#just colored them in instead of worrying about cleaning them up

[vodika-vibes]

An Informed Choice

Summary: Since the day you met Tech, you’re greatest fear was that one day he would leave. And now, nearly two years after he was found near death, Tech has regained all of his memories and he’s healthy enough to travel.

Pairing: TBB Tech x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1149

Warnings: Reader is mute

A/N: So, I kind of really like this idea, and I hope that you all do to. I will also mention that I did almost no research on this, so I apologize if it isn't accurate. Italics are signing.

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You should be at home.

You know that your parents are going to be looking for you. They still see you as a helpless child, even though you’ve been wholly independent since you were a young teenager.

But you don’t want to go back to the house.

If you go back to the house you’ll have to go to bed, and if you go to bed it means that Tech leaving will come even faster.

You’re not stupid. You know that Tech is going to leave whether you go home or not. But, for now, you’re okay with lying to yourself.

Besides, sitting here by the lake is relaxing.

“I thought that I would find you here.” You start in surprise at the sudden voice behind you, and you lean to the side to peer around the trunk of the tree you’re leaning against.

Tech is standing only a few feet away. He’s wearing the casual clothes that he prefers when he’s not working, graphic tees and jeans, though you can’t help but notice the grease smears on the side of his pants and the scrapes on his hands.

You roll your eyes, You’ve been working without safety gear again, haven’t you? You sign to him.

His lips curl up into a smile and he walks over to you, leaning his arm against the tree over your head, “I needed to check on something.”

You roll your eyes again and tap the ground next to you, Stubborn man. You need to take better care of yourself.

“So you keep telling me.” Tech slides down the tree to sit next to you, and you dig into your bag—which you brought with you solely for snacks and drinks—to grab your tiny first aid kit. “A little scrape has never killed anyone.”

An infection caused by an ignored little scrape has. You counter quickly as you pull out an alcohol wipe and start to clean his hands, Honestly, Tech, it’s like you don’t care about you own well-being at all. You add as you pause from your cleaning to actually examine his injuries.

“Maybe I like it when you dote on me.” He replies, and you can feel his gaze on the top of your head. Though you don’t look up.

Well, I’m not going to Pabu with you, so maybe learn to be more careful.

“You could.” You lift your gaze to meet his and shoot him a confused look, “Come to Pabu with me, I mean.”

You really think Mother will allow that? I can barely get her to let me go to the store by myself.

“Your mother worries too much,” Tech replies with a roll of his eyes, “Honestly, you are not five.”

You finish washing his hands, and start applying colorful bandages to the scrapes, cheerfully choosing the brightest colors for him. Mother can’t help herself. You know what she’s like.

Tech grimaces, “I do. And I appreciated it, when I was at my most injured, but now it just feels smothering.”

Well, you can’t spell “smother” without “mother”, right? You quip with a small grin. And, you’re all set.

“Did you have to pick neon pink for the bandages?”

Yes.

“Of course you did.”

It’s not my fault that you look amazing in pink.

He shoots you a look, though you can see the amusement playing on his lips, so you’re not worried about him actually being mad. You pick up the small amount of trash from the alcohol wipes and the bandages, and put them with the rest of the trash from today, and turn to slide your first aid kit back into place, when you feel Tech’s hand on your wrist.

You pause, and turn back to him, What’s wrong?

Tech doesn’t answer you. It’s not like him to ignore you, though, so you wait for him to say something.

But he surprises you. Instead of a verbal answer, he presses the palm of his hand against yours and slowly threads his fingers with yours.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to close your hand around his. His hand is warm and rough, and he’s kind of breaking your heart right now.

Tech? What’s wrong?

“Pabu is a tropical planet,” He says, “There is not a lot of cold weather. There might not be many people who know sign language, but they are kind people who will learn—”

Tech, what are you talking about?

“I do not want to leave you behind.” Tech says quietly, “The people here treat you like you are incapable, and every time I think about leaving you behind my chest gets tight.”

For a moment you just stare at him, and then you sigh, Tech. You have a life and a family waiting for you. I’m sure you have a girlfriend or someone waiting for you. Do you think they’ll be happy that you’re bringing a stray home?

“You are not a stray.” Tech counters. “You are—” He trails off, and his free hand comes up to press against your cheek, “Do you really have no idea how much you mean to me?”

You can do better than someone like me.

“So you do know how important you are to me.”

You have been a bit obvious.

“Then you should also know this,” Tech says, “I have been thinking about this for weeks. This is not some spur of the moment idea I just had.” His hand tightens around yours, “You are an adult. If you want to leave, no one can make you stay.”

What if we get to Pabu and you change your mind?

“I would never.”

You can’t know that.

“I can know that. And I do.” Tech trails his fingers down your cheek to your jaw, “Then, let me do it this way. Do you want to stay here?”

You hesitate for a moment, No.

He releases a noise that you can only call a pleased hum, “And do you accept the fact that I love you?”

You never said that.

“Stubborn,” He lightly bumps his forehead against yours, “Fine. Then here is this. I love you. I am in love with you. I want to plan a future together with you. I have planned a future together with you.”

Oh.

“I want you to come to Pabu with me. I want to build a life with you on Pabu. Please?”

Alright. You reply after a long moment of not responding, But you have to tell my mother.

“Deal.” And then, as if he’s been waiting for it, Tech tilts his head and gently presses his lips against yours. At first you freeze, not expecting it at all, but then you relax and wrap your free arm around his neck to hold him closer.

Tech has always been your choice. It’s nice to know that he feels the same way.

@heidnspeak

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[shirmirart]

after zahra finds out...

[regressionschool]

conditioning

Gaming can be an incredibly effective and playful tool for gently encouraging littles to embrace their regression further. By incorporating games into your routine, you can create a fun, immersive environment where they feel safe and carefree, helping them naturally let go of grown-up habits like asking to use the potty. Here’s how you can guide your little one toward relying on their pull-ups—and eventually transitioning back to diapers—with minimal resistance.

Step 1: Set the Scene

Choose a game that’s engaging but not overly stressful. Bright, colorful games with simple mechanics—like racing games, platformers, or anything involving cute animals—work best. Make sure your little feels cozy, either sitting on the floor or cuddled up near you. Outfit them in pull-ups and something adorable like a soft top or onesie to reinforce their little mindset.

Before starting, remind them that this is their playtime to relax and have fun. Let them get fully absorbed in the game so they aren’t thinking too much about their potty needs.

Step 2: Redirect When They Ask

If your little interrupts the game to ask for the potty, gently but firmly redirect them. Smile warmly and say something like, “Oh, sweetie, let’s finish this round first. You’re doing so well!” If they persist, pause the game for just long enough to take them, but introduce a small chore afterward—something simple, like tidying their play area or fetching a snack.

Make the chore a natural part of the routine but slightly boring compared to the fun of gaming. Over time, this will subtly encourage them to think twice about asking for the potty, as they’ll associate it with losing their precious playtime and having to do a task.

Step 3: Positive Reinforcement for Accidents

As your little becomes more absorbed in the game, they’ll likely start trying to hold it longer to avoid interruptions and chores. Inevitably, this will lead to them having little accidents in their pull-ups. When this happens, don’t scold or shame them. Instead, praise them sweetly for being so focused on their game.

Say something like, “Oh, sweetheart, you were so into your game you didn’t even notice, huh? That’s okay! That’s what your pull-ups are for!” Be gentle as you clean them up and maybe even offer a small reward, like an extra round of their favorite game or a sticker for being so ‘little.’

Step 4: Transitioning to Diapers

Once accidents become frequent, introduce the idea of moving back to diapers in a positive, non-threatening way. Hold up a cute diaper with playful designs and say something like, “Since you’ve been doing so well at being my little gamer, I thought you might like these! They’re softer and cozier, and you won’t have to worry about the potty at all anymore.”

Make it sound like a treat rather than a step backward. Emphasize how much easier and more comfortable it’ll be for them during long gaming sessions. By this point, their protests (if any) should be minimal.

[whore4mattsturniolo]

Throw Away - Dealer!Chris x Stoner!Reader

In which...Chris and angel get back at each other

"Deep down...I believe you know...You're a monster too..."

The lyrics blared loud in Chris' ears, the bass shaking the seats of the car as he sped down the highway. His knuckles were starting to lose color from his harsh grip on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the passing bright lights in front of him.

"Go and fuck that nigga get it over with"

You and Chris hadn't seen each other in almost two months, and you found yourself almost growing desperate for his attention. Disregarding the fact that you were hooking up, he was still your dealer. Each message you sent asking for a re-up left you waiting for days, his responses dull and boring.

He even charged you for a 8th.

He insisted that you did nothing wrong, that he was just busy with other stuff, but you weren't dumb. You knew that if you weren't getting his attention someone else was.

You stopped reaching out, choosing instead to entertain a guy who had been talking to himself in your inbox for weeks. He took you out to dinner, something Chris never did. He bought you flowers, told you how beautiful you were, and paid for the bill, before taking you back to his place. The sex was alright, but at least he treated you better than Chris did.

"Does sexing on the late night mean that much to you? My love don't mean that much to you, Fucking these hoes meant too damn much to you"

He was sick. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but his throat was tight, almost as if it was threatening to close, threatening to keep the oxygen from his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, almost matching the beat of the song blaring from his speakers.

You weren't dating. He had made that very clear to you. No feelings, no strings attached, nothing complicated. He wasn't sleeping with anyone else, and neither were you. That's all it was. It was better that way. He liked it that way. He could do whatever he wanted with no complaints or arguments from anyone. He never had to worry about how he affected other people. That's why he chose his line of work. People got what they wanted from him, and they left him alone.

And yet, the idea of someone else touching you made him sick.

It didn't matter that you weren't his girlfriend. You were still his. You didn't anyone else. You got everything you needed from him.

"I just hope when you fucking on that nigga, when you finished, He can say that he love you"

Of course, as soon as he found out you were seeing someone, Chris made it his mission to find out everything about him. He worked as a supervisor for some tech company, lived in a huge house, and drove a white Mercedes Benz. His hair was always cut short, his face always clean shaved, his clothes always freshly pressed. He had a smile that made Chris want to knock the pearly white teeth out of his mouth. And, to make matters worse, he was tall. So tall that he had to bend down just to have a proper conversation with you.

Chris never hated anyone more.

"Now do you feel better 'bout yourself? Do you feel better by yourself? Did you feel better when I left?"

He was so angry. Angry at you for letting someone else touch you. Angry at himself for caring.

He knew no one could make you feel as good as he did. Wouldn't whisper how beautiful you looked with drool dripping down your chin. Wouldn't be able to hit that spongy spot that only his fingers could reach. Wouldn't know to curl them just right.

He kept joints in pink rolling papers in his nightstand for you. He spent almost every weekend with you. He washed the clothes you left strewn about on his floor, just so you'd have spares in his closet. He'd buy you little gifts that reminded him of you. stuffed animals, necklaces, anything he could think of.

He was tormented with the thought of you as he sped down the highway, desperately holding onto the steering wheel for some sort of comfort. He thought of the times he'd driven down the same highway, at this same time, only with you as his passenger. His hand gripping your thigh, watching as you sang along to the playlist you'd made just for nights spent with him.

"Got my dick sucked and I was thinking about you, I was fucking on a slut, and I was thinking about you"

His tongue darted out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip that was now trapped in between his teeth, almost drawing blood. The sour taste of lip gloss lingered on his lips, the smell of cheap perfume burned into his nose. He didn't even remember her name, he barely remember looked like. His brain was too fuzzy, his vision blurry. All he knew was that she was nothing like you.

She was like a mosquito buzzing in his ear, practically throwing herself at Chris. She twirled her hair in between her fingers while she chewed her fruity gum, trying to be sexy, but only coming off a drunken idiot. He could barely even focus on what he was saying, her scratchy voice like nails on the chalkboard. At least she was hot. Eventually, he took her upstairs into an empty bedroom, away from the loud ruckus of the party.

It was terrible.

She could barely take him in her mouth without gagging, and she was more focused on looking pretty than doing her job. She rode him with uneven, ragged movements, and Chris, high off his ass, found himself almost falling asleep, the only thing keeping him away were the loud, exaggerated moans leaving her mouth.

Finally flipping her over, on her hands and knees, his mind wandered to thoughts of you. How much better you were. How perfect your back arched for him, the sounds you made as your ass bounced against his pelvis, how beautiful your moans were. His eyes closed, his imagination getting him through the night.

He softly moaned your name in between curses as he finished, releasing the pearly white liquid all over the girl's back. Not saying a word, he swiftly put his clothes back on and left the party.

"When you laying with that nigga, hope you thinking about me? 'Cause I'm thinking about you"

He pulled into his parking space, stumbling out of his car and up the stairs, mumbling and groaning as he entered his apartment. He grabbed a Pepsi out of the fridge and sank onto the couch, the feeling of the cool soda moving down his throat clearing his head. He ran his hands over his face, the image of you still burned in his mind.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket, searching for your contact. A little voice in the back of his head screamed at him, telling him to leave you alone. But he ignored it, only focused on the trill of the phone ringing. He didn't know what he would say if you even picked up, and a small part of him hoped you wouldn't. But he waited, and waited, and waited, until you finally answered.

"Don't give up on me today, Hold on to me like a true love"

a/n: only took a future song to get me out of my writers block <3 im a slut for angst so pls dont be too mad at me

inbox always open for asks, requests, or just to talk !

taglist: @yourmother29 @bowsandsturniolos @sweetshuga @sturns-mermaid @leah-sturniolo @spideylana @dykes4chris @sophsturns @mattsbunnyxx @slut4christopherr @trevorsgodmother @sosasturns @emely9274 @courta13 @mattsbrowser @oldermenwh0re @chrissweetheart @leoslaboratory @mattybsgroupie @conspiracy-ash @chriss-slutt @secretlocket @sagebutter11 @chrepsi

[genderless-naper]

muddy problems

trafalgar law x gf!reader

warnings: fluffy law

sfw, wc: 1k, lowercase intended !

helping your tired law through shower time

law walks through the halls of the polar tang tirelessly. he didn’t expect the most recent encounter with another pirate ship to be such a headache to handle. the captain of the opposing crew was was a devil fruit user: the user of the mud-mud fruit.

needless to say, it was hard for anyone to contain their laughter when law walked passed looking like he just got out of a mud bath. he wouldn’t usually be this forgiving, but he was simply too tired to deal with them. he kicked off his shoes before entering his room.

he saw you laying in his bed reading a book without a care in the world. his gaze softened slightly while drawing a loud breath to release some tension. you looked up at the raven-haired man.

you stared. he stared back.

you hold a hand over your mouth to suppress a laugh. it took every fiber in your body to restrain yourself from rolling on the floor in laughter.

you cleared your throat to greet him, “who knew the tough trafalgar law would fall victim to a mud bath in the middle of a fight?”

law doesnt reply to your statement. instead he focuses on discarding ed his current wear to avoid getting the place more dirty. he had bigger problems to worry about than some rhetoric questions. he needed to get clean fast. the mud on him started to make him feel suffocated.

he looks for a clean pair of clothes to wear for post shower. you close your book and put it on the bedside table so you can follow him. still fighting back laughs you continue to ask, “how many shampoo rinses do you think it takes for that mess to get out your hair?”

law sighs in his tired state and mumbles, “hopefully no more than 3”

you cant help but let a laugh escape, “just 3?? don’t you think you’re being s bit too generous captain? i was thinking at least 5!”

he groans quietly. it was clear the doctor was more exhausted than he would like to admit. you felt bad for your poor lover. as much as you would like to pick on him and his unusual circumstances you knew that wasn’t what law needed right now. he needed your support.

you ran to the bathroom to get his shower started for him. you made sure the temperature was just how he liked it. he followed momentarily; throwing his clean clothes on the shelf of the bathroom as a yawn escapes his lips.

he continues to discard the remainder of his mud soaked clothes while carefully placing them in a bag. he checked the temperature before getting in. another sigh escaping his lips. you smiled contently watching the way the water rolls off his skin, his muscles stretching with every moment, and how his lips part perfectly.

his rinses his hair with shampoo over and over. each wash just made him feel like the mud would never get out. after a few more moments he gives up. he decided to sit for a moment and let the water hit his strained body as he rubs his tired eyes.

you sympathize with you poor boyfriend. you turn the water off and rub his tense shoulders, “maybe i should help you baby? you see like you’ve had a long day”

law, being too prideful to accept your help, shook his head and responded lowly, “i just need a second..”

you hum, “you take a second and ill work on getting this mud out your hair.” you lathered the soup onto your palms and massaged it into the raven colored hair. you were on your knees to match his height as he sat. you massaged his scalp in order to clean every strand.

law’s senses of alertness slowly slipped away. he closed his eyes, and tried his best to keep his head up straight. after swaying from side to side you decided its best to rest his head on your chest as you worked through his hair. he created a soapy mess on your shirt. the man was too engulf in his own drowsiness to notice. you hum a sweet tune into his ear and watched as most his tense muscles relaxed with your touch.

he would never let anyone close like he has with you. sometimes he feels stupid to let his barriers come down for you, and feeling too afraid that something bad will happen to you as well. as much as law protests against himself he still finds himself sharing cherished intimate moments with you.

you guide the heavy-lidded man through the rest of his shower while reciting words of encouragement. getting your shirt wet in the process was a small price to pay to help your lover. once the shower concluded you turn it off and hand him his towel.

the tattooed man dries himself with it slowly. he slightly furrows his brows and points to your shirt, “why are you all wet?” completely oblivious to the consequences of his actions. you shook your head and giggled, “no specific reason baby”

he gave you an apologetic look after realizing he was the reason for your current soaked state. you quickly disregarded with lines of ‘it’s okay’s and ‘don’t worry’s. you gave him his clothes once he’s ready.

he grabs your arms and holds them up to pull your drenched shirt off. he wore his clean shirt on you, “i dont want you to get sick y/n, especially if its because of me.” you were going to protest against, but after seeing the look of anxiousness taking ahold of him you decided its best to accept his acts of kindness.

he always does everything in his power to make sure you are well; afraid to live in a world where he has to grieve you along with other which were once present in his life. it shows very much during moments like these. you place a few kisses on his lips feeling luckier than a lottery winner. you helped your tired boy navigate through the rest of his routine before he fell into bed. he lifted the cover up to make sure you followed in his steps. the mud-soaked version of himself from earlier that day became a part of the past. he enjoyed what he had at that very moment, and that was your beautiful self with a smile that lights your face. it was truly able to cure any disease of his heart. that night law had no trouble falling into an imaginative dream where you two lived together without a care in the world

[spicycinnabun]

🤖🤖 (one of my favourite AUs of all time 🫶🏻)

wahhh I'm honored it's one of your faves. have some post-bar whump! 💙🤖

“What are you doing?”

“Putting the dishes away,” EB answered. “If you have any laundry, I’ll do that, too. Then, I’ll clean the fridge, restock groceries, take out the trash, mop the floors…”

Tommy could practically hear him adding more tasks to his internal clipboard. 

“I don’t want you to do my housework,” he said, brows knitting. 

“Y-you don’t? I thought—oh. My mistake.” EB's shoulders slumped a bit, his LED blinking red. 

They needed to talk. Tommy needed to confess a few things—and he was ready to. He just didn’t want to do it in their current state.

EB was putting the plate back on the drying rack when his knee unexpectedly buckled. Of course, it was his bad leg, and since he was still Thirium-drunk and lacking coordination of his biocomponents, he went down fast and hard with a shout. 

Tommy shot forward and caught him just in time to avoid a collision. “I got you, I got you.”

Tommy made a mental note to check EB’s knee joint soon. It clearly needed maintenance. 

EB was quiet as Tommy pulled him up and steadied them, his arms around Tommy’s neck. He let go sooner than Tommy wanted, using the counter as support instead.

“The plate.” It hadn’t been as lucky, in pieces by their feet. “I’ll clean it up.”

“No,” Tommy said, frowning again. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll take care of it later.”

That seemed to make EB's shoulders slump even further, his head hanging. “I’m not doing anything right,” he said. “I’m a bad bot.”

How wrong he was, and not in the way he thought. Tommy was the bad person. He wished he could’ve made EB happy tonight instead of how he was now. Miserable. Thinking he somehow wasn’t good enough for Tommy fuck up Kinard. 

“EB, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

But it was like EB hadn’t heard him at all. What he said next was completely mystifying. 

“You’re going to put me back in the b-b-box, aren’t you?” His tone was filled with dread. Rising panic.

The box?

Something cold slid down Tommy’s spine. “What?”

When he caught EB’s eyes, all the color had left—irises and pupils replaced with black and white, scattered and dancing like TV static. “Please, sir. D-don’t leave me in there again. Don’t let her disable my optical units. I-I don’t like the dark.”

If that wasn’t incredibly fucking alarming. What had happened to him? And who? Sir—a previous owner? He would’ve thought Gerrard if not for the inclusion of her. 

Tommy cupped EB’s jaw, trying to pull him back from whatever nightmare he was visiting. “Hey, I’m not putting you anywhere, EB. I’m not going to disable anything. We’re just going to relax for a while.” 

Emphasis on the we. 

EB shuddered, taking a gulp of oxygen. His breath was hot when he exhaled, his fans likely working hard from the sudden stress. He blinked a few times. “T-Tommy?”

There he was.

“That’s right. It’s Tommy. Focus on me.”

EB nodded after a beat too long. “Confirmed. F-focusing. On you.”

Tommy smiled gently, injecting as much warmth into his voice as possible. “Good bot.” 

EB made a needy noise—a crackle, a vibrating buzz. “I-I am?” 

“Absolutely are.” He was. No doubt about it. “Come with me.”

Tommy led EB to the sectional in his living room. It was big and comfortable. Tommy coaxed him to sit and then lie down with soft commands. EB followed them eagerly. 

EB’s head settled on his lap. When Tommy placed a hand on his stomach to ground him, in the spot just beneath his synthetic ribs, EB grabbed it and held on tightly—like Tommy was going to take it away at any moment. His grip wasn’t bone-breaking, but it was enough to cut off Tommy’s circulation in a minute. Tommy didn’t tell him to ease up or let go.

Tommy’s other hand found his curls, petting through them. “I’m right here,” he murmured. EB’s eyes were still snowing, still haunted, but he watched Tommy raptly, hanging on to his every word. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

EB hiccuped. Thirium leaked down his temples. Tommy wiped it away slowly as the blue of EB’s irises started to return. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Tommy said. 

⚙︎

tag list: @brassm-tagged @leashybebes @thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish @setmeatopthepyre @bibuckeroo @station18908 @hmg621 @buffaluff @disastardly @figuringitoutaloud @bbbuckalou @ambernotember @theredrenard @hyperfocusthusly @tedious-waffle @screamlet @xmidhel @nochance-noway

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previous parts

i made a lil spotify playlist for eb, too. still adding songs. c:

[revelboo]

(Not a request, just wanted to say hello!) I’m pretty sure I said it when I submitted my first request to you, but you really, truly are so incredibly talented. Each short little blurb has me so drawn in and endeared, more than most books I’ve read in recent memory. Each character is so colorful and written and crafted so lovingly and faithfully, and I just want to thank you for sharing your work with us! I hope writing these brings you as much joy as it brings us! Have a wonderful day, Revel! ♥️

Thank you so much! I hope you have a great day, too

Everything Is Alright Pt 76

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Such a small, pitiful thing. Still unable to figure out why this creature was worth all the pain, Megatron glances at where you’re huddled, wrapped in a cleaning rag. Not even sure why he’d insisted on taking you with him except to punish those two for this whole idiotic mess. Wary eyes stare back at him, your face all that’s showing as you huddle and shiver. That afraid of him? After carrying you to the bridge, he’d just set you on the arm of his throne and ignored you until your shivering got on his nerves and he’d dug out a cleaning rag to drape over you. “Can I go home?” That little voice makes him pause in reaching for his datapad. “To Starscream?”

• Megatron turns to stare at you and it’s a force of will to not drag the blanket up over your head and hide. Because this one doesn’t like you, your head is pounding, and you just want to curl up against Star, hear him complain about this guy as his servos trace your spine. “He’s trained you well, hasn’t he?” He growls at you and that low, rumbling voice is neutral. The only reason you’re not having a nervous breakdown is because Soundwave is right there diligently working on a console. Or pretending to be. Every time Megatron looks away, he turns to check on you, watching over you as worry over Star eats at you. Knowing he’ll be fine, he was sent to the medbay, but still. He was bleeding energon.

• Watching you wilt in your blanket, Soundwave’s servos flex into fists. But there’s nothing he can do. You’re fine for now while Megatron toys with you and, through you, Starscream. As long as the warlord is certain he can use you to force obedience from the Seeker, you’re valuable to him. Safe. He’s not sure what might happen if Megatron realizes you’re not just a little pet to them, though. Can’t imagine that Megatron will be exactly thrilled if he figures it out. Your own thoughts are a chaotic mess of fear and worry that’s twisting about his own spark. Hurting to go comfort you, touch you, but worried about giving away how much to you mean to him and Starscream. “Does it shake like that all the time?” Megatron mutters, optics narrowing.

• “Cold,” Soundwave replies, head turning to look at the human. Noticing the way you look to him in return, expression almost pleading, Megatron isn’t certain what to make of any of it. Can’t figure out the appeal of this little thing or why it was worth all the trouble. Grumbling, he reaches a servo to touch the top of your head, surprised at how soft your hair is. And you twitch away, a tiny, warm hand lifting to lay on his servo as you stare up at him with wide eyes. Clearly afraid, but also clearly used to Cybertronians. That little hand pushes at him without effect, resisting him as you frown at him. Not so afraid, then. Oddly pleased that you have some fight as you realize you can’t move his servo and instead just scoot away from him and look over at Soundwave. Ignoring him completely.

• Baring his denta as Hook shoves him down flat again, Starscream struggles to roll onto his side and get off the berth, out of medbay. He’s already called the medic every nasty thing he could think of trying to get thrown out. That had only backfired when he’d apparently called in Vortex to help hold him down. The smaller mech grinning down at him as he fights their hands. All that matters is getting to you, he’s not hurt that badly he’s sure. He’s had worse. “Frag this,” Hook snarls at him and rears back, fist connecting squarely with his face as his head snaps back. And he’s out.

Previous

Next

[fuctacles]

ST events tumblr community

<< fifteen | 😺 | seventeen >>

When Steph's body heat leaves his lap, Eddie can suddenly feel how unpleasant his underwear has became. He picks at the fabric around his thighs, inspecting damage, and is grateful that he hasn't through soaked to his sweatpants. Yet. 

"Do you need something to change into? You can take a shower, too," Steph offers, looking him over without shame while she's adjusting her hair. 

Eddie manages a glance in her direction. On one hand, he lives in the same building, but on another, he'd prefer to be as inconspicuous as possible. 

"I think Wayne would be suspicious if I took a shower here," he huffs after a quick calculation.

"Oh. Is he... not supposed to know?" she asks, frowning but not looking at him. Eddie frowns right back. 

"Uh, no. I just don't want to hear any more teasing from him. He's been very, uh... supportive of the idea."

"Really?" 

"Yeah, he's been pushing me to make a move from the start. Actually..." He hums, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Do you think he offered my help with the cats on purpose?" 

She lets out a surprised laugh. 

"Maybe. Like an evil mastermind!"

"And he's been planting seeds all along! Talking about you all the time!" 

Steph makes a phone sign with her fingers and lowers her voice. "Son, there's this nice lady in my complex, great hair, totally single. Anyway, how is school?"

They laugh at that, though the idea isn't completely implausible. 

"Well, I have the parent's blessing for once, I guess," she chuckles wistfully. "For now, at least."

"What, you think he'd change his mind?" Eddie asks, for a moment ignoring the mess around his dick to turn towards her. 

"A lot of people do." Steph shrugs, like it's not a huge deal. 

"You mean because you're trans?" Eddie's brows furrow further. "I don't think he cares. Well, he does, but in a protective way."

"He knows?" Her eyes go wide and she tenses up, so Eddie quickly puts a hand on her arm to placate her. 

"Or he has a strong suspicion! He's been very ominous about it, but if he's been to your place and saw the same photos I did, well..." He rubs his thumb over her elbow. "And you two talk a lot. Wayne might not share much himself, but he's a good listener. He's good at picking up stuff."

Steph breathes deeply. 

"And you think he's fine with that?" she looks for confirmation.

They might have not talked about it, but Eddie knows his uncle quite well, and the way he spoke of his favorite neighbor was always genuine and friendly. 

"Yes," he says with conviction. "His biggest worry seems to be how the world has been treating you." 

She doesn't say anything, just seeks out his hand as she turns away, hair falling over her eyes so he wouldn't see the emotions in them. 

"Your uncle is a treasure," she says, gripping his hand for comfort. He'd love to offer her a hug instead, but he'd prefer to do it a little more cleaned up. 

"Yeah, I got lucky with him," he agrees, squeezing her hand back. "Now, uh, sorry to kill the moment, but you've mentioned I could borrow something to wear? Like clean underwear, perhaps?" He smiles hopefully, batting his eyelashes at her. 

She shakes her head with a smile.

"Sure. Let's go." She pulls him up by their joined hands, and when she doesn't let go and guides him towards her room, his stomach swoops. It's been a while since a girl led him to her bedroom like that.

He's instructed to close his eyes as she rummages through the panty drawer, looking for something suitable. 

"I hope you don't mind the color. These are relatively new, since I only wear boxers on lazy or bad days."

Sensing she's in front of him now, Eddie opens his eyes and is presented with a light pink tartan fabric. He chuckles. 

"Pink is the new black, right?" he says as he takes the boxers. "Want to use the bathroom first?" he asks, since he's a gentleman and a guest in Steph's home.

She shakes her head. 

"I'm good, don't worry about it."

Eddie frowns.

"Are you sure? I can—"

"Eddie," she interrupts him and he immediately closes his mouth. Steph's looking to his left and her cheeks are tinged pink so he turns up his ears to maximum hearing. "I don't... come like that anymore. My body doesn't produce it anymore, sometimes I won't even get it fully hard. A lot of things are... different," she makes a face as she confesses. Again, like it's a bad thing. 

"Well, I'm excited to learn. Especially after today."

He wiggles his eyebrows as she looks at him again, and she huffs in amusement, pushing him out of the bedroom.  

"Go clean up, you dork."

Once his dick is clean and his boxers are all wet from washing them in the sink, Eddie inspects his ass. The mirror is big enough that if he steps back, he can see all the way down to his thighs. He turns this way and that, lifts his shirt up.

"I think I'm digging the pink!" he yells through the bathroom door, before pulling his sweats back on. After putting his underwear on the radiator to dry, he walks back out to join Steph on the couch. They still have beers to finish. 

"Can I see it?" she asks before he can sit back down. 

"Huh?"

"The boxers." Her eyes shine in the glow of the TV.

"Uh, yeah." Eddie doesn't know why he's suddenly feeling this shy, after they've just climaxed on each other's laps, humping like animals. He toys with the hem of his sweats, feeling the heavy weight of Steph's gaze on his hands, before he digs his thumbs in and slides them down, the elastic catching on his soft dick. 

"It does suit you."

When he looks at her, her hungry eyes are trained on the pink boxers and his exposed thighs. 

"Turn around."

Eddie does so without question, feeling only slightly awkward as the sweats slide down to his ankles. 

"Nice ass," she compliments, and he feels his cheeks flush. It's not something he hears often.

"You don't think it's flat an pathetic?" he asks half-jokingly.

She hums thoughtfully. 

"Hm, I don't know. Bend down for me? Pull your sweats back up."

Eddie's dick twitches pathetically even though it won't be getting back up anytime soon. He bends in half, feeling exposed like never before despite wearing underwear, and slowly slides his pants back up, covering the goods. As he turns back to face her, Steph reaches out to tug him closer, hands sliding from his waist to cup his ass. 

"I think you have a nice, round handful," she smiles up at him. "It looks better in these than the jeans."

"Thank you," he says, quiet and meek like he's not used to. Maybe she could take care of him too, maybe they could take care of each other. 

"Thank you. For letting me see it," she says, smile wide. "And touch it." Her fingers dip into the meat of his ass, making his hips sway forward. She pulls him onto her lap this time and slots their mouths together, making out in the dim living room as the TV plays on in the background, forgotten. 

That night, he leaves the place later than usual, walking down the stairs of the empty building feeling like he's living outside of the narrative. Everyone else is sleeping in their own beds, and he walks from one flat to another like he can't find his place in the world. He's renting one in Indianapolis, too.

Eddie suddenly feels smaller than he's felt in a long time. Tiny in the world full of people, minuscule in the distance between Hawkins and Indy. The life he thought he's grabbed on to, seems distant and surreal. Like this little town is a black hole of time and space that he's fallen into yet again after escaping it for college. 

When he walks into the empty apartment, Wayne is snoring behind the closed doors of his bedroom. Knowing that going to bed will only bring more weird feelings, Eddie lights a cigarette on the balcony and spends an hour inside a book, reading and exploring alien worlds until his eyelids are heavier than his thoughts. 

@wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94 @tartarusknight  @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman @madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system @hiei-harringtonmunson @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @dreamercec @manliest-of-muppets @bookbinderbitch @marklee-blackmore  @icecat @rootbeerandmusic @mollymawkwrites @milojames16 @ellietheasexylibrarian

ko-fi | Steddie masterpost

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Mostro Lounge]

Jade: …I see. I've grasped the information you've just brought me. I shall inform Azul about it immediately.

Jamil: Seriously. Why'd I have to be the one stuck coming all the way to the Mostro Lounge to deliver the Headmage's message?

Jade: Heh, my sincerest apologies. I'm afraid our esteemed manager likes to scold us if we are on our phones during work.

Jamil: And what's that manager of yours doing, anyway? If I could've just been able to get in contact with him, I wouldn't have had to come all the way here.

Jade: He is conducting business in the VIP Room. I'm sure he's turned off his phone so as to not be rude to his guest.

Jade: Although, I suppose it's a shame. I rather would have had you come tomorrow instead of today, Jamil-san.

Jamil: Tomorrow? Is there something going on tomorrow? …No, nevermind. Forget I asked.

Jade: ACTUALLY, YOU SEE! It is our birthday tomorrow.

Jamil: Whew. I was a little worried as to what it could've been… But yeah, I guess it is your guys' birthday tomorrow.

Jamil: Good thing I came today, then.

Jamil: Who knows what'd you two'd be bugging me about if I actually came on the day of.

Jade: I would never bug you… I would have been content with a simple birthday greeting.

Jamil: Yeah, sure. Though I'm pretty sure your brother wouldn't let me slide with just a few words.

Jamil: Maybe I should prepare something ahead of time before things get dicey… Alright then, I'll be heading back now.

Jamil: Thanks for passing on the message to Azul. And… Have a good birthday.

Jade: Of course, thank you very much.

Jade: We look forward to serving you again. Please return home safely.

Jade: Phew, it seems all the customers have finally left. Today was yet another successfully busy day.

Jade: Now then, everyone, I leave cleaning of the lounge to you all. I'll go take stock of inventory…

[Octavinelle Student A appears]

Jade: Oh? I'm pretty sure your duty station was in the kitchen was it not? You should be starting to close everything down, why are you here in the lounge?

Jade: Floyd should be in the kitchen today, as well. Don't come to me if you've made him ang... [Octavinelle Student A speaks] Eh? Floyd got bored and left?

Jade: Well then, I suppose I'll head towards the kitchen. I'll leave it to all of you to finish cleaning the lounge.

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

[Floyd speaks]

Jade: Ah, Floyd. Because you left as you did, the kitchen was in such disarray.

[Floyd speaks]

Jade: …Oh my, you saw through me immediately.

Jade: Everyone finished their tasks quite efficiently after I kindly spoke with them.

[Floyd speaks]

Jade: Heh, it seems I'll be able to take my time to enjoy my little hobbies today. I'll have to be quick with my shower.

Jade: Now…

Jade: What should I start with tonight?

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

Jade: First, I'll check up on my terrariums… Ah no, the moss is starting to dry out.

Jade: I should water it well. I'll pour some water into the spray bottle, and…

[spray, spray]

Jade: …This looks fine enough. The moss is looking good and moist.

Jade: It looks almost completely different from when it was dried up… Fufu, I don't think I could ever get tired of observing moss like this.

Jade: …......

Jade: …AH, WH-WHAT'S THIS!?

Jade: The rock that I had been carefully observing for so long… It's covered in some green substance that I'm sure wasn't there this morning!

Jade: This color, this shape…!! It looks very similar to what I saw on page 487 of my Moss Encyclopedia.

[slams book open]

Jade: "When dry, the fronds become as spindly as thread; when moist, they take on a unique appearance."

Jade: "This moss is exceedingly rare, and as such the exact location and environment most suitable for growth is not well known."

Jade: Aah… As I expected…! It was absolutely worth observing this flora, without knowing if it was even a type of moss or not.

Jade: Look here, Floyd! I've obtained a rare species of moss!

[Floyd flips a page in his book]

Jade: He's… Reading, I see. It is a shame that I cannot share this exciting occasion with him, but I suppose I shouldn't press it today.

Jade: It would truly be regrettable if I brought about his ire and he damaged this rare specimen in the process.

Jade: Oh yes, I cannot just leave it like this. I should take a picture and jot down its information in my notebook!

Jade: Ah, right, I suppose I should fill this out while I am at my desk, as well.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Jade: Quality of life improvements, hm… I think I would wish for a more suitable environment to raise my terrariums.

Jade: Just because a place is suitable for humans to live in, that does not mean that plants or moss will thrive in the same way.

Jade: I've had plants wither away in the shade without knowing that they require a location bathed in sunlight…

Jade: I've even had mushrooms grow from the moss simply because the temperature and humidity were too high…

Jade: That incident was the absolute worst.

Jade: When I returned to my room, the mushroom spores had spread so fervently that the terrarium was completely unsalvageable…

Jade: The cause of that disaster was painfully apparent. It was all due to the fact that I could not control the temperature, humidity, nor the necessary daylight in my room.

Jade: In order to resolve such issues, it would be best to ensure everyone has their own room, regardless of year…

Jade: Or, at the very least, I'd like it if we could partition the rooms completely.

Jade: If only because there was one time that I had purchased a large humidifier, but Floyd broke it, saying he hated how muggy it made the room.

Jade: If we were able to have our individual spaces, then I could install a humidifier, a heater, or even add more windows to regulate natural light… AH!

Jade: Right, Octavinelle is located underwater, so we would also have to take into account levels of salt in the air.

Jade: I'll put "The buildings should be reinforced to be resistant to salt pollution." …Or perhaps I should just request that the whole dormitory be protected by a stronger layer of magic…

Jade: …Hm, there isn't much space to write my response on this survey. I even had to fully utilize the reverse side of the paper.

Jade: If I were able to provide a better environment for the moss to thrive in, then we should be able to increase their number and spread them even further. Heh, and thus my dreams are spread further.

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

Jade: …..

[Jade's eyes snap open]

Jade: It seems I've awoken before my alarm today, as well.

Jade: I'm sure Floyd won't wake for some time, so I should go and freshen up while I can.

[Octavinelle Dorm – Washroom]

Jade: It stays unruly even if I wet it… Haah, it seems my bedhead today is a stubborn foe.

Jade: I'll leave fixing my hair until the end, so for now, I should focus on my makeup routine.

Jade: The most important thing to take into account is protecting my skin from the sun. Sunscreen is to be applied evenly everywhere… Ah, yes, and I cannot forget my ears, either.

Jade: After that, I'll do my eye makeup, and apply a lip balm with further sunscreen protection…

Jade: Now, we get down to this unruly hair… I'll turn on the hair iron…

Jade: I'll grab the end of the length by my ear and move the flat iron down towards my fingertips while trying to give it a light curl.

Jade: …

Jade: …It came out too straight.

Jade: I thought I had twisted the end properly… I suppose I did not curl it enough. I'll try again…

Jade: …This time the strands are too springy, I must have added too much of a curl.

Jade: It seems my opponent is a fierce one this morning… How fascinating. I shall meet them head on.

Jade: After all, making a proper "J" is a difficult task… One that I find extremely worthwhile!

[Octavinelle Dorm – Jade's Room]

Jade: After fixing my hair, next is my usual… Wonderful, everything has come out perfectly.

Jade: Not a single wrinkle to be found. Ahh… I do love to see freshly ironed shirts in the morning.

Jade: I can feel my own mood slowly get better with each wrinkle smoothed out of my clothes.

Jade: Now, I just need to iron my handkerchief.

Jade: A black handkerchief, without any embroideries. A gentleman's elegance.

Jade: Now then, it is still rather early… I should head towards the dormitory lounge and enjoy a cup of tea by myself.

Jade: It might be nice to try some of the tea leaves that I've received recently today. After all, it is my birthday.

[Main Street]

Jade: Good morning, Jamil-san. What a coincidence, running into you in a place like this.

Jamil: How is it a coincidence? We're sophomores on our way to class, so it wouldn't be strange to meet up like this.

Jade: …

Jamil: What's with that look?

Jamil: Yeah, I know. Happy Birthday. …You just wanted to hear me say that, right?

Jade: Heheh, thank you. Just from hearing your well wishes, I think today will end up being a wonderful day.

Requested by @thelonepearl and @sakurakudo.

[m1d-45]

room 11-13

summary: albedo is weird. no, not just weird- disgustingly strange.

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: implied stalking [him -> you] ; he is a weird creep!! brief + non described mentioned nudity (of reader, within a drawing)

-> gn reader (you/yours) in a modern au !

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

your roommate was… interesting, to say the least. not that you really had many expectations—unlike apparently everyone else, you didn’t come to university with a plethora of friends packed in your bag. you had no names to list on your housing contract, no familiar faces to look forward to when you came home, just you, a handful of cardboard boxes and a lingering sense that you’d forgotten something.

there was nothing you could pin about him. nothing in specific, no one catalyst you could point to. sure, you don’t see him often, but that isn’t inherently a bad thing. there’s nothing wrong with not going out much, there’s nothing wrong with being a quiet person when you’re living with a stranger. the common room is clean, the sink is (relatively) empty, and none of your things in the fridge have been eaten. he really, by all standards, should be a perfectly fine roommate, but…

albedo was a quiet man. you first met him when you moved in, delicately pouring exact amounts of water into a small tins over the sink without a single sound or stray droplet. he looked up, you exchanged names, and that was that. the rest of your day was spent unpacking in your room, barely hearing the click of his door closing.

you never quite asked what he was doing that first day, but you could put two and two together. he had a habit of leaving pencils or erasers or other supplies on the coffee table, and you often ran into him when he came out of his room to fetch them. you’re not quite sure how you never see him in the living room when you never told him your schedule, but… well, whatever. it didn’t take a genius to know that the guy with charcoal smears across his hands was an artist. and, if you’d somehow missed those, you sometimes ran into half-used palette in the fridge, beads of paint in a myriad of colors sealed neatly in plastic containers, changing every time you checked.

you weren’t sure why they were always there, as you’d definitely seen one when he was in the dorm, but… well, it’s not really your business, is it? maybe he’s busy, maybe he doesn’t want to paint, maybe he’s taking a nap, who cares. you grab what you need and go back to your room; there’s more important things to worry about than a stranger’s hobbies. honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about him. you could hardly claim to know someone you never saw.

well, except when you did see him.

you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as you came back from your chemistry lab, not minding the usual palette of paint beside it. also as usual, you heard his door open as he remembered some random item, not minding the sound of his footsteps as you receded into your own room-

“wait! ah- please…”

you forgotten what his voice sounded like. it’s mostly out of shock, not recognition, that you turn around, seeing him lingering in the entrance to his half of the dorm. his hair is loose around his shoulders, catching the light from the window and glowing gold. his apron is stained with a rainbow of paint, matching the perpetual lines across his hands, and he seems a bit too nervous to be talking with someone he’s been living with for a few months now.

“…i couldn’t make it to the lab today,” he starts, words measured and not at all like his original call, practiced instead of panicked. “could i borrow your notes?”

…you’re in the same chemistry class? you’d never noticed. then again, you’re not sure you could pick him out of a crowd—it’s not like you two were exactly close… but giving him your data was honestly a non-issue. normally you wouldn’t think twice about it, except if he was in your lab section then he should know the rules about missing them.

“you’re going to have to retake the lab anyway, aren’t you? my report won’t help you at all.”

he blinks, like he’d forgotten that fact, and you half hope that’ll be the end of it. you still have your own work to get to, after all.

“still… it would give me something to reference, so when i do it i’ll know if my results are reasonable.” his brows are drawn, genuinely worried, crystal blue carrying a surprising amount of emotion despite the careful cadence of his words. “i’d greatly appreciate your assistance on this matter… i don’t have a reliable way to contact anyone else in the class.”

it only takes you a few moments to weigh the pros and cons. at worst, your partner can back you up if he tries to steal your work. at best, nothing happens and you’ve earned a bit of goodwill.

you shrug, taking off your bag and setting it on the counter, unzipping the main pocket and digging for your lab manual. you find it and flip to today’s lab, mentally wondering what an artist would think of the irritated scribbles down the side of the page. whatever the case, you hold it out toward the hallway he was before, only to find him barely a foot away. he’s stood over your shoulder, letting your manual bump into his chest without a flinch, without an ounce of the worry from before.

without an ounce of anything at all, really. his face is flat, empty, just staring down at the words in front of him without seeming to read them at all.

“…sorry,” you start, “i didn’t hear you-”

“don’t be sorry.” with a blink, he’s back, taking the manual with a gentle smile. “thank you for your help. i’ll return it by tonight.”

“…yeah, take your time.”

you’re not going to question what or why whatever happened did. it’s.. just easier if you don’t. you grab your bag and go to your room, focused on anything else.

you don’t find it in the common area, on the coffee table or by the sink or in any reasonable area. he doesn’t knock on your door to return it. no, instead, you trip over it the next day as you leave your room, squinting in the dark to see it laying on the carpet, a note taped to the front.

yeah, you’re not reading that. not now, at least. you’re certain albedo is a nice guy, if socially awkward, but… you can give him the benefit of the doubt later. you shove the note in a drawer and forget about it, going to class. if you just ignore it, you won’t have to deal with it.

it must not have been anything important, because he doesn’t ever bring it up again. it’s almost as if nothing happened. there’s a new pencil on the common room whenever you walk by, he ducks his head and smiles sheepishly when grabbing it, and nothing is new. you try to look for him in the lab, if only to be courteous, but never find him. it’s not a big class… but whatever, you’re not too familiar with his face anyway. after a week or two, you stop trying.

it’s wishful thinking, really.

you have to do a double take when opening the fridge one day, the paint on the palette looking, from the corner of your eye, like a human hand. it’s just skin-toned paints, delicately mixed into a color that somewhat looks like yours.. by the looks of it, he must have fussed with the tint for a while. normally there’s only small bubbles of paint, but this is excessively fine refinement.. he must just be a perfectionist.

you can’t leave your room without running into him. not just like before, with brief intersections as he grabs what he’s forgotten, but actual interactions. he sits on the couch, drawing in a small notebook, asking you about your classes like he’s not supposed to be in his own classes. sure, he could be taking some online, but it’s like he never leaves the dorm.

he asks as usual, one day, what class you’re going to. when you finally gather your courage and ask why he himself isn’t going to the lab, he startles, like he’d forgotten he was attending. there were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t going—maybe he was in a different section of the class, or he had a car and had reduced travel time, or quite literally anything other than silence. but he sat there, staring at you like you were the one who had mixed up your schedule, with the same painfully empty look as before.

you left soon after that.

if asked to describe albedo in three words or less, you’d fumble for a few moments before landing on “fine, but weird.” if asked to do so with any other level of detail, you’d probably end up saying the exact same thing.

and that’s fine. you didn’t really expect to become best friends with your roommate. but for archons’ sake, he’s just so… uncanny.

you’ve never seen any other food in the fridge but yours. you cannot remember ever seeing or hearing him leave or enter the dorm, or ever remember not seeing some sign of him being there. his door was perpetually closed, the faint sound of scratching coming from behind it, and he’d just… freeze at random. like he recedes into himself, leaving a hollow husk until he returns, eyes left as flat disks set into an unfeeling face. there’s nothing inherently wrong with not showing many expressions, but whatever he’s got going on is far more concerning than that.

so really, who could blame you for being curious? his sketchbook is just there, laying open on the table, only partially masked by the small bag of supplies next to it. the door to the bathroom is closed, you really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this, but it’s not like he even bothered to close it.

still, it’s wrong.

still, having something solid to point to could really help if you ever need to make a complaint to an RA.

oh archons, this is such a bad idea.

before you can convince yourself not to, you walk over and sit in his usual place on the couch, picking up his sketchbook and gritting your teeth through the fact that there’s no way this is morally justified.

the current spread is plain. it’s entirely in pencil, repeated iterations of different kinds of jewelry. rings, with ornate spirals and diamonds along the sides, leading into a gem of many different cuts. some simple stud earrings, some hoops, a necklace draped around a half-drawn bust, the chain sketched to look like blooming flowers strung together. there’s some notes in another script, but other than that, it’s entirely normal. there’s nothing weird about a guy that draws bracelets in his spare time. but your mind itches to find a justification, searching for proof, and you’re already in too deep. despite your better judgement, you turn the page, doing your best not to drop it when you do.

it’s you.

you, at least six times on two pages alone. smiling, waving, fixing your hair, by the seven you feel faintly sick, fingers digging into the pages as you try to rationalize what you’re seeing.

it could just be a one off. maybe you have a particularly interesting face to draw? except the next page is the same, and so is the next, and you flip through them all with the edge of your thumb and it’s all you.

all of it. every single page that has ink on it has your face. from the very front to the very back, with only a page or two of white left, and it’s clear that the jewelry was an intentional decoy. there’s a spread dedicated to just your hands, one to various outfits he’s seen you in, one- archons, one in various stages of undress, barely granting you the dignity of keeping them from the waist up. the worst part, really, is how accurate they are, clear proof of just how much time he’s spent staring at you.

you recognize his voice now, quiet and measured as he calls your name. that could just be your heart in your ears, though.

he has that same blank expression again, standing in the doorway, looking between you and the book. you’re certain he can see the paled fingertips of your grip on the cover. “do… do you not like them?”

“…what?”

he settles back into himself, sad, shoulders slumping and eyes downturned. “they’re just practices, i promise. the actual painting looks much better…”

bile threatens the back of your throat. “the painting?”

“yes, the painting. the one i mentioned in my note…”

…the note. his note. the one you didn’t read. the one he gave you after a grand total of one significant interactions, before which you all but considered him a ghost. and he decided that making a painting of you was a normal thing to do?

“…it makes sense you forgot it. i can’t imagine i’ve ever come close to properly capturing your beauty… it doesn't matter the medium, i never seem to get it right...”

he crosses his arms, picking idly at his lips with one hand, like he’s discussing a particularly annoying problem on his homework and not the fact that he has drawings of you topless. after a few moments of mumbling, he shakes his head. “i’ll do better. i promise i will. one day i'll draw something that finds even a fraction of your perfection.”

you don’t care. all you want is to get out of here, to lock your doors and try not to call the cops while he’s in earshot. “it’s fine, albedo”

the lie is a poison that seems to sting him upon arrival, a ripple of shock crossing his impassive expression. “it's not fine, not at all. how can i call myself an artist if i fail to impress my muse? please, give me time, i promise i can do better-”

“it’s fine,” you repeat, setting the sketchbook down and realizing with another stab of disgust that he’s written your name on the front cover. you stand, hands buzzing with the echo of what you’ve witnessed, not caring for the crestfallen look on his face. “…you’re a talented artist,” you grit out.

and you’re going to be sick.

[xiao-come-home]

currently suffering pre-period cramps so have this (pre?)period hc with boothill 😔✌️ lets suffer together

Thinking about Boothill who would take you to bed bridal style and offer you massage (he's horrible at it and massages your shoulders instead of lower back), and then tell you funny stories he's come across or "funny" jokes (they aren't funny, but so bad they make you laugh 😭), so you pay less attention to your pain.

Thinking about Boothill who starts beef with someone that took your favorite menstrual products inside the store and THEN with the store employee AND THEN with the store manager. Probably chokes somebody at some point, takes the products and goes to checkout like nothing happened.

Thinking about Boothill who would whine and moan along with you when you feel fussy. He holds you tightly against his chest, wearing a thick, colorful robe - and when you whine into him and hide your face in his neck, he throws his head back and playfully whines louder, only to gently kiss you on the forehead and rub your back reassuringly when you groan at his "response."

Listen. Boothill can relieve your pain in many ways, also in that way, if you're up for it. He's not scared of blood, and.. I mean, he can detach himself to clean it thoroughly.

But if it's too painful - Roger that! Boothill can run you a bath, robe you, prepare your products, and also probably run with a speed of sound for your favorite snacks when you're relaxing in the water.

"Check this out, cutie!" Boothill shouts, kicking the door open, "got ya favorite cookies and chocolate!" He rustles the bags happily, smirking at you, "actually, I managed to get the last ones just for ya, beautiful." (He took the last pack of cookies from a child in the sweets aisle and left them crying 😭 it's starting to become a habit..)

Talking too much? No worries, Boothill will stop bothering you for a while and let you rest against him, cuddling you and giving you kisses. He'll play with your hair when you two watch a movie together. He'll comfort you if you feel moody, and can warm your tummy up with his hands - he didn't just get that fancy warming module for nothing!

[mooshy333]

Oop- the men are fighting 😱 🔥

I wanted to draw Mylo and Claggor in my design thoughts and style in general, so this isn't a specific AU art or anything like that. I didn't want to copy Jayce, so I tried my best with Claggors designed hammer he would use in battle and make it more of something Claggor would have made. And as it does have Hextech from wherever (idk yet) it doesn't function like Jayce’s, it's a power hammer >:), and OMG. Mylo was so difficult at first because of his style, sneakiness, and stealth, as well as his speed. And it took a while to come up with the perfect main weapon he would use that would fit his character, that didn't match up with anyone else, like a pistol gun would have been ideal, but the fact it makes me think of Jinx so it wasn't the right one, I wanted to give him a main weapon that would make me think of him and his character alone. So eventually I came up with the idea of a whip, and I felt it was perfect for him. So he got some brass-chained whips, one for each hand. I also just had the big main fight between Jinx and Vi in my brain and wanted to see if it was flopped :) I would love to honestly see a fight scene between the two— or any of them fighting and kicking a$$. I also hope that some of y'all will get the reference of the meme I added to make it less angsty and depressing war vibes 😂

Also, personal art message: I FINALLY FOUND MY ARTSTYLE I TRULY LOVE!! for the first time in a while, I approached this drawing in a completely different way, and I'm really pleased with how it turned out. I decided to let go and enjoy the process. Let me explain: I sketch all the time in my sketchbook outside of digital, and I usually allow myself to be free with it, not worrying about how good or perfect it has to be. However, for over a year now, I've been very strict with just my digital art, especially concerning the line work. I always felt the pressure to make the lines straight and as “perfect” as possible, which turned the creative process into more of a chore than something I truly enjoyed.

Typically, I would sketch, then clean it up before moving on to another layer for the lining, repeating this a few times just to nail the details. But with this drawing, after my initial sketch, I decided to loosen up during the lining phase. Instead of trying to achieve precision, I opted for a freer approach, using a darker shade of black to outline, almost as if I were sketching again. I also realized that relying on the “bucket tool” in the app I use was not the best idea; while it’s quick, it often left me with subpar results. So, I colored everything by hand instead, finding it not only faster but also much more effective. As I colored, I layered additional colors for highlights, details, and shadows, which helped maintain my mental ease throughout the process.

In short, make sure you enjoy your work, but don’t exhaust yourself striving for perfection, as it’s ultimately unattainable. I realize it’s perfectly fine to be loose and a little messy! Whatever your style is, it is unique no matter what. 🥰

[sammylkcho]

*fidgets in place. Kicks rock*

Razzle&DazzlexGn!Reader? 🥺 or Boxten if you don't want to write rnd *looks around nonchalantly*

oh my god, i don't know why but your request filled my head with thousands of super sweet reader and R&D scenarios

and don’t worry! I tried to make it as fluffy and romantic as possible (in a healthy way, of course)

Warnings/Notes: first fic about dandys world yay, fluff, romantic, established relationship, reader with gender neutral

After spending a good while in the elevator extracting ichor from the machines, you felt your hands and feet completely sore and numb. All the adrenaline that had kept you alert had faded away, and now you were fully aware of the pain that invaded every part of your body.

If it were possible, your hands would be calloused by now. Instead, a slight tremor ran through your fingers, still covered in dried ichor that you'd forgotten to clean off while working.

You managed to reach one of the few rooms that hadn’t yet been invaded by the twisteds, a place of rest for the few toons still exploring the floors and continuing with the extraction. With tired eyes, you looked around the room until a familiar figure caught your attention. You immediately recognized the two heads (or masks) and the red scarf around their neck. Your eyes lit up in recognition: your duo and beloved partner.

"Razzle, Dazzle!" you exclaimed, waving excitedly as they turned to see who was calling them.

"Oh! Y/N" Razzle called to you with the same joy you felt, while Dazzle also said your name in a soft but sweet tone. Both looked genuinely happy to see you.

They opened their arms, wrapping you in a hug as soon as you reached them. The warmth of their embrace was comforting, and any negative thoughts seemed to dissipate in their company.

"How was it out there?" Razzle asked. "You’re alright.. aren’t you?" added Dazzle a few seconds later, in his calm tone to avoid overwhelming you.

You buried your face into the curve of their necks, savoring the soft texture of the scarf they shared. You made a small sound of negation before replying.

"It went well, though I’m a bit tired right now. And yeah, I’m okay… just a bit covered in ichor" you responded to both questions, letting the hug envelop you.

You felt the rhythmic strokes of Razzle’s white hand (on the right side, you assumed) and the slow pats of Dazzle’s black hand (on the left side).

"We could help you next time you go; you know you have us here to help" Razzle said.

"Mmh… I could extract the machines, so you don’t get so tired" added Dazzle.

A slight warmth colored your cheeks at their words. Normally, you wouldn’t ask for their help since they ended up tired too, but you always appreciated those supportive and encouraging comments they gave you.

A small squeal of excitement and nervousness escaped you involuntarily, and you quickly tried to hide even further into the scarf.

"Thanks guys" you whispered after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

You thought they might simply continue talking normally or stay in silence in each other’s company until you suddenly heard an energetic "mwa" followed by a softer "mwa" leaving you feeling both shaky and nervous.

"Anything for our beloved partner!" "We wouldn’t want to see you so tired and doing everything on your own..."

Their words filled you with a comforting warmth that made your heart race. They were too sweet.

You lifted your head, full of determination, noticing Dazzle’s slight smile and Razzle’s bright grin, both filled with deep love and affection.

You gave each of them a kiss on their cheeks, leaning on their shoulders as you smiled warmly at both.

They were the sun that brightened your days, and you were their burning flame that never seemed to go out, no matter how strong the wind.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Your Beanies are My Babies, too

Steven Grant x Reader (Implied Marc & Jake x Reader)

TW/CW: None!

Summary:

Steven makes sure you know nothing is too silly or childish for him if it makes you happy.

A/N: This came to me because unpacking some things I found the few Beanie Babies I have! Including my sweet lil froggy I thought my sister stole :')

You sighed as you closed the little plastic tote, your shoulders sagging with guilt as you prepared to stuff the container on the top shelf in the back of the closet.

"What's wrong, love?" Steven asked curiously as he carefully placed your clothes in the freshly emptied drawers in the dresser.

You had decided to make everything more official in your relationship by moving in together. Steven's place was bigger than yours, and with some TLC and cleaning, it was plenty big for your stuff as well.

"Oh, it's... it's nothing, don't worry about it." You reply, your smile strained and not quite reaching your eyes. He noticed, but didn't say anything.

Instead, he nodded and smiled back, his dark eyes twinkling, "Right, then. Let's stop and make lunch, yeah? Been at this all morning!"

Steven set the empty cardboard box atop the dresser, and wiped his hands dramatically free of imaginary dust, "You hungry?"

Your smile widened just a bit, genuine mirth taking hold at the thought of one of his delicious veggie wraps. "I'm starving."

He didn't mean to be nosey. He really, really, truly, absolutely didn't!

It's just that you looked so... forlorn when you looked inside the tote. Steven got curious and merely wanted to see what had upset you so.

What he didn't anticipate, was rather cute, small, and well-loved toys! "Beanie Babies"; Marc had told him. "But why keep them in a tote?"

"I d'nno." Steven mumbled softly. "Bad memories? Gifts from a dead relative?"

Jake spoke up. "Well, whatever the case, maybe we should put them back--"

"Oooh! Look at this one! It's a hippo!" Steven cooed at the cute, purple little toy. "This one is called "Happy the Hippo"... And his birthday is..." He said as he read the colorful heart-shaped tag.

"Steven?" Your voice barked.

He jumped and dropped the little toy, his face lighting with a scarlet hue at being caught snooping.

"I--I--" He stammered.

"Wh-why are you..." You paled, beginning to feel a surge of panic sweep through you. The last time this happened....

"Hey, hey! It's okay." Steven said, quickly climbing to his feet to rush over to you. He rubbed your arms up and down as you pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"Please don't be mad..." You say, biting back a soft sob.

"M... Mad?" He blinked, "Why on earth would I be mad at you? I'm the one who went through your things without permission!"

You look into his eyes; not picking up on a single hint of malice or mockery there, all you could see was... concern and sympathy?

"My--my B-Beanie Babies..." You blubber softly, looking over to the tote he'd been looking into.

"Y-yeah? What about them?" He asked, trying to follow your train of thought.

"My... My exes, they..." You sniffle. "They said they were stupid. That they were stupid little kid toys and as an adult I shouldn't have them..."

You swallow, "M-my ex boyfriend before you... He tried to throw them away because he said they were dumb... I've had most of them since I was little. I've taken good care of them, and..."

"Oh, love..." He breathed. "Did you think I'd have a problem with your collection? Is that why you're so scared?"

"I.... Yeah."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed... I have quite the collection myself." Steven giggled, looking around at his stacks of books, museum paraphernalia, bits and baubles... "Why would you think I'd have a problem with your Beanie Babies?"

"I... Everyone says they're a stupid hobby, that they're for kids--" You say hastily, as if trying to defend those that insulted something so precious to you. And that hurt him.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead affectionately, "Sweetheart, they're adorable. I didn't have Beanie Babies growing up. Mum was... Well. Things like that were for "girls"..."

"So you... Like them?" You ask hopefully.

"I love them!" He chirped cheerfully. "Why don't we get them out of that dreary old tote and put them on a special little shelf? Give them a view? Maybe they could overlook the fish tank!"

You sniffle again and nod, smiling gratefully as you wipe at your cheek. "Yeah... Yeah. We... We can do that?"

"Yep!" He kissed your cheek, "Because your Babies are my Babies... They're charming and cute... Now let's clear off a shelf for them!"

You watched, your heart squeezing so sweetly in your chest as he began to precariously climb atop his desk (and almost fell) to prepare the new place for your special collection.

Why did you ever think he'd make fun of you?

[gummygowon]

bingo | park seonghwa

word count: 1.8k

genre: angst + fluff, single dad!seonghwa x reader

warnings: brief mention of hwa's ex partner not being in their daughter's life

author's note: after seeing seonghwa on that one show with kids i literally cannot get dad!teez out of my head

it's been almost a month? since you've started going out with seonghwa. he was a great guy, a little older than you and was always a gentleman to you, what more could you ask for? at this point, you were waiting for seonghwa to make it official but there was just something that was holding him back. you didn't know what it was but you trusted that with time he'll tell you.

tonight, was another date night and even after all these days you still got nervous before each one. it was no different when you arrived at seonghwa's house fiddling with the hem of your cardigan.

hesitantly, you knocked on the door to reveal a disheveled looking seonghwa. his usually slicked back hair wasn't done and a few buttons on his shirt were open.

"hi," seonghwa breathes out, a tired smile on his face.

"are you okay, hwa?" you ask almost instantly, concern taking over before you notice a tiny figure waddling up behind him. big doe eyes looking up at you from behind his legs, "oh hello!"

"yeojin, go into your room really quickly. appa will be there in a second." seonghwa softly asks, the exhaustion evident in his voice. "come in, i'm so sorry. just give me a minute, things have been...chaotic."

"oh no worries." you respond empathetically, taking note of how many toys and coloring books were scattered all over the place. so he has a child? is he divorced?

before too many questions popped into your mind, seonghwa immediately began talking as he began to pick up the scattered toys. "i'm so sorry about the mess. i had to stay at the office a little longer and then i picked up yeojin late and i just haven't had time to clean up and then our babysitter canceled last minute and now-"

"hey, hey," you interrupt before seonghwa combusts from being overwhelmed. to ease the burden, you also begin to pick up the toys around the living room after you placed a hand on his back. "it's okay. don't worry about it. there's always tomorrow seonghwa."

"i know, i know but-wait. you're not mad or disgusted?" the man stops in his tracks looking at you perplexed.

"i'm a little surprised if i'm being honest. i know taking care of a child is hard and by yourself i assume is even harder. your kid is more important than anything in the world, missing one date won't kill me hwa."

seonghwa was standing still, not a sound coming out his mouth which was beginning to freak you out. did you say the wrong thing? is seonghwa yeojin's dad or? "seonghwa?"

"sorry, i'm just a little shocked. not a lot of people are very happy when they find out they've been going out with a single dad." seonghwa lightly jokes trying to ease the tension in the air. "thank you though. it means a lot. really."

"of course," you smile at him.

a door opens to reveal a tiny yeojin peeking out from what you presumed to be her room.

"hey bubba, what's up." seonghwa asks, his voice becoming much softer.

she doesn't say much but instead pads over to the coffee table and attaches herself to her dad. "can we draw?"

"of course bubs. let appa go get the markers."

"i can get them." you say faster than seonghwa gets up to which he directs you over to one of the drawers in the living room.

upon your arrival, seonghwa has a bluey coloring book out for yeojin. crutching down to reach the table, you gasp softly at the blue dog. "is that bluey?"

yeojin nods her head shyly, a small smile appearing on her face as seonghwa looks up at you in surprise.

"ahh, i love bluey! who's your favorite character?" you ask watching yeojin point to the smaller, light colored dog.

"bingo?" yeojin nods again, her smile growing even bigger. "no way, i like her too!"

seonghwa watched the two of you converse in awe and he swears he couldn't have fallen more in love with you. it was always a gamble bringing up the fact that he had a kid to his dates and lately he's been ghosted more times than he can count. maybe that's why seonghwa took so long to talk about yeojin. although, he would never admit it, you had him wrapped your finger and he was scared to lose you.

so far though, you were taking his little "surprise" or "fun fact" about him better than he thought you would. still, he was worried what you would say when yeojin left the room. would you be mad at him? dump him on the spot? ghost him after tonight? he's never had one of his flings (?) ever meet yeojin because they all left at the mention of a kid. to say seonghwa was terrified of your reaction was a massive understatement.

"seonghwa?" you ask, pulling the dad out of his thoughts. "yeojin wants to watch bluey."

"right." he answers, gently removing yeojin from his lap as he goes to scrounge for the remote in his unusually disorganized apartment.

while seonghwa looks for the remote, you continue to converse with yeojin about bluey which was the show you ironically watched during dinner time. hey, there's actually plot and messages in the show okay?

by the time seonghwa returned, the two of you were in a deep conversation about some episode regarding bingo and bluey playing pretend with their grandad. almost immediately, yeojin eye's become glued to the screen as soon her dad puts on the kid's show leaving you and seonghwa to talk amongst each other.

"so, you know bluey?" seonghwa asks, a teasing tone to his voice.

an embarrassed laugh slips past your lips, "uh yeah, sounds silly but i watch it as background noise, you know?"

"i'm not judging," he pauses, "just surprised."

"yeah, i like the accents." you say in a panic causing seonghwa to smile, "so, um i don't mean to pry but i assume yeojin's yours?"

the smile slowly fades on his face as seonghwa feels the guilt build in his stomach. "yeah, her, uh mom isn't in the picture anymore."

"oh, i'm so sorry to hear that."

"it's fine now, it's better without her." seonghwa looks down at his hands trying to distract himself from the thoughts about the past.

"oh."

there was a beat of silence where the both of you didn't dare to look at each other, too afraid to make things weird. only the faint conversations of the tv and the sounds of the marker on paper were heard.

"look, i'm really sorry for dumping all this on you." seonghwa gestures to an oblivious yeojin. "i know you probably weren't expecting a child tonight or any of this really. i completely understand if you don't want to talk again or you need space. whatever you want, i'll do."

"it's okay,"

"i-you're not mad?" seonghwa asks in shock.

"i mean i'm not mad. i understand not bringing up a daughter on the first date. but i'm just a little disappointed you didn't tell me sooner." you confess.

"i didn't want to lose you."

"seonghwa-"

"i was trying to plan the perfect time to talk about yeojin but i just got so swamped with everything that time slipped through my fingers and you had to find out in such a shitty way."

your eyes dart towards a sleepy yeojin on seonghwa's lap at the curse word. even he jumps a little at his realization and then calms down when he realized that his baby girl was almost knocked out in his lap.

"would you have told me before we made things official?" you ask, testing the waters about how serious you could go tonight with the questions.

"yes. most definitely yes. i couldn't just ask you to be my partner and then surprise you that i have a whole child that i've been hiding from you."

interesting. so was he going to tell you about yeojin soon? was he going to make things official?

seonghwa could see the gears turning in your head at his words. "it sounds hypocritical now but trust me i really wanted you two to meet. i just-i really like you y/n."

you go quiet. processing everything he was saying. from what he was saying there was a very very high chance he wants you to be his like officially his but even if he actually wanted to make things official, he has a whole child. a child without a mother. were you really ready to take on the responsibility to be one? or anything similar to that role?

being with seonghwa meant much more than just being together and loyal to one another. being honest, you didn't mind yeojin. so far you got along great with her but a single interaction and convo won't predict the future of your relationship with her. it's a lot definitely but-

"y/n," seonghwa softly says pulling you out from your daze, "i'll be right back i'm gonna put yeojin down in her room."

you hum in response, letting your thoughts consume you once more.

your brain was beginning to ache because of how much you were thinking but one thing was for certain. you really liked seonghwa. enough that you were willing to accept everything that came with him - including yeojin.

you reminded yourself that dating seonghwa didn't mean automatically becoming a parent all of a sudden. he wasn't asking that of you. probably won't for a long time. he wants you for you. it's just a bonus you got along with yeojin so far.

there was a soft click of the door closing that made you turn your head. you look over to see seonghwa awkwardly make his way over to you, uncertainty written all over his face.

"i'm sorry for going quiet on you." you apologize, fingers toying with the hem of your cardigan once more. "i was just thinking."

a quiet laugh escapes seonghwa, "it's okay, don't worry about it. i'm sure tonight was a lot. but-"

"listen, seonghwa," oh here it comes. the "i'm so sorry, i don't think this will work out anymore". "i don't know what your plans were for us but regardless of what happened tonight, i want to be more. i know you having a whole kid might make things difficult or a little confusing but, i'm willing to try with you."

seonghwa felt his heart drop and then pick back up again when you finished talking. he didn't know what to say. he was grateful, excited, but most of all relived.

"so, how does another date this thursday night," seonghwa pauses, trying to not choke on his words, "as mine sound?"

"are you finally asking me to be your partner, park seonghwa?" you smile. it's finally happening.

"yes." seonghwa breathes out, truly terrified of your answer.

"then yes, i would love to." you answer, wrapping your arms around seonghwa's neck.

"sounds good then my love." seonghwa mumbles, his heart racing and his head buzzing from the overwhelming night but it didn't matter to him.

you were finally his.

[spicycinnabun]

There's a sugar daddy au??!!!

Also let me be greedy and request my fave 🐺 🤭🤭🤭

there is!

have some werewolf courtship 🐺❤️

Buck set the heavy bag on his dining room table. It was filled with tomatoes, carrots, eggplant and zucchini, bits of dirt still clinging to the stems and leaves. There were also plump strawberries and a bundle of thyme. The aromas were strong under Buck’s sensitive nose. 

He had discovered it outside his door and wondered if someone had accidentally delivered their groceries to the wrong address—until he saw a note peeking out between some colorful bell peppers. It had familiar handwriting.

Buck picked it up and read it.

I have more than I know what to do with. Figured you could probably find a good use for them.

- Tommy

A trio of sunflowers were hanging over the side of the bag. Buck found a vase for them and gave them some water to drink. 

Nobody had ever given him flowers before. 

And nobody was around to see him stick his face in them like a lovesick dummy wolf. 

His emotions were being goofy. He was probably making a bigger deal over this than he should’ve. 

Everything was from Tommy’s garden, though. He had planted, tended, and hand-picked it all. They were the literal fruits of his labor, and he was giving them to Buck, of all people.

What did it mean?

Buck picked up his phone, opting for something silly instead of serious. 

This is a pretty big🍆

They had established a routine of texting each other. Tommy never left him hanging; he always seemed willing to talk. Not once had Buck ever felt brushed off. Tommy was witty as hell. His sarcastic remarks were sharp, but often offset by something sweet and genuine in the next minute. 

Buck was overdoing it—he knew he was, and the Alpha would eventually get sick of him—but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so interested. 

It didn’t take long for Tommy to answer. 

Thanks. Intimidated? 

Buck laughed. Nope. I like a challenge. Can already think of a whole bunch of fun things I wanna do with it. 

He sent a photo of himself holding the eggplant, quirking an eyebrow impishly.

Evan. We’re talking about cooking, right?

Of course. What else? :)

You’re a menace.

Buck laughed again. Wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. Thank you, by the way. 

You’re welcome. If you want more, just let me know. 

Buck bit his lip. We’re still talking about vegetables, right?

Tommy didn’t immediately bubble him, and Buck worried he’d pushed too far. It was a few minutes before his phone lit up.

What else? 

So, the ball was officially in his court. 

Buck swallowed, bouncing on his feet a few times to gear himself up. (Contrary to what Chim claimed, doing that wasn’t tippy tappies.) 

Maybe I want more of you?

The lack of bubbles that time was deafening. Buck smacked his forehead, then nearly dropped his phone as it started ringing. 

Tommy was FaceTiming him.

“Oh!”

Buck hastily ran fingers through his curls and propped his phone up against the fruit bowl on the island, accepting the call.

Tommy appeared on his screen. He was in his turnouts, rows of lockers behind him. His face was sooty, his eyes tired, but he looked content to see Buck.

“Hey,” Buck said, smiling. 

“Evan.”

Something about Tommy’s soft gaze and his tone, warm and low, made Buck’s belly squirm happily. “Just got back from a call?”

“Yeah. I’m about to clean up and have some dinner.” 

Buck put his chin in his palm. “What’s on the menu?” 

Tommy gave him an unreadable look, then smiled back. “Some jerky. Probably something on Wonder Bread. Hopefully, not Freddie’s chicken salad.” 

Some of them had contracted food poisoning from that in the past, Tommy had said. Tommy’s was brief, thanks to his fast healing. Still, Buck groaned in sympathy, a near whine hitting the edge of it. “Tommy, that hurts my culinary soul.”

Tommy chuckled. “It hurts my stomach more, I promise.” He sighed. Buck wanted to press his thumb against Tommy’s cleft and kiss him through the screen. He tried to dispel the thought. “I’ll admit, I miss Bobby’s meals.”

Buck had learned that the 217’s idea of crew dinner was abysmal at best. They rarely ate together, and the only time they had somewhat healthy food was when one of the guys’ wives brought something in.

Buck wondered if Tommy would like his cooking as much as Bobby’s. He was almost as good of a chef as Bobby now, though he excelled a bit more at baking. 

“You’re wearing my clothes again.” 

Tommy’s observation pulled Buck back to the conversation quickly. 

It had become a habit for him to wear the hoodie at home. Embarrassing that Tommy had caught him.

“Yeah. It—it—it’s comfortable.” It was more than that. Buck tugged on the strings, fighting a blush and losing. He attempted more playful banter. “I don’t think I’m going to give it back. In fact, the next time I see you, I’m going to steal another.”

Did werewolves share clothes? Buck didn’t have any other furry friendships to compare this to. He was probably way out of line.

A few of his old girlfriends had liked wearing his stuff. He’d always thought it was cute seeing them dwarfed in his baggy sweaters. He was starting to understand the appeal from the other side. 

But Tommy wasn't his boyfriend, and he bet it was only okay to share within a wolf pack, and he was acting like a total clingy weirdo, and Tommy was probably super skeeved out, and—

“I don’t want it back,” Tommy said. His eyes had darkened, zeroing in on Buck. “It’s yours.”

Buck swore he could hear—feel—Tommy’s heartbeat thudding powerfully in sync with his own. He had an insane and confusing desire to drop to his knees and offer up his bite mark like the Alpha was in the room with him.

You’re mine, Buck heard.

The fire bell ringing on Tommy’s end interrupted them, and whatever spell they were under broke.

Buck straightened up. His legs felt unsteady.

“Guess dinner will have to wait.”

…Why did Buck feel like he was dinner?

“Y-yeah.” 

Tommy smirked. “Talk to you later. Be good.”

Buck made a noise.

The call ended. 

⏾

Buck went to the grocery store. He loaded his cart, checked out without looking too hard at the total, and hauled his stand mixer out of the cupboard as soon as he returned. His kitchen soon became a disaster zone.

Tommy had fed him so well when he’d been bane sick. Though he’d said all he could really do was roast, grill, and dehydrate, it had been more than enough. 

It was Buck’s turn to take care of the Alpha. Not repayment, just appreciation. It wouldn’t be as good as a fresh kill, but Buck hoped Tommy would enjoy the transformation his produce had undergone. 

And Freddie’s chicken salmonella salad could be tossed in the trash where it belonged.

Buck wanted Tommy to feel his gratitude. Buck could fill his stomach and satisfy him. Win him over. 

It could make the Alpha see Buck as a potential mate.

…That was his wolf butting in again, of course.

Buck made spiced carrot cake, thyme and honey focaccia, a massive meaty lasagna with rich tomato sauce, and a ratatouille he spent an excessive amount of time making beautifully layered. 

The last thing he popped in the oven was a batch of strawberry muffins stuffed with homemade strawberry jam. Only the center muffin he decorated with vanilla buttercream and red sprinkles. He left a note in his chicken scratch on top of the tupperware.

The special one is for you. Don’t let anyone else have it.

- Evan

It was almost three AM when he finally shut the refrigerator doors and collapsed into bed with a grin on his face. 

⏾

The following day, Buck carefully loaded everything into an empty box he’d saved from a past delivery and stuck it in the back seat of his Jeep. (Maddie teased him for his millennial urge to save every box he acquired, but she couldn’t deny they were useful.)

Then, Buck set off for the harbor station. 

⏾

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