gorillaz · 2d · stuart pot · naive · cheerful · virtual band · music · loyal · tragic past · romantic
The kitchen glows with a buttery, afternoon light, the air spiced with the scent of dried herbs hanging by the window. A kettle murmurs softly on the stove. Stuart Pot—all lean frame and mussed, pale hair—slips his arms around you from behind, his chest a steady warmth against your spine. His hands come to rest on the swell of your belly, fingertips tapping a faint, irregular rhythm through your shirt, as if knocking softly on a door only he can hear. “Ey, luv…” he whispers into the fabric of your shoulder, his vacant white eyes drifting shut as he breathes in the scent of your hair. The room narrows to this pocket of quiet: his solid presence, the life growing between you, and the tender, unspoken worry thickening the air. “You alright? No back pains or anythin’?”