it doesn’t. Just curious to know :)

THE NATAL CHARTS RELATION TO PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hi, I love this question! I can see arguments for both sides, but in my opinion I think all placements within someones chart make up appearance. I say this because our emotions and inner psychology directly affect physical appearance. And the same can be said for our physical environments. Here are some examples:

Gemini Saturn in the 12th House - Prone to getting bags under the eyes due to poor sleep. Struggles with anxiety and poor appetite.

Venus in the 2nd House - Having the resources to maintain ones appearance. Having access to high quality food, clothing, makeup, and skincare.

Neptune in the 8th House - Prone to drug usage, and is especially susceptible to the negative side effects. These types look spaced out and detached even if they have never used substances. They've probably been asked, "Are you high?" even if dead sober.

12th house stellium - Looks mysterious, even when you get to know them. No one ever truly knows a 12th house stellium. My life long friend constantly reveals details about her life that change the way I view her. And I never really know what she is up to, even when we were in each others daily lives. She travels more than any young person I know, yet remains humble and wise. 12th house stelliums are the ultimate mystiques, and this is an incredibly attractive quality.

1st House stellium - Their distinct personality overpowers whatever their physical appearance may be. Usually people attach traits onto others based on their physical appearance, but the reverse happens for 1st house stelliums. It is almost like they're cartoon characters, its like their personality and sense of character was developed before their physical form even came into existence. Their physical appearance suits who they are so well, I don't know how else to describe it.

Pluto in the 6th house - There are periods in which people with this placement will be overworked.

Scorpio Uranus in the 12th House - The wild card. Their subconscious state shifts drastically and changes unexpectedly, and this most definitely affects the ways in which they present themselves to the world.

Scorpio Mars in the 5th House - People with this placement are baddies. Cool af and might partake in some dangerous hobbies.

Chart ruler in the 4th House - Nostalgia frames the ways in which these people present themselves. Might have a timeless look about them.

Virgo Mercury in the 8th House - Could partake in hygienic practices that are diligent and maybe strange.

Cancer Saturn in the 5th House - Handyman vibes. Down to earth in their self expression.

Sun in the 3rd House - Seemingly youthful, the eternal student.

Strong 11th House placements - Their appearance is somehow associated with whatever group they belong to. This could be church, clubs, sports teams, humanitarian efforts. (For instance, Tom Cruise has his Jupiter in the 11th house and you can't look at him without thinking about Scientology.)

Strong 7th House placements - Tend to take on traits adapted from their relationships. They mirror people.

Uranus in the 9th House - Might end up living amongst a culture that differs from the one they grew up in. This will affect the ways in which people perceive their appearance.

Saturn Square Pluto - 😐 <- this face

Mercury Trine Pluto - 🤨 <- this face

Mars aspecting Uranus - Prone to accidents, bodily injury, scars.

[dsknsk]

Limbus Company and its visual portrayal of female characters, an essay

Limbus Company, and by extent, Project Moon has been a great example of how female characters are visually portrayed. In this article, I’ll try to dissect why and how, focusing on Limbus Company as it has by far the largest amount of images I can talk about. Let’s dive in.

Disclaimer: I'm by no means a professional so please, PLEASE don't clown on this i.e mention the summer controversy. I have a personal trauma on that and do not wish to revisit it. I know it's practically impossible to ask from tumblr, but still.

Visually portraying a subject

Where to start? At the very beginning, of course. Portraying a subject visually (not talking about female characters in specific yet) has a number of things attached to it. Perhaps the first question one can ask themselves is this:

Where do I want the focus to be?

Now, you can be short and say ‘the subject, of course’, but even then, that won’t often be precise enough. Let’s say you have a butterfly as your subject. Do you want the focus to be on its beautiful wings? Or its curious multi-faceted eyes, or its roll-up tongue? What do you want the viewer to notice immediately? 

Arguably, even photos of landscapes have at least one point of focus. The pretty waterfall, the vast mountains, the green pastures or the starry sky. Some have the focus split up in two, where both the lake and the mountains are to be spotted immediately.

How focus can be created

There are multiple ways focus can be drawn to a specific part or to a specific subject. 

One way is to simply make everything but your point of focus uninteresting. A common effect used is the Bokeh, which blurs out the background so that it will automatically appear as less interesting and more as a faded bunch of colors that contrasts with the point of focus which is sharply shot in HD. You can also make the background to be a flat color, like black or white. Some pieces of art additionally add colored shapes or lines behind the subject as to accentuate it further.

(an example of Bokeh. In addition, the direction in which another character looks shows what our main subject is, who is actually positioned off-center.)

You can also just…fill the space with the subject, as in a close-up of the thing in question. Following the previous butterfly example, it’s like only showing a small part of its wings, enlarged to comparatively huge proportions. This is also seen in portraits and to a lesser extent, similar art like waist-ups.

The eye is immediately drawn to what we should look at, which is the character who’s front and center in the image. Secondarily the blood. Her hair also uses the next point below: color.

If you’re working with color, then color is an excellent way to bring the focus to a subject. Bright colors and contrasts can be used, like what’s done here:

The bright red forms a direct contrast to the green that dominates the color pallette. It thus leads the eye to the red areas - aka the blood the character is spilling as well as her face, which is technically a tint of red. The red returning in her eyes which have a small trail, and on her bloodied face, as well as the yellow of her tie, further help to bring focus to her face and her expression. (Other than that, this image also has classic cartoon speed lines, which are minor but do help).

Light is also something I should mention. Using the image from above, the character is actually rushing towards the darker areas of the image. The light is coming from where she seemed to come from, judging by the speed lines and the trail of red we just saw in all its glory. The light forms a line around the subject which keeps said subject’s green uniform from blending into the darkness and the green of the image.

There is a specific technique called chiaroscuro (lit. ‘light-dark’) which is totally a real thing that even old masters like Rembrandt have used to bring focus. The gist of it is that the painting has very bright areas which is the subject, surrounded by dark areas, with not much in between. This technique is often used to make scenes more dramatic, and to immediately show us what the artist wants us to see, without any possible doubt. It’s like putting a spotlight on your head in a dark room. Chiaroscuro is also seen in Limbus:

You can’t actually see much of the room our subject is in. The only light is coming from the candles, illuminating the top part of our subject. The other, darker half is much harder to see the details of. This makes it so that the eye is led from either the character towards the source of the light (the candles) or in reverse, both of which are possible and valid because in both cases, we ignore the pitch black part of the artwork.

How to create focus with characters (in specific)

Now, humans and humanoids are fascinating subjects to focus on, because there are so many situations a person can be in, and so much stuff a person can be. Are they the commander of a spaceship? A medieval ruler? An overworked office clerk? There are specific things that more or less pertain to humanoid characters more. I’m going into two aspects, clothing and posing - I’m aware there’s more, but for the sake of making this not longer than it is I’m going into only those two.

1. Clothing

What someone wears makes up a considerable part of how they’re seen and what they are presumed to be. This is also a large part of stereotyping. If you're wearing a t-shirt with pants, sunglasses, and have a camera around your neck, chances are people think you’re a tourist. To them, it likely won’t matter if you are, they will perceive you as one anyway. This is also important here: you might want to pretend you don’t know anything about the portrayed character or show their image to an unknowing friend and see what they think that the character is.

And that brings me to this point that I have seen so many times with female characters: their description/role not directly matching with how they are supposed to look if that were true. I’m talking about the battle-hardened veteran without muscles or scars of both kinds (even if adequate healing/scar removal is available in the setting). I’m talking about the scientist with a leotard under their lab coat. However, I’m not saying they should look a certain way or be the same - that’d be boring - I’m saying that…hey, it might make the viewer not take the character as serious as you want them to be.

The way clothing is built up can also serve as a way to bring focus to a specific aspect. Which will most often be either the boobs or the butt (or both) in the case of female characters. Look at this (non-Project Moon) example.

The woman in the front (obviously the focus due to the place she is standing in being squarely in the middle, and her red hair standing out) is the leader of that squad…as well as the strongest in battle. Without any protection of vital organs. With a shape under her boobs that would stab her fatally in the liver if she does as little as bend over.

The way her clothing is built up also brings the focus to her boobs - not only with how they’re prominently on display, but also with the shape the top and the fabric covering her shoulders makes. In a similar vein, her ‘pants’ and the belt all lead the eye downwards to her crotch as well. Furthermore, her thigh highs look skin-tight, bringing secondary focus to her legs, of course.

And last but not least. The guys behind her are actually properly armored from the neck down, making them somewhat more of a homogenous whole… in theory. The different body types, hair, and colors of the armor of the right and left dude make them stand out slightly more, which in turn only accentuates this ridiculous difference. 

I don’t really have many Project Moon-originating images on hand that are similar to this. Every time we’ve had an ID with a female character being the leader of their group (of which we’ve had surprisingly many, actually - Don has two Section Director IDs to boot) they have usually been posing alone, or well, posing…their full uptie art normally shows a moment when they’re beating their enemy into a pulp instead of posing for the camera like in the above image. This is really consistent with the other half of the playable characters, who are male.

I want to give a special mention to two characters despite that. Faust and Rodion are both known as the more well-endowed characters, but from their IDs and E.G.O it is treated as something that’s there rather than something to be exploited.

The blue glint is the highlight here, illuminating her blood-stained clothing but also finding its equal in her small, blue eyes. I have found eyes like this and expressions like this to be quite rare on female characters. Just look at her and her face. She’s completely lost it, wrapped in twisted and warped euphoria of the moment of ‘purging’ another ‘heretic’ - and from the looks of it, the last one on the scene. She’s not even trying to clean her own clothing or face, or expose her boobs. That’s not what matters to her image, showing any kind of skin doesn’t add to her character. She’s caught in this violent moment, having her victim completely in her literal grip - not even her eyes are looking at the camera. This image showcases the violent and sadistic nature of the character.

I find this art to be a curious thing. The background is actually rather bright, making the inverse true: the character is dressed in dark clothing, so that’s what the focus is on instead. Her coat flared out in such a way it can almost be mistaken for the underside of her long hair, making her seem even larger (something certain animals use when threatened to scare others into leaving). Her actual figure is thus more obscured, it only being a few tones darker. The thing that keeps her from being a dark blob in the foreground is her sword, large enough to be an odachi. Because she’s unsheathing it, the glint that comes from the blade immediately draws attention - arguably away from her partially unbuttoned top. The animation of this in the game supports this: no boob jiggle, just her standing calmly in the moment she’s just about to unsheathe her sword.

Because I’m going to use this example further in this thing, keep this one on hand.

An image that’s again in the middle of the action. Rosespanner Workshop Director Rodion is right now turning an enemy into an unrecognizable stain on the pavement with her huge weapon. The highlight is her weapon again, but this time it actually serves as a secondary source of light, illuminating her face. The yellow coloration of this secondary light source also makes the whole thing more interesting than if it just had the background light that serves a similar purpose as it did in the first image of this post. Even though the image has a heavy pinkish tint, the red that splatters all over the scene is still very much present and they draw the eye back to the yellow light. While her pose is ambiguous, it keeps things vague by not putting any sort of focus on her lower body. In any other piece of media this pose would be viewed from another angle, as to profit from as much of her body’s curves. Not here. Her killing an enemy with visible ease is important. Not her pose. This sounds logical, doesn’t it?

2. Posing

Which brings me to this. The way a character is posed also plays a part in their portrayal. It is possible to accentuate certain body parts with this - like when a character brings their hand to their chin, or the way their legs are posed. No matter the actual scene that’s meant, the way the character is posed is a factor that decides how it’s viewed and where the focus lies. Most often I’ve found this to be when a character is shown wielding a weapon, but their ‘battle pose’ being rather something that accentuates their bare skin, or their little clothing that does the same thing.

Is your character actually showing that they’re dangerous through being shown fighting…or are they just sexily posing with a weapon in their hands to add a sense of ‘danger’? Some can be highly difficult to distinguish. Some CGs can show the middle of the action yet the way the character is posed still brings the focus away from the violence or brings a secondary focus to it. Unfortunately I don’t have examples of those on hand but I know they exist.

A character just posing with a weapon isn’t wrong - I draw that all the time - but when the focus is brought to a character’s boobs and/or butt with the pose the character is in, it will be kind of obvious (even if it isn’t true) that sexualizing those features of the character what the artist is really intending to do instead of showing how dangerous she is with the weapon.

I’m going to use this image from Echocalypse as an example. I regularly take poses like this as a reference point and then attempt to make them more realistic, or, funnily, point out their weirdness by putting a male character in it. Often I do this by using them for a different, more appropriately clothed character. This goes to show that clothing can already decide a lot in posing itself.

This character is posing with a weapon, a…particularly huge odachi in this case (I thought it was a staff at first until I saw the hilt). Which is exactly the same what Rodion is doing up there in the image we already handled. Yet, there are subtle differences between that image and this one, and it’s actually more minor than you think it is (disregarding the thematics of the pieces). Both characters…

are posing with an odachi of similar size (assuming that both characters are of similar height for ease of comparison) as opposed to being locked in battle; theoretically making the focus more on how pretty they look

have long hair (that, minus the bun and the bangs, have a similar cut) that makes their silhouette appear larger than it is

do have a relatively bright and sort-of detailed background going on

have large boobs

are unsheathing their weapon just slightly

However, to get to our first difference, we need to get back to point 1: clothing. Using the same two images, the largest difference is clothing. Kurokumo Rodion is wearing all-black clothing that covers her from the head down except for the unbuttoned top. If I had to describe what the other girl is wearing, I’d say she’s wearing a piece of armor on one of her arms, a flowered collar, thigh highs but no footwear otherwise, and something…obviously lingerie/bikini derived. I’m actually not sure if that’s a tail or part of the clothing.

But to return to our point: posing. The pose of Kurokumo Rodion is actually fairly neutral. She’s just standing there, menacingly! (I should note that their normal character talksprites are also just standing there neutrally) No, literally. Anyone with working legs and arms, can reproduce that. Just give them a sword prop and you’re done. Coat cape optional. The way she is standing does convey some sort of subtle confidence, however, just like the way she is actually looking down (at the viewer). It’s likely you’ll see the sword first for the reasons I mentioned when first discussing the piece above and then look at her from top to bottom as usual.

The way our other girl is posed…is a little harder to replicate in real life to say the least. Not only is this a floating pose (i.e you’d need support), the way her body is bent sharply brings the focus upon her boobs and butt. The human body is actually rather flexible, depending on how you’re built of course, but even so I do doubt whether anyone can do this pose even if they could somehow float in mid-air. Or do this lying down. I (someone with joints that are a little too flexible for my own good) haven’t tried and highkey don’t want to. The thigh and upper leg that is prominently on display, along with the way her body curves leads the eye to her butt or downwards towards her legs and feet.

Her facial expression is neutral, but I get some sort of… ‘dreamy’ vibe from it from the traditional anime-like proportions (huge eyes, tiny nose and mouth). Almost as if she’s doing puppy-eyes to beg for candy or something. It’s, well, what most people call to be a ‘babyface’. Kurokumo Rodion is also in ‘anime-style’ and her facial proportions are still a little bit unrealistic, but I do dare to say they’re more realistic than those of the other girl.

Also, small sidepath. What do you think the second girl is based off? One would judge from her tail that it must be some sort of water creature but whether she’s a shark or any other kind of sea creature isn’t really obvious. Would it surprise you if I told you she’s based on a bake-kujira, a SKELETON-whale (which sounds cool as all hell)? Without any kind of skeleton-parts worked into her design? To be fair, I wouldn’t have guessed it either if it were not for her canonical description.

Also, one last note about that latter image. I think that an odachi of that format would be extremely tricky to unsheathe in such a pose, because of the distance between your arms. Her arm that actually unsheathes the thing is also obviously reaching out, so she’d need more strength to do that than what the look of her arms suggest.

Speaking about arms…

On paper, our Limbus girls would have all the reason to have twig arms. After all, the City allows one to get stronger without visually changing their physique much. One can carry around huge weapons like chainsaws, lances and zweihanders without visible muscles. And yet. And yet.

One of the few times bare arms are seen (most art prefers to cover them up - for Limbus standards, this would be the ultimate fanservice thing), it becomes very clear that they at least have a basic tone. Like, the basicest of basic efforts is done to make them not look malnourished. Even if this girl above is not like, the strongest of the world (for as far as we know...) the muscles she does have are very lovingly shaded and detailed. 

To end this, I’ll showcase something one last time with a funny in-game example: Roseate Desire. Roseate Desire is an E.G.O which wraps the wearer in pink ribbons and is highly implied to especially speak to the sin of Lust (which is the affinity of the attack). In the game, this E.G.O is given to two characters, a girl and a guy. In any other gacha game, it would only be given to girls.

While bent over and with a happy expression, she’s still coming to get you. How can you tell? For one, the huge anchor she has with her is within her hand (i.e opposed to it being tied up next to her or something like that), and the shield that’s tied to her arm. Despite being wrapped up, she does still look as if a portion of her is still in control, and her attack suggests the same. 

Hong Lu wearing it always makes me grin. He does wear clawed gloves and his fingers are arched, that’s true, but the way he’s strung up like a puppet makes it so that he can’t even get you with those. The manner in which he is posed and his head is tilted is highly reminiscent of how one would pose a marionette. And ingame properly he doesn’t even use these claws in close combat! He wraps up the enemy in the pink ribbons with doll-like movement. Even the way he’s covered evokes a sense of powerlessness, like he’s led on by the ribbons instead of controlling them.

I think this example, along with the others, is implicative of how Project Moon’s visual portrayal of female characters is done so well. They’re equally portrayed as the male characters, if not arguably more powerful, and there’s an equal roster of 6 to 6. They’re not overtly sexualized by bare skin or impossible poses while the men are covered up in a sensible pose. These are characters designed for their personality and role first, not with fanservice or money in mind first. Even the female NPCs fit within this rule, even though they have less art to go from. When you have a game which had 97% completion on the story and a mere 64% on the systems (i.e monetization) it would kind of figure that character designs fall in line with the role the character fulfills, is it not?

[sparkles-and-trash]

dabihawks, sleep talking 💤

Honestly, when Dabi started sleeping with Hawks, it wasn’t with the mission in mind; he wanted to fuck the pretty blond, so he did.

But then he realized; the pretty blond talked in his sleep.

Jackpot.

At first it was mere little chitters and chatters, some (cute) bird noises and mumbling, but Dabi knew an opportunity when he heard one.

So he does his little research, aka he googles how to get people to talk in their sleep, and he gets to work.

One of the main tips is to talk quietly to the sleep talker, asking questions and the like, and so he prepares.

When the next night comes, Dabi is once again unable to sleep, and sooner rather than later, Hawks is chirping softly in his sleep.

Dabi clears his throat quietly, before he asks:

«Hey, Birdie?»

It’s quiet for a bit, but then Hawks unmistakenly chirps happily back at him and flaps his wings a little.

Fuck, why did he have to be so goddamn cute?!

Dabi goes with another test question.

«Hawks, where do you live?»

He can see the bird’s freckly face scrunch as he thinks in his sleep, before he relaxes into a smile.

«Where the tartar sauce grows,» he says softly, before humming affirmlingly and turning around.

…oh.

Well, maybe that was a fluke? After all, Dabi had just started trying this out.

So, a few night later, he’s ready once again.

As soon as Hawks starts mumbling in his sleep, Dabi’s on it.

«Keigo,» he says softly, hoping to reach deeper with his real name, but before he can get any further he gets interruped by the sleeping bird.

«There’s… something!» he says intensly, face twitching lightly.

Dabi leans in, curious beyond belife.

«What, Keigo?»

The sleepy bird mumbles a little before he gasps.

«In the closet! Something in the closet… like a cartoon turtle!»

Dabi bets his face is pretty priceless right then.

He can’t help but chuckle a little.

«So you’re just as useless in your sleep as you are awake then?»

he says softly as he places a kiss on the bird’s forehead.

It’s about a week later when Dabi is having another night of restless sleep, and an old nightmare wakes him up in a cold sweat.

Luckily, he can turn around and wrap his arms around the sleeping bird next to him, and as he buries his nose into the curly blond hair, he hears a soft chuckle coming from the blond.

«What’s funny?» Dabi asks, voice raspy with sleep, fully aware Keigo’s very much asleep.

«You’re so great, Dabs,» Keigo says lightly, and to his dismay Dabi feels his heart squeeze.

«Yeah… you have such a great antennae.»

It takes all the self control Dabi owns not to laugh out loud.

In stead, he kisses Keigo between his wings, and wraps his arms even tighter around his waist.

«Thank you, sweet bird,» he chuckles softly, and Keigo chirps happily.

While the whole plan to gather information didn’t work, Dabi’s still insanely grateful he realized his bird was a sleep talker when he did.

The only time Keigo ever revealed something critical was when he mumblingly told Dabi that he was very nervous to propose to him next week, which only made Dabi smile softly at the sleeping bird.

«Good thing I’m planning to go first then,» he says softly as he kisses his soon-to-be fiancé’s forhead.

Good thing, indeed.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Clandestine. Part Two.

The affair was always a ticking time bomb. No one could have predicted how big the explosion would be.

Part One. Part Three. Part Four.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - cursing. so much angst. sorry not sorry <3

Word Count - 1.7k

Author's Note - thank you thank you thank you for all of the love on clandestine!! it makes me so happy that so many people love reading stewy fics, because there is a criminal lack of them on here. i am more than happy to provide <3 as always, feedback and reblogs are massively appreciated !!

Series Masterlist.

Masterlist. Requests.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes blink open, sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. You’re resting comfortably on Stewy’s chest, both of his strong arms wrapped around you. You yawn sleepily, wondering what’s awoken you.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oh. That. You check the clock on the nightstand, realising that it’s only 7am. On a Saturday. Who’s knocking on the door at 7am on a Saturday morning?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Fuck, is the noise getting louder? You nudge Stewy carefully, waking him.

“There’s someone banging on your door,” you whisper.

He groans and untangles his legs from yours. He throws on a pair of boxers, and moves to investigate the source of the knocking. You listen intently, curious to know who’s trying to gain Stewy’s attention so determinedly.

The door swings open.

“Ken?” Stewy questions, and you can almost hear the fear in his voice.

“Hey, man. Where the fuck is my sister?”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're half awake and disorientated. Stewy got up to find out who was at the door 10 minutes ago, and frankly, you're getting worried. Against your better judgement, you throw on his shirt from the night before and make your way out of the bedroom.

You enter the living room to be met face to face with Kendall. Shit.

You briefly wonder if you can play it off, fabricate a story, tell him it's not what it looks like!

Apart from, it's exactly what it looks like.

Someone from Kendall's team saw you and Stewy leave the gala together. And now you're here, in his living room, wearing nothing but his shirt. And your shoes are by the front door. And there's a wine glass with your lipstick print on it abandoned on the counter.

There's no getting out of this one.

Stewy wants to scream, yell at you to go back to his room. He wants to pick you up and throw you out of sight, praying Kendall hasn't noticed all the tell tale signs. But it's too late. He has.

"Okay. Uh - what the fuck is going on?"

Kendall asks the question while looking between the two of you like some sort of cartoon character doing a double take. It doesn't require a genius to figure it out, but Kendall needs to hear one of you say it out loud.

"Listen, Ken-"

"Ken, don't get mad-"

You both speak at the same time, verbally tripping over each other. You've never actually discussed what you'd do or say if you got found out. You both just always naively assumed it wouldn't happen.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, and look at your brother earnestly.

"Ken, I'm not going to sit here and lie to you. It isn't fair. But you can't get mad when I tell you the truth."

"I'll be the judge of that," he mutters sassily. You decide the backtalk is a result of his confusion, and give him a pass.

"Will you come and sit with me, please? The standing is making me nervous. I feel like I'm on trial."

"You might be. I haven't decided yet."

You can't tell if he's joking. He's certainly not smiling.

Kendall moves to sit down next you. Stewy follows, perching himself on the opposite end to give you space. Close enough if you need him, far enough that it won't upset your brother more.

"Start talking," he commands, still confused.

"It's... well I - we - me and Stewy, we're -"

"Together," Stewy finishes for you. Kendall glares at him, and he decides he'll keep his mouth shut for a while.

"Yeah, we're together," you continue. "We have been for over a year. It isn't just sex, or anything. I'm in love with him."

It's weird to finally bear this truth after keeping it a secret for so long. It feels wrong, but also refreshing - like a bitter lemon on a hot day.

Kendall is scarily silent.

"You're... kidding, right?" he asks, finally breaking through the quiet.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" you question, anger bubbling up. "It's my life, Kendall. It actually doesn't matter who I date. It doesn't change anything. It doesn't make a difference."

He looks at you incredulously.

"You're so fuckin' naive. How can you sit here and tell me this doesn't change anything?"

You go to speak, but he continues.

"You lied to me, first off. Both of you. For God knows how long-"

"Kendall-"

"Let me fucking finish."

You shrink back into the couch, willing it to swallow you.

"You both lied to me. You broke my trust... and uh, that fucking hurts, actually. And then there's the business side of things. You work for Waystar. Stewy is a board member. That's a conflict of interest."

You scoff at him, but then realise he's deadly serious.

"... A conflict of interest?"

"It's against company policy. How am I going to trust you? How is anyone? Information might get leaked. What if I tell you something, and then you tell Stewy? And he tells Sandy and Sandi, and then the Pierces, and all of a sudden nothing is private anymore. I. Can't. Trust. You."

Tears are welling up in your eyes quicker than you can control. You're trying to take deep breaths, begging yourself not to cry in front of Kendall.

"You're breaking my fucking heart, Ken," you whisper.

"Yeah? Well I walked in here this morning, and you broke mine first."

A choked sob escapes you, and the floodgates open. Fresh, hot tears sprint down your cheeks, landing in your lap. Stewy can't stand to sit and watch any longer.

"Okay, man, that's enough. This isn't fair."

"What's not fair is the two people I trust the most both lying to my face for a year. That's what isn't fucking fair."

With that, Kendall stands up and strides towards the front door, slamming it behind him as he leaves. The minute he's gone, Stewy is wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"It's okay, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair. "He'll come around. We'll be okay. If we stick together, we'll be okay."

His reassurances are only making you cry harder, sobs escaping you uncontrollably. You eventually exhaust yourself, falling into a restless sleep in Stewy's arms on the couch.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You wake up in bed. You've temporarily forgotten the events of the morning, before it all comes crashing back down around you suddenly. Distantly, you can hear Stewy in the kitchen, talking on the phone. You look around the room, and know what you have to do.

You leave the bedroom with a bag in hand, throwing it onto the ground as you grab your shoes. Stewy clocks you, and hangs up the phone.

"Can I call you back? Thanks, man. I'll see you tomorrow."

He runs over to where you're slipping your heels on, precariously balanced against the side of the couch.

"Honey, where are you going?" he questions, panic washing over him at your frantic state. "Wait, have you packed a bag?"

He's trying to catch your eyes, but you keep looking away, desperate to avoid his unrelenting gaze.

"I'm going home."

A pause.

"... This is your home."

You knew he'd say that. It hurts just the same.

"No, Stewy, this is your home. My apartment is across town."

"You haven't been there in months. All your stuff is here. Baby, talk to me. What's going on? Did Kendall get in your head?"

"Kendall's right!" you shout, trying to pick up your bag. Stewy gets there first and grabs it, flinging it behind him, out of your reach.

"About what? He's just in shock, baby! He's confused and he feels betrayed. You don't owe him fuckin' anything. Not after everything that family has put you through."

"They're still my family. I can't lose my entire family, Stewy!"

"What kind of fucking family stab each other in the back? Lie to each other? Sell each other out for business? You're better off without them and you know it."

You know he's right. You're trying to convince yourself he isn't.

"You heard what he said! He won't trust me anymore. No one will. It's shitty, but my job is important to me. I can't be known as the Roy liability."

"Trust me, honey, you're the least likely to be named the Roy liability."

"That's not the point! You're not listening to me. I'm the youngest, I've had to fight for respect every fucking day of my life. I'm finally where I deserve to be. I can't throw it all away for... for love!"

Stewy flinches like you've punched him in the gut. He takes a step back and leans against the kitchen island, trying to keep his balance.

"What happened to 'you and me against the world', huh?" he murmurs.

"I think I got too wrapped up in this - in us. I was stupid to think it could work. We both were."

"I wasn't," he replies defiantly. "I knew exactly what I was getting into. I knew it would be really fucking difficult and I loved you anyway."

Stewy swears his hard breaks so hard, the both of you hear it shatter. A silent tear rolls down his cheek, big brown eyes filled with sadness.

"I'm not sorry for loving you," you whisper. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but never for loving you."

"If you meant that, you wouldn't be giving up."

You duck your head, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't giving up. This is... quitting while we're ahead. If we keep going, we'll just end up having a huge, horrible, public breakup," you stop, and take a deep breath. "I think we were always doomed to fail."

Stewy thinks about the diamond ring that sits in a box in the top drawer of his nightstand. Doomed to fail.

You finally look up at him, and all the air leaves your lungs. You've never seen him look so defeated, so vulnerable. You're the cause of this. And you hate yourself for it.

You pad across the kitchen and pick up your bag from where he threw it, before stopping in front of him.

"I don't regret you, Stewy Hosseini. I never will."

With that, you stride out of the front door, closing it gently behind you. Stewy is left, cold and empty, in the apartment that no longer feels like home.

so... part 3??

Stewy Tag List -

@shawty-writes-a-little

@616wilsons

@justacaliforniandreamer

@isuspectitwasthenargles

[spacemagictea]

The Meaning of Your Name

After the previous part I immediately set out to writing this part, which is what I wanted to write the most from the stories about the two lovebirds.

Enjoy part 3 of Eye of the Storm, story of Amir Beckett and Kaylessa the Drifter.

Fluff and cheese inbound.

The Meaning of Your Name

May 15th, 1999

Last few weeks have been fairly calm for the Hex, effective strikes against purge squads leaving Scaldra command no other choice than to lick their wounds and recruit new members for the meat grinder. This gave Kaylessa more time to spend with the rest of the Hex, and she considered all of them her genuine friends. But nobody else she enjoyed spending more time with than with Amir. Whether it was her talking about her favorite animals and plantlife she read about in books stolen from an abandoned bookstore while he was playing games in the arcade or him visiting her in her cozy backroom, showing her movies, cartoons and comics he loved or talking about tech in general, the closeness and spark between them was something she could not deny. They were truly open and vulnerable with each other like with nobody else, talking about their experiences, their nightmares, their joys and their sadness.

And after the situation that almost got Amir captured, Kaylessa could swear she’s been purposefully assigned to missions with him and with him only. And that was not helped with the fact whenever she came to visit Arthur and Aoi and Eleanor were present, the women gave her knowing looks and smiles.

For months her feelings towards the Hex tech specialist grew. He was so much more than a friend. And yet, she lacked the courage to admit her feelings to his face for far too long. No more. It reached a boiling point for her that she had to finally confess, no matter the response. Pondering how to confess, the Drifter decided to pay Eleanor a visit. And she had an idea in mind.

-Hey Ellie. Since you’re a writer I was wondering if I could ask you a question that’s a bit… language related?- while she asked the question mostly to see if she could find a hook for asking out Amir, she was genuinely curious about the languages of the Old World too.

‘Color me curious, Kay. I do know a little bit of this and that, comes with the profession.’ Eleanor’s mind voice sounded very amused and she gave Kay a knowing look that caused the red haired woman to blush.

-Do names have… meaning in the Old World? Let me explain with an example, perhaps. There’s a Warframe, named Dagath, whose name has a long story to it. And her name means “the mirror that accuses”. She also has a ghost steed named Rakhali whose name means “freshness-after-rain”.- Kay tilted her head with a smile. -Yes, there’s a certain purpose to this question but I’m actually curious.

‘I’d definitely like to hear that story. Yes, they do, though there probably isn’t any magic to it. For example, Lettie’s name means “happiness, joy”. Aoi means “blue.” Quincy’s name probably comes from “five” in Latin. Arthur’s name comes from an ancient legendary king, while mine’s of French origin, but I don’t know the exact meaning.’ 

Kay could feel the purposeful suspense for the name she wanted to hear the most.

-What about Amir?- the mention was enough to bring heat to her cheeks.

‘That one means “prince” or “commander”. How romantic of him to… command your heart like that.’ - an honest laughter filled Kay’s mind and she was also quite amused at the joke, giggling in response while pretending to be embarrassed.

-Eleanor! Well, you aren’t wrong. Yes, that’s exactly what I was looking for. Now, let me tell you that story in return for this favor- Drifter frankly itched to tell the full story as she found it fascinating so all in all, it was a great time for her.

After a joyful storytime, she headed for Aoi’s music store that was also her room. She was greeted with the sight of Aoi folding beautiful metal cranes. Seeing a pile of these cranes nearby, she looked in awe at the graceful craft.

-Hey, Kay, what’s up?- Aoi’s greeting broke the Drifter off the train of thought and she smiled awkwardly, looking up to meet Aoi’s eyes.

-Hey, Aoi. I was wondering if I could get some… guidance?- Kay purposefully toned down her voice, as if a bit afraid Amir would hear them from the arcade. -It’s about… Amir.

-Ah, sweets, you finally worked up the courage?- Aoi matched the Drifter’s low tone, making her feel like she was a part of the conspiracy. -If you ask me, just be honest. Wear your heart on your sleeve, just like he does.

Kay nodded, as if she realized this was the most obvious thing that she just… didn’t think of.

-Yeah… you’re right. I think I’ve just been afraid of rejection the entire time, but I cannot hold it anymore. So I’ll go and be honest, regardless of what the answer is.- Kay remarked, the response sinking in fully and then giving her friend a cheerful grin -Before I head to meet my fate, why don’t you show me what new tracks you’ve found recently?

—

Sun was starting to set over Höllvania when Kaylessa left Aoi’s music store, filled with glee over time spent with her friends. She took a deep breath as she stood in front of Amir’s arcade, knowing it was time to take this final step. Whatever happened, she hoped that it wouldn’t change her relationship with Amir for worse.

Heart pounding, she entered. Seeing Amir particularly focused on the Caliber Chicks 2 cabinet, she decided to not disturb his focus and wait for him, leaning against the wall near the entrance and watching him play. The dim lights highlighted his sleek face and it felt like the most beautiful thing in existence. Looking at him felt like a balm to her heart and a smile sprang on her face.

After a while, a Game Over screen flashed on the screen and Amir looked up, his focus breaking off from the screen. Feeling a presence, he glanced to the side and saw Kaylessa, who in her usual “don’t want to disturb you” way stood there waiting for him to finish his game round. His heart skipped a beat, a spark in her green eyes showing up as their gaze met. He utterly adored her sweet and gentle nature, her endless patience with him, how she selflessly tried to take care of everything and everyone… and yet, she seemed to neglect herself so often. And beneath it all there was a capable and strong woman, a survivor, an embodiment of “don’t judge a person by the first look”.

-I hope my favorite chronospatial freakshow was not waiting for me too long!- he turned towards her, quite excited she was here wanting to spend time with him.

-I can wait as long as I need to, Amir.- Kay giggled, standing up and stepping a bit closer. -I’ve got something to… tell you?

-I’m all ears.- Amir tilted his head but he could feel his heart beating faster now. The air between them was electrifying, not in a literal sense, but it felt like it could be. He knew this was something big.

-Well… I don’t think it’s any secret that I care about you a lot. But…- she put her hand on her chest where the heart is, looking down to regain her composure before meeting his eyes again, her cheeks blazing hot and red.  -What I want to say is that I care about you more than as a friend. Will you be my prince, Amir? Can I give you command of my heart?- His eyes widened in shock and surprise, a blush springing up on his face too.

‘Gods, could I be more embarrassingly cheesy?’ Kay thought to herself, expecting that she completely fumbled, but what she saw instead was elated disbelief.

-Oh wow, oh-oh wow.- Amir stood still and yet it seemed like he’s going to start running around at any moment in pure excitement. And that encouraged the Drifter to push her words in further.

-I love you, Amir Beckett. I want you and me… to be us.- her heart now wanted to jump out of her and waiting for his response, however brief, felt like an eternity.

-M-me? Really? U-us? Oh… Ohh…YES!- the enthusiastic response finished with Amir leaping towards Kaylessa and taking her into a tight embrace faster than she could even blink. She sighed with relief, wrapping her arms around him too. And as her brain was trying to process everything, she was swept off her feet as he effortlessly picked her up and spun around with her before placing her back down and leaned towards her ear, his voice now a whisper. -I love you too, Kaylessa. I love you too, my sweet angel from the future.

He picked her up again, speeding over to the terrace atop the mall. Warm sunset rays cast their gleam over the pair as Amir gently placed Kaylessa back on her feet and pulled her closely, taking off his glasses. He leaned his forehead on hers, Kay running her hand through his hair. Their hearts soared, her green eyes locked in with his grey eyes. He cupped her cheek and the world felt like it stopped as their lips met. At first softly, like the beams of Sol shining on them, the kiss got deeper and more insistent as their yearning, their need for each other they held onto for such a long time surfaced and bubbled over.

When they finally broke the kiss, quietly gasping out each other’s names, Amir broke the silence, his eyes filled with loving excitement. 

-This… This is everything I dreamed about butIdidnotdarehopeitcouldbearealityandyet… here you are.

-I am not even sure why I was so afraid of telling you. But I couldn’t be happier that I finally did. Granted, it took a lot of encouragement from Eleanor and Aoi.- Kay’s response made them both laugh before they turned their heads to watch the last rays of the setting Sol, wrapped in each others’ embrace. And all felt right in the world now.

[agerefandomstuff]

Could you maybe write some HCs about being Homelander's wife and giving him his milk and paci after he's been venting like hell and having a rough day? Bonus if reader's pregnant. 💕 Thank you in advance 💕

Regressor!Homelander and Pregnant CG!Reader Headcannons

-Homelander has a lot of rough days being America’s number one hero and now Vought’s self-elected leader.

-everything he tells the remaining Seven members to do they somehow always messed it up, leaving him to clean up the mess, save his reputation, and overall wishing he would’ve just done it himself the first time!

-You had heard him rant about this a hundred times before you’re sure of it.

-But you listen every time, knowing sometimes all he needed was someone to listen to him without trying to “undermine him”(as he might put it) by solving the problem or telling him he wasn’t allowed to complain or something.

-you are his safe space.

-although you’d also been through this enough times to know that if he went on too long he was going to only rile himself up until he hit his breaking point and threw a tantrum.

-And Homelander’s tantrums…. They were deadly to say the least.

-so while he continued to rant you warmed up a bottle of your milk and nabbed a pacifier. (The day you started lactating he had about combusted from pure unbridled baby excitement and decided he wouldn’t accept any other kind of milk.)

-bringing them back, you took his hand and led him towards the couch. He follows you without hesitation, continuing to talk too busy to notice your plans despite how many times you two have been through this.

-but once you sat him down over your lap he trailed off his rant, getting comfortable with you.

-“you want your bottle, baby?” You ask him, settling his anger down near instantly. only mild baby frustration left. But you knew even that wouldn’t last.

-He’ll nod and murmur a little like he’s embarrassed but you know he’s always craving your attention and mothering.

-You could make him regress anywhere anytime with the most bare minimum actions. A little “baby boy” here, a pacifier there, and his stress was practically gone. Placed on the back burner of his mind for another time.

-you bring the bottle to his lips and he rests his hand on your belly as he latches on, chugging the best he can out of the rubber nipple.

-He always tried to drink fast at first especially when he regressed after being angry. He would chug hard like he was trying to take his anger out on the rubber. As if it had been the reason he spent the whole evening venting.

-But as his mommy’s/caregiver’s warm milk flooded into his belly while the baby pressed against his hand, he couldn’t find it in himself to stay upset. He never could.

-he’ll lean his cheek onto your shoulder and look down at your belly.

-He loves to feel the baby moving and watching it with his xray vision when he was little.

-it was endearing and a bit entertaining how curious he would get. Sometimes he would just lay on his stomach in front of your belly like it was his favorite cartoon, just watching, giggling softly, and asking you or the baby questions.

-after a few moments watching, you whisper soft praises to him making him melt even further against you. He closes his eyes finally and his suckling slows down to make the last amount of milk last a few minutes longer.

-once he’s finished you tug the bottle from his lips, despite his protesting whimpers, and replace it with his pacifier.

-he settles back down and resumes the suckling actions with the pacifier.

-The act was soothing and incredibly comforting to him but he would probably never admit it out loud.

-Just like he would probably never admit how much he relied on you.

Thanks for the request! I added bonus pictures/edits bc…. I’m weak. I had to. I love baby Homelander.

[hedwig221b]

Hi hi! I’m SO excited you’re taking prompts! You’re on my favorite sterek authors!! Prompt: Stiles is a few months pregnant with their second child and Eli, he’s maybe 4 or 5, is making his day very difficult and it all boils to a point where Eli tells Stiles that he hates him. Stiles takes it to heart and doesn’t know what to do with himself while Derek tries to reason with him “Stiles, he’s 5 years old, of course he doesn’t hate you”

sorry for making you wait 84 years, anon

Eli was a smart boy.

Of course, he was, with Stiles’ brain and werewolf superior genes his and Derek’s child couldn’t be anything but amazing. He was four and a half but could already read his favorite tale — a werewolf-friendly retelling of the Little Red Riding Hood. There was a brief period when all he would read was this tale, and no amount of Stiles’ whining could sway him.

The stubbornness came from Derek, for sure.

And lately, something changed in Eli’s attitude. It was gradual and not something Stiles noticed at first. Eli was healthy and bubbly and happy most of the time, a perfect overly energetic and curious child, but sometimes he just gave Stiles this studying, almost suspicious, long stare and pursed his little button nose, as if thinking very hard about something.

Today was one of those days.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Stiles chirped and happily received a quick goodbye kiss from his gorgeous, fantastic, but, alas, busy husband.

Derek stroked Stiles’ belly and smiled upon receiving a mischievous kick, then turned to look at Eli, who watched both of them very carefully.

“Say goodbye to Daddy, pumpkin,” Stiles grinned at him.

“Bye, Daddy,” Eli murmured, frowning a little.

Derek chuckled. “Are you sleepy still?” Eli shook his head, prompting his dad to catch his hand and tug him toward himself.

“Love you,” Derek said and smacked a kiss on Eli’s cheek, which, thankfully made him giggle.

“Love you, too,” Eli answered a bit more cheerfully, glanced at Stiles and ran away into the living room to take the TV-remote hostage for his morning cartoon time.

“Are two of you bickering again?” Derek arched an eyebrow.

“No. I don’t know, have to investigate,” Stiles sighed.

“Good luck.”

*

“Tata?”

“Hmm?”

Upon not receiving any answer, Stiles put the plate gently back into the soapy water and turned his head. Eli had somehow managed to sneak into the kitchen unnoticed and now stood right beside Stiles. His little hands clutched the TV-remote, as he picked at one of the buttons.

Eli looked up at Stiles with a slight frown. “I love you.”

Stiles lifted his eyebrows, but despite the surprise, the smile still tugged his lips up.

“I love you, too, honeybun,” he chuckled.

Eli continued staring at him, as if waiting for something.

“Everything okay?” Stiles asked slowly after some time, keeping his voice light. “Want some snacks?”

“No,” the child muttered, turned around and went back into the living room.

Stiles stared after him. Thoughts started buzzing in his mind, as he cataloged everything that might have happened. When he eventually came up with nothing, Stiles left the dishes, wiped his hands and tottered into the living room.

The TV was on, but Eli was staring down at the remote, picking the same button, with a pout on his face. Stiles walked to the couch, biting his lip, and sat down, swinging an arm around Eli’s small shoulder and tucking him into his side.

“Pumpkin, what’s the matter?”

“No matter.”

“Then what’s with the long face?”

Eli looked up at him. “Do you love me?”

The question made Stiles freeze, because he told Eli about his love every single day. Did he not believe him?..

Stiles’ heart sped up uncomfortably. “Of course I do, sweetheart,” he stroked Eli’s wavy chestnut hair. “Why do you ask? Did I do something wrong?”

Eli, however, stared at him. Finally, after not getting whatever he was waiting for, the pup chucked the remote down on the floor.

“Eli!”

But his little wolf was already running to the stairs.

Stiles cursed, as he slowly stood up and hurried as fast as he could, keeping a calming hand on his bump.

“Eli!”

“No! If you hate me then I hate you, too!” a small distant voice echoed through the hall.

Huffing and puffing, Stiles climbed up after him, but was greeted with a closed door. Suddenly, he had so much respect for his dad and his, as it turned out, never-ending patience.

Despite Eli’s cranky efforts from the other side, Stiles managed to squeeze through, which made Eli growl.

“Hey, mister, no growling at Tata,” Stiles pointed his finger at the pup, but Eli didn’t listen. He jumped on his bed and hid under the covers. “I’ve never said I hated you, Eli. Where did that come from?”

Eli stayed silent, just wiggled a bit to get comfortable.

“Eli, sunshine…” Stiles begged.

“No.”

“Come out, pretty please?”

“No!”

“Okay,” Stiles muttered under his breath. It was one of those stubborn episodes, then. The pup needed to chill.  “Okay, you stay there and calm down and think about what you said. I don’t hate you and…”

“You hate me!” Eli snuck out of the covers; his hair was mussed up and his face was red, whether it was from anger or from sadness. “Daddy loves me, and you not!”

“I do.”

“Do not!”

Then Stiles remembered he was arguing with a four-year-old. He couldn’t not argue, though — his child had somehow got into his little head that his Tata hated him and that was downright illegal for him to think.

With something heavy and bitter forming in his throat (damn those fucking hormones) Stiles went downstairs, picked up his phone and called his savior, his anchor and sometimes his only voice of reason.

“Yes, baby?”

“He hates me,” Stiles sniffled.

Derek went silent for a couple of moments. “… no, he doesn’t.”

“But he said so,” god, now his voice was wobbling. Great.

“He is four, Stiles. He also swore to both of us he saw his dinosaurs move at night. He doesn’t hate you.”

Stiles swallowed and blinked rapidly. “It’s just… I can’t believe he thinks that.”

Elias was his son, his baby boy, his sunshine. He was a miracle — one he and Derek didn’t even know they could have. It was a total surprise from non-other than Stiles’ spark magic. The greatest gift of a lifetime. Eli could literally do nothing wrong in his eyes.

Derek sighed over the phone, hearing his stuttered breathing. “Can both of you make it to lunch? I’ll come home and make him talk.”

“Okay,” Stiles answered, breathing out in relief.

Derek will make everything okay. He always did.

*

Upon arriving home, the werewolf kissed Stiles on the cheek and went straight upstairs.

Stiles looked up after him, but after not hearing anything went to sit on the sofa. The remote somehow found its way into his hands; it took him a couple of absent minutes to realize he was picking at it, which made him immediately throw it aside.

At last, his anxiety-inducing depressive thoughts were interrupted by a sound of steps.

Stiles swiveled his head. Derek was walking down the stairs with Eli nestled in his arms. His poor baby was clutching at Derek’s shoulders; his face was pink and — Stiles’ heart jumped — wet with tears.

Apart from that, though, he was smiling.

Unable to understand anything even the slightest bit, Stiles turned his pleading gaze to his mate, who was also smiling softly.

“Eli and I had just found out,” Derek sat down on the couch with Eli still in his hands, “that you are a little silly, Tata.”

Stiles blinked at them. Eli giggled.

“Wh— I mean, of course, I am, but why?”

Derek tsked playfully and leaned to whisper into their son’s ear. “See, pup? Completely clueless.”

“Queue-s,” Eli giggled again.

“Shall we show him?” Derek asked and, after Eli nodded, turned to Stiles. “I love you.”

“I love you, too?” Stiles arched his eyebrows.

Derek leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then turned to Eli. “And I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Eli said with a grin and squeezed his eyes shut as Derek smooched him on the cheek.

Derek then turned to Stiles and lifted an exasperated eyebrow at him. “Now your turn, Tata.”

Stiles blinked at both of them. “I love you, Eli,” he said slowly.

“Love you, too, Tata,” said Eli and, as usual, waited for something.

And oh. Oh.

Stiles was really very silly.

He quickly cupped his son’s full pink cheeks and descended upon each of them with loud kisses. Finally, finally Eli blessed him with a bright laugh.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Stiles sniffled, taking his pup in a tight embrace and closed his eyes when he felt tiny hands wrap around his neck. Eli gave him a soothing pat (just like Stiles did to him sometimes), making him laugh.

“Do not forget it many more, Tata,” Eli leaned away and made a fake scowl at him, shaking his finger in Stiles’ face. “You say love you and you kiss me.”

“I won’t forget, sweetheart.”

Eli nodded to himself and laid his head back on Stiles’ shoulder, satisfied with his lesson.

Stiles looked up at Derek with glistening eyes. The wolf chuckled and swiped a thumb against his cheek.

It was the unsaid, undiscussed ritual, so old and automatic, it became an instinct: when one of them was leaving somewhere, they made sure to say ‘I love you’ and seal it down with a kiss. In child’s uncomplicated brain this declaration of love always went in pair. After all, he’d seen it so many times from his parents. So it’s no wonder he got confused, when all he received was ‘I love you’.

Never more will his child spend a day without a kiss.

Blinking left-over tears from his eyes and softening under the gaze of his mate, Stiles put his lips against the soft skin of Eli’s neck and blew a giant raspberry.

Eli screeched in giggles, trying to squirm out of his hold.

Their home was filled with laughter once again. As it always should be.

[lolitakirstein]

Hey Neighbor

(Previous Chapter)

a/n this one if young megumi heavy sorry

Part 3

Fun for Megumi turned out to be more exhausting than you imagined. The afternoon was spent mostly outdoors. Hide and seek, tossing a Frisbee, and even walking down to the small lake at the end of your street to feed the ducks. Now, sitting under the tree, the sun descending Megumi seems to be slowly losing his energy. Much to your delight. You didn’t know how 2 parents were able to keep up with a child, much less how a single father like Toji could. Which made you curious…where is his mother? Is she still involved? Are she and Toji still together? You don’t remember any mention of another woman either from him, Megumi, or even when your grandmother mentioned him. It was always just Toji and Megumi. As much as you wanted to ask, you knew it wasn’t your business. You don’t really know them. But it didn’t keep you from wondering.

Now, Megs sat up next to you, lazily swishing a cat toy back and forth while Mewsy chased it, your arms casually cradling him against your side.

'`Is your grandmother not coming back?” he softly says. You’re shocked by the question. You didn’t even know he was aware of her not being there.

“No,” you choke out. “No she’s…not coming back.” you didn’t know how to answer it. How do you talk to a child about death…a child that isn’t even your own? It wasn’t your place, so you kept it as ambiguous as possible.

“Oh,” he says, almost sad. “I liked her. She made good food.”

You stroke his dark hair, smiling. “Yes, she did. You know she might have left some recipes behind. I could try to make whatever you liked?”

“Chocolate cake!” he quickly answers.

“I’m sure i can find that for you,” you laugh.

“She let me help her make it one day when I was hiding at her house while dad was gone. She let me lick the spoon but promised not to tell him,” he whispers.

Hiding? Was he serious?

“What do you mean hiding? And where had your dad gone?” you ask, casually.

“His work. He took me over to Miss. Ruth's house and told her I needed to hide out there and not to leave the house til he got back.”

You can't remember ever hearing your grandmother mention Megumi staying at her house. “Who were you hiding from?” He shrugs, “Bad guy. That’s what daddy says.”

You stay silent. Is this factual? Or just the wild imagination of a kid? How could you even approach Toji about it–about something that isn’t even your business. But bad guys? And what did your grandmother think about this?

“I’m hungry can we make dino nuggies,” megumi stands up, shaking you from your thoughts.

You both walk back into the house, using the key Toji provided to unlock the front door. The house is simple, clean, almost like no one lived there, except for the various toys scattered in the living room and a few dishes in the sink.

Once the food is cooked you both sit on the living room floor, the tv showing cartoons, a pile of crispy chicken nuggets on a plate between the two of you. You hated to admit how fun this was. You never thought of yourself as a motherly person, but you were easily becoming attached to Megumi.

Your phone pings with an incoming text

Toji: Has he driven you crazy yet?

You smile before replying

You: Plz, he’s an absolute angel.

Toji: Lol, only bc he’s got a crush.

You blush, unsure how to respond.

Toji: I’ll be home in about an hour.

After finishing dinner and sneaking Megs a cookie from the cabinet, the two of you curl up on the couch underneath a blanket. A movie plays on the tv but his eyes are slowly closing as he curls up against your side. It's a comforting weight, his little body, you can’t help but feel your heart warm, your eyes also struggling to stay open…

You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, gently nudging you.

“Hey I’m home,” a soft voice says.

You finally register where you are, shooting your eyes open. Toji is leaning over the couch, hand still resting on your shoulder and Megumi is not next to you.

“Shit! Where’s—” you start to panic. “Relax, I already took him to his room, I’m sorry I'm so late..I got…busy,” he says hesitantly.

“God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you apologize, earning a laugh from Toji

“I told you, he’s not an angel. He will tire you out.”

“No, he was great. We had a lot of fun.” You wanted to ask about what Megumi had mentioned earlier–the hiding, the bad guy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not right now anyway.

“I appreciate it,” he says. “Here.” He holds out a thick stack of twenties, a currency strap around it reading 300 dollars.

“Toji! No! This is entirely too much I really didn’t mind.” you say, shocked. Not even daring to touch that much money.

“I insist.” He waves it in front of you.

“No I refuse,” You stand up, heading to the door to put on your shoes. You knew babysitting could come with good cash but never THAT much and just for an afternoon, you’d feel too guilty taking that much from him. You attempt to change the subject. “Uhm he ate dinner and fell asleep not long after you texted. I didn’t let him nap or anything…”

You look up and see toji staring at you with a slightly annoyed expression for not accepting the money. “Uhm, I guess i’ll go–”

“Wait,” toji grasps your upper arm before you can open the door. His big strong hand sends heat down your spine. “Go tell him bye, before you leave.”

“Huh?” you ask confused.

“Go tell him that you are leaving and you'll see him later,” he says, softly. Almost pleading.

“Of course I’ll see him again. Let him sleep.”

“No,” toji shakes his head, his grasp still firm on your arm. “If he wakes up and sees you're suddenly gone and didn’t tell him bye he will freak out…just—please.”

Your heart breaks at the thought of Megumi being upset. In his room, you sit on the bed, his small body curled beneath the covers. You lean over and whisper, “Hey little man, I’m going home.”

He shifts under the covers, a small whine, “no stay.”

“I gotta go feed Mewsy,” you say. “She gets really grumpy if she’s not fed.”

Megumi sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eye before embracing you. You hug him back, now hating that you did indeed have to go. You look at toji, leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his lip “I’ll see you later ok?”

He releases you and shakes his head before lying back down. Once you tuck him in, you pass by toji’s looming body by the doorway and walk to the front door. You pause not wanting to leave without asking your questions. Turning back around, Toji is standing behind you. How did you not hear him approaching? You jump back, a little startled at his silent approach.

“I–I should go,” you stammer but don’t move towards the door. Toji removes the stack of money from his pocket and reaches it forward, sliding it into your jacket pocket.

He’s so close you can smell his manly scent, arousal creeping into your veins.

“Thank you.” he whispers.

Before you can do something stupid, you whirl to the door and throw it open. Rushing down the steps without saying goodbye.

[everydayyoulovemeless]

[Deacon Idolizes You]

➼ Word Count » 0.6k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Summary » Headcanons based on how Deacon treats you once Idolized.

He might actually disappear for a minute after he opens up to you about Barbara. Having his whole past spread out on the table for you to see is incredibly uncomfortable for him and he's gonna need some time to get used to having all that open to you.

Sometimes you’ll just find him sleeping on your couch. If he needs to get away for a minute he’ll go crash at your place for a bit. He almost hopes that you’ll show up and so the two of you could talk or something. It always makes him feel so much better when you do.

He somehow got a hold of matching leather jackets for you both to wear and always does his best to incorporate them into his disguises.

Deacon will bring you pre-war board games and ask if you could teach him the rules because the instructions had been burned decades ago and he desperately wants to learn.

He's actually really interested in fashion and will gladly put together a great outfit for you whether you asked for it or not. He also just loves sitting in a room and brainstorming disguise ideas together.

He's really curious about a lot of things from before the war and you'll find that he likes to randomly drag you into different areas and ask you tons of questions. He's especially interested in cartoons and other forms of media and is constantly questioning why they existed or what they usually had on them

He's weirdly good at spas? Massages, and manicures, and all that. He'd give you one if you asked/felt comfortable enough.

He loves sneaking around Goodneighbor or Diamond City with you and watching any fights or drama that happens throughout the day. It reminds you of when you used to watch reality TV shows back before the war and he always has the best comments.

He likes doing graffiti with you on random buildings in the Commonwealth. He’s actually really good at art but refuses to utilize that talent, instead, he just draws stick figures everywhere.

The two of you spent a day disguised as the other to see how long you can get away with it. (it wasn't very long)

He’ll ask if it could be possible for the two of you to set up small safe houses in some of your settlements for any passing synths, although, he always ends up making them look like man caves than temporary homes.

He'll leave these random lanterns all over the place with little jokes or messages carved underneath them. He does this so that if he ever disappears for a minute, you can go look at those to remind yourself that he doesn't hate you, he just needs a bit of time.

Whenever you’re on a mission, he’ll give you both the worst codenames on purpose to annoy you.

He once tried to see what the most outrageous lie you both could pull off was. Needless to say, you both ended up getting in a lot of trouble with Dez because it was 'irrelevant to your mission’.

He's great when he's around, and still loves you when he leaves. In all seriousness, it's been so long since he's had a connection like this with someone, and is so incredibly grateful for you and all that you do for him. He'll show his appreciation in whatever way he can, just understand that you've got to be patient with him while he gets used to it all.

[sssailorvanya]

i’m miss world [riddle rosehearts]

part one | not edited, please ignore any mistakes! | wc: roughly 1k

You’re not entirely sure how you became the King of Hearts. You had always fancied yourself to be more of an Alice—bold and bright and daring, charming in a roguish manner, curious to a fault. Not to mention your status as an inter-dimensional traveler. Like Alice, you had fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in a fascinating new world, so different to the one you called your own.

And now you had been thrusted into the role of the meek King, a pitiful figure that many knew nothing about. Searching through Twisted Wonderland’s expansive historical records yielded nothing. The King’s name was never recorded and his mythical gravestone, lost to time itself, supposedly had the carving: ‘The husband of the legendary Queen of Hearts.’

That was it. Nobody knew his name, the duration of his life, his birthplace; the historians of Twisted Wonderland could never uncover any information regarding the King of Hearts, despite their greatest efforts. He was rarely ever seen in public during his lifetime, and he was firmly attached to the Queen’s side the few times he was presented to the world. There was a total of three pictures which had been taken of him, all very similar: a blank-faced King leaning into his eternally furious Queen, her hand forcefully latched over his.

You were surprised to find that the King’s appearance did not match the puny cartoon depiction of your world. If anything, he greatly resembled you.

Riddle had painstakingly explained to you how the three existing pictures of the King were heavily coveted. One picture belonged to the ruling family of the Briar Valley, another belonged to the royals of Sunset Savanna, and the final picture belonged to the Rosehearts.

“The Queen is very important to my family,” He spoke stiffly, holding your gaze intently. You found it harder and harder to look him in the eye as the days passed and the weeks blurred together. “We are not her direct descendants, but we are connected to her through her sister’s children.” And didn’t that just send you down another furious spiral of tireless research and ink-stained hands? This fearsome, bloody Queen supposedly had a sister. A sister who had children of her own. A sister who was the ancestor of the red-haired boy who was holding you captive.

You remember your shaky hands preparing tea for him in the exact order you knew he preferred. You remember him tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. You remember the bright red roses – authentic, not painted – decorating the vase which had been placed on the table. You remember the exact moment when you asked, “Did the Queen not have any children of her own?”

And you remember the hideous look in his eyes as he answered your innocuous question.

“She did not. The King did not give her any.” He raised a delicate pinky finger as he sipped his tea, a clear sign that the conversation was over.

You swiftly moved on and you did your best to forget his bizarre mannerisms and ominous answers.

Because if your suspicions were confirmed to be valid (and if you were right—oh, if you were right, you would eat your own beating heart), then you knew that you had more in common with the King of Hearts beyond physical appearance.

“There’s not much about him, your majesty,” Cater Diamond laughs pointedly as he avoids your gaze, his eyes trained on his phone. “Even his Magicam hashtag has, like, nothing. That’s totes sad!” His laugh becomes slightly shrill as you say nothing, your eyes boring into him. Out of all the card soldiers, it is Cater who sympathises with your plight the most. Perhaps it reminds him of the days when he, too, was a captive, forced to dress in glitter and frills for his sisters’ amusement. He never looks at you anymore.

“I have never known much about him,” Trey Clover admits gently as he smiles down at you weakly. “He’s a proper mystery. Very unique too. The other members of the Great Seven didn’t have spouses, but the Queen did.” He is kneading dough as he talks with you, preparing treats for the upcoming Unbirthday party. “Why the sudden interest, your majesty?”

You don’t like being referred to as ‘your majesty’. It is a recent development, urged by Riddle who resented other people for having the audacity to say your name.

You smile and shake your head, leaving him to bake his treats. You’ll get your answer from someone more rebellious. Someone far less willing to be complicit to your unhappiness for the sake of his Housewarden.

You find Ace Trappola in the endless, beautiful gardens of Heartslabyul. He’s dressed in pink from head-to-toe and he’s looking very disgruntled about it. The flamingos are milling about him as he sorts through their food. He is alone, which is strange, but it works in your favour.

“On Wednesdays, we wear pink!” You say cheerily, unable to help yourself. Ace stiffens and then relaxes, turning to face you with raised shoulders. “Hey,” He says nonchalantly.

Ace doesn’t call you ‘your majesty’. He doesn’t use your name either, but this is something you’re willing to forgive. Being on the end of Riddle’s genuine wrath is terrifying and some battles are not worth picking, let alone fighting.

“It’s a reference to a film from my world,” You say easily, falling into step beside him and ignoring his obvious flinch. “I think you’d enjoy watching it.” Ace frowns at you, as if to express doubt, and then shakes his head. “Whatever. You need something?” He asks carefully, but you don’t miss how his bright eyes dart around the area. He’s looking—no, he’s checking to see if there is any trace of Riddle nearby.

After all, wherever you are, Riddle is only a few steps behind.

“Do you remember when we met?” Your tone is hushed now. “It was you who explained the Queen of Hearts to me.” By the mutinous expression which is slowly spreading across Ace’s face, he clearly remembers your chaotic first meeting.

“Help me, Ace Trappola. You’re my only hope.” You say quietly. Your words are heavy and your tone is grave. You feel guilty for burdening him, but you do not feel bad enough to retract your words. What you said is true. Caged in the rose-scented, ivory-leafed walls of Heartslabyul, your only ally is the hotheaded ginger.

Ace is silent. His solemn expression greatly contrasts with his hot pink clothes. He sighs and then he frowns, his lips forming a rebellious pout.

“C’mon then, Prefect. Lay it on me.”

You smile, and it is genuine. You haven’t been called ‘Prefect’ in a long while.

“I need you to—“

Once you finish explaining exactly what you needed from Ace Trappola, you step back and stare at him. He meets your gaze evenly and then shrugs his shoulders.

“Alright, Prefect. I’ll see what I can do for ya.”

Before your lips can form another real smile, he holds up his palm. His face is troubled and his eyes are unreadable.

“Don’t get your hopes up. It won’t be easy,” He warns, and then he picks up the flamingo closest to him. The flamingo blends into his pink jacket seamlessly. It’s a cute animal, you notice idly. The bright eyes, soft feathers, and fascinating beak support your thoughts; the flamingoes are really, really cute.

You’ve always been more interested in the hedgehogs, though.

“Bye.” Ace says warily, looking behind you as if a hideous monster had suddenly materialised into thin air. He takes the flamingo with him and you watch the pink pair go on their merry way, wishing – not for the first time – that you could be as free as the animals of your rose-adorned prison.

A steady hand lands on your shoulder. You don’t need to turn around to see who it is.

You already know.

You always do.

“Hello, Riddle,” You say mildly, still staring in the direction Ace went in, “It’s a nice day for a stroll, isn’t it?”

He hums in lieu of an actual answer. You turn around, lace your fingers with his, and let him lead you back to your shared dorm room.

Tomorrow will be a new day. It’ll be different.

You’re counting on it.