#upgrade your leftovers

[euno11a]

HEYYYYY SO I SAW YOU WAS DOING REQUESTS FOR KPOP DEMON HUNTERS

I loved the movie but the ending wasn’t what I was expecting and wanting😔

By any chance could you do the Saja boys in a poly relationship with reader? And separately the girls poly with reader?

I literally think it would be so much fun to have movie nights lmao and pull pranks on each other lmao😭💀

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “Current Boyfriend” prank on Jinu⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

———————————

Rehearsal had just ended, and the studio air was thick with leftover energy and heat. The mirrors were fogged, the sound system still humming with static, and Jinu—sweaty, flushed, and stunning—was casually sipping water near the doorway.

You pulled out your phone, pretending to check something. Really, you were framing the shot.

He looked over, brows raised. “Filming?”

You smiled. “Just something quick for the fans. Come here.”

He didn’t hesitate—just walked over, still catching his breath from that final run-through, his dark shirt clinging to his back. When he stood beside you, he leaned in slightly, effortlessly falling into idol mode: half-smile, perfect angle, soft gaze.

You started recording.

“Hey guys,” you said sweetly to the camera, smiling like it was any other fan update. “Just wanted to check in, rehearsal’s over—everyone’s tired, sweaty, gorgeous.”

You turned the camera slightly, panning over to Jinu.

“I’m here with my current boyfriend!”

You kept going like it was nothing, turning the camera back to yourself. “Anyway, we’re probably gonna grab food and chill for a bit—”

Behind you, Jinu tilted his head slightly.

“…What?”

You stopped.

“…What?” you echoed innocently, still filming.

He squinted. “Did you just say current boyfriend?”

You bit back a smile. “Yeah. Like, my boyfriend right now. In this moment.”

His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in that dangerous, calm way Jinu did when he was calculating whether to flirt with you or mildly destroy your entire soul.

“You’ve had others lined up?”

You laughed, finally breaking. “It’s a trend! I was joking!”

He took the phone gently, still in frame, still smiling for the camera like nothing was wrong—but the glint in his eye had shifted.

“You heard her,” he said to the camera. “Apparently, I’m just a placeholder.”

“Jinu—”

He leaned in, eyes never leaving the lens.

“Just so everyone’s clear, I’m not going anywhere. So if I’m the ‘current,’ I plan on being the permanent upgrade.”

He stopped recording.

You stared at him.

“Babe, it was a trend—”

He handed your phone back with a knowing smile. “Post it.”

“…You’re not mad?”

“No,” he said smoothly, grabbing his bag. “But you’re paying for dinner.”

————————————————

@ sajaboysimps: “Current boyfriend” and he paused like a villain origin story. 😭😭😭

@ jinusjawline: She: “I’m with my current boyfriend!” Jinu: 🧍‍♂️❓

@ idolatemyheart: When he said “permanent upgrade” I blacked out.

@ softlaunchgonewrong: The way she kept talking like he wasn’t recalculating the entire relationship 💀💀💀

@ kpopdemonkween: Jinu really said “I’m calm but I will become your husband if you keep playing.” 💍🕶️

———————————

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “i forgot our anniversary ” prank on Baby⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You had one goal: crack Baby’s fake-cool exterior.

The date was circled on your calendar in pink highlighter and glittery hearts — today marked your six months together. A fact you hadn’t forgotten. Not even close. You had the gift hidden, dinner planned, and a playlist queued.

But he didn’t know that.

So naturally… you decided to mess with him.

You strolled into the practice room like it was any other day, sipping your drink, phone in hand. Baby was lounging in a chair, jacket off, tank top on, towel draped around his neck. Hair tousled. Glistening post-workout glow. Casual heartthrob chaos.

“Hey,” he said, smiling without meaning to — one of those real ones, the rare kind.

“Hey,” you replied, completely flat. You sat beside him, scrolling through your phone. “Long day.”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah. Kinda.”

Silence.

He waited.

You offered him a sip of your drink. No affection. No flirt. No sparkle.

He narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He leaned in slightly. “You sure? You're being weird.”

You shrugged. “I’m fine.”

You saw it hit him — subtle but real. A flicker of confusion in his eyes. He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek like he was trying to solve a math equation with emotions.

Then… his voice dropped, quieter.

“Did I… do something?”

You glanced at him, feigning confusion. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, then reached into his jacket pocket — pulling out a tiny velvet box.

Your breath caught. Wait what.

He opened it slowly: a simple silver ring on a thin chain.

“I know we said we weren’t doing anything big for the six-month thing,” he said, eyes still down, “but I just… I saw this and thought of you. You like little things that feel permanent.”

Your mouth parted, guilt instantly slamming you in the chest.

He looked up. “Unless… you didn’t remember. Which is fine, seriously. I didn’t expect—"

“Wait, wait, wait—” you cut in, grabbing his hand. “It’s a prank. It was a prank. I remembered. I super remembered.”

His eyes widened. “You what.”

“I was trying to get a reaction out of you,” you admitted, laughing nervously. “You always play it so cool. I thought you’d be smug and say something like, ‘Guess who didn’t forget?’ and then I’d laugh and reveal the real gift and—oh my god you bought me jewelry.”

He stared at you. “You absolute gremlin.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out a box of your own, practically shoving it into his chest. “Here. Yours. Real. Not a prank.”

He opened it to find a silver bracelet, etched with the coordinates of where you first met.

He blinked slowly.

“…You’re disgusting,” he said, voice soft.

“You love it.”

He exhaled hard — then, finally, smiled for real. That wide, boyish grin he tried to hide behind eyeliner and sarcasm. His ears were bright red.

“You seriously had me spiraling,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Because you’re soft,” you teased.

He shot you a look. “No, I’m cool. I’m smooth. I’m mysterious.”

“You were ten seconds from emotional collapse.”

He leaned closer, bumping his forehead to yours. “And you love that.”

You smiled, lips brushing his. “I really do.”

——————————

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “Tiny Meal” prank on Romance⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the paper screens of the dorm room, painting golden lines across the hardwood floor. The air was still, save for the slow, even breaths of Romance beside you—hair mussed from sleep, lashes casting gentle shadows over his cheekbones.

You tiptoed out of the futon with the kind of stealth usually reserved for a trained demon hunter. You had a plan. A dumb, tiny, hilarious plan. But it was your plan, and you knew he’d either love it… or mock you for it for weeks.

You tiptoed into the kitchen, stifling a giggle. On the counter: a thimble-sized teacup. A miniature plate. A fork no bigger than your pinky nail. It had taken you a whole hour to prep these ridiculous little dishes the night before. A tiny egg (quail, of course), a single bite of toast, and a speck of strawberry jam.

All perfectly arranged on the world’s tiniest breakfast tray.

As you walked back into the room balancing the tray, you heard the soft shuffle of sheets. His voice, low and drowsy, called out:

"Mmnh... [Your Name]? Where’d you go…?"

You knelt beside the futon, holding out the tiny tray like a prize. “Good morning, sunshine,” you said, biting back a grin. “I made you breakfast.”

He blinked sleepily, then squinted at the tray. A beat of silence. Then—

“…What the hell is that?” His voice cracked mid-laugh.

You giggled. “Your morning meal, brave hunter. Protein, carbs, love. All in one centimeter.”

He sat up, the blanket falling to his lap, revealing the curve of his collarbone and the sleepy slope of his shoulders. Hair sticking up wildly, he reached out one elegant finger to poke the mini toast.

“This is… is this even edible?”

You nodded solemnly. “I toasted that piece with my own hands. Used tweezers.”

A wide grin broke across his face. That lazy, lopsided one that always made your stomach flip. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then, with exaggerated seriousness, he picked up the miniature fork between his thumb and forefinger, tried to stab the tiny egg—and immediately dropped it back onto the tray.

“I can’t do this. I’m going to starve.”

You smirked, reaching behind you and pulling out a second tray—the real breakfast, full-sized and warm.

He laughed so hard he had to bury his face in your neck. “You’re evil,” he mumbled against your skin, arms wrapping around your waist.

“You love it,” you teased, letting your fingers slide through his hair.

He leaned back to look at you, his eyes still crinkled with laughter but softening into something tender. “I really do.”

And then, with the tiniest fork in hand, he fed you the equally tiny toast piece.

“For love. And carbs,” he whispered dramatically

———————————

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “ignoring my boyfriend” prank on Mystery⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The moment you stepped into the training room, you could feel his eyes on you.

Mystery was already there, like always — perched casually on the window ledge, his black hoodie draped over his shoulder, sword leaning against the wall behind him. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t speak. He never did first.

Perfect.

You walked right past him without a word.

He watched you. Silent. Still. Barely blinking.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling with exaggerated focus. Inside, you were screaming. You knew he hated being ignored. Not in the way a normal boyfriend might pout or whine — no, Mystery just went quiet. Colder. Like ice packing itself around him.

It was part of why the prank was so fun... and a little dangerous.

He finally moved. Just one step.

“Did I do something?” he asked, voice low and distant, like a fog rolling across a lake.

You didn’t look up. Instead, you texted no one. Blinked blankly at the wall. Bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from cracking.

A long pause.

He tilted his head slightly, jaw tight. “...You’re not going to speak to me?”

You didn’t respond. Not even a shrug.

He stared at you for a few seconds longer. Then without a word, he turned and walked out of the room. No sound, no heavy footsteps — just vanished like smoke into the hall.

Your heart dropped.

“Mystery—!” you called after him, breaking character. You chased him down the corridor, nearly stumbling over your own feet.

You found him just outside the practice hall, his back to you, eyes shadowed under his bangs.

“I was joking!” you said breathlessly. “It was a prank. The ‘ignoring my boyfriend’ prank. You weren’t actually—wait, were you mad?”

He turned slowly, expression as calm as ever. But there was something just behind it — not anger, not even hurt, but a kind of distance. The kind that made your chest tighten.

“I wasn’t mad,” he said quietly. “I just figured you wanted space. So I gave it to you.”

Oof.

You stepped closer, reaching for his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I just thought it’d be funny. You’re always so… unreadable. I wanted to see if you’d crack.”

His lips twitched — the smallest hint of a smirk. “So you were testing me?”

“Maybe a little.”

He finally turned to face you fully. “You didn’t get much of a reaction.”

“No,” you admitted. “But somehow, that made it worse.”

He stepped into your space, his voice a soft hush. “You want a reaction now?”

You nodded, breath catching.

Without warning, his hand cupped your chin gently, tilting your face toward his. His lips brushed yours, light as falling ash — but the intent behind it was unmistakable. Intense. Possessive in that quiet way only Mystery could pull off.

He pulled back just enough to whisper:

“Don’t ignore me again. I don’t like it.”

You blinked up at him, stunned.

Then he added, deadpan: “But if you do… make sure the next prank includes kissing.”

—————————

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ The “I don’t think I like muscles anymore” prank on Abs⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a/n: I just added the rest of the Saja Boys!!

[thefuzzzz]

Batboys who, when they’ve upset someone in their lives who they care about, just buy them copious amounts of things they like because that’s how Bruce tries to rectify his small mistakes with his children

Wally: Hey, Dick? Did you order basketball tickets?

Dick: Oh, yeah. Last week. I ate your leftovers and you were upset about it, so I got you tickets for your favorite team in apology.

Wally: …thank you? Weren’t these expensive though? It’s the finals.

Dick: :)

Roy: Hey, Jaybird, did you get a new toolbox?

Jason: It has your name engraved on it.

Roy: I saw that.

Jason: Apology for when I forgot to lock the bedroom door when you asked, and Lian walked in on us

Roy: That was, like, a month ago? And I wasn’t even mad?

Jason: Engraving takes a long time.

Tim: To make up for missing our last date due to work, I made reservations and laid out outfits for both of you on the bed.

Bernard (in the bedroom with Kon): I don’t remember these being in our closet?

Kon: Since when did you have that necklace?

Bernard: And you those earrings? Shit, is that diamond?

Kon: Oh, I see what’s happening. Tim does this when he feels guilty.

Bernard: I hate rich people so much.

Damian: Hello.

Jon (jumping): Oh…hey? How did you get here? And when? I thought you said you were busy today and couldn’t hang out.

Damian: Irrelevant. I have a gift.

Jon: Oh my god! Is that a signed guitar?

Damian: …do you like it?

Jon: Yes, duh. But, how? Why? When?

Damian (climbing out the bedroom): Bye.

Clark (walking into Jon’s room): Oh, you and Damian made up?

Jon: WE WERE FIGHTING?

(Bonus SuperBat)

Clark (to his mom on the phone, walking into his Daily Planet office): Me and B were in a bit of a fight last night. Nothing big, but I feel bad about it. He slept in the guest room- holy shit.

Martha: What? You ok?

Clark: Yeah, yeah. I just walked into my office and…like everything’s been upgraded?

Martha: …what?”

Clark: There’s a really nice keyboard and computer and one of those fancy desk chairs and…oh. Hey, B.

Bruce (in the corner of the room): Good?

Clark: Uhhh…yes?

Bruce: :)

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.

[custardtartsfan]

Jason Todd head canons that have accumulated over time

many thoughts about the boy constantly rattle around my brain and i would like to share them ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) nothing hanky panky ish for i do not like to think about that

general bullshit ᝰ.ᐟ

he doesnt trust modern technology. he has a Motorola razr. no he will not upgrade, stop asking

has VERY messy hand writing. straight chicken scratch. barley legible

smoked during his late teens (post resurrection period, he was going through it). tried quitting in his early twenties, he bought a menthol flavour geek bar but threw it out cause Roy made fun of him

it wasnt even one of the cool ones with a screen. smh

he has a weird nostalgic affection for the thrift

it reminds him of being a kid, in the rare moments that his mother was sober enough to take him somewhere. and it was nice, his mom was conscious, all was well

and he could get whatever he wanted! he wanted a toy? sure bud, its only a dollar. why the hell not?

he recently walked into a Goodwill and damn near burst an artery when he looked at the tag on a pair of pants. it was NOT like this back in his day

his hair is like wavy, like not curly but wavy. however, he has no idea how to really care for it. shits dry is what im saying

i think hes very competitive about stupid shit

not like he gets pissy about mario kart, he will race you to see who can fold their socks the fastest

largest of the batfam. vertically and horizontally. hes a beefy dude. a brick shithouse

i think hes also the kind of dude that needs to know someone very well before he could consider dating them. id even go as far to say hes somewhere on the aro spectrum

i think he has a very high spice tolerance. like youll pry his siracha out of his cold re-dead hands. he LOVES African curry (yes this one is based off me) thats like his perfect kind of spice

back to his hatred of technology, he collects cds to listen to instead of streaming

he has one of those hip disk players with the headphones. Red Hood has been seen with a walkman

also hates tv, but will watch the news willingly. he will sit down and watch Wolf Blitzer of his own accord

romantic (୨୧• ꒳ •)=:♡

remember when i said he has the handwriting of an 18 month old toddler? yea well thats a little unfortunate cause he LOVES leaving notes for his lover. when he has to slip out the window for a job in the middle of the night, he writes a little note - “had to take care of something, be back soon. with bagels. love, Jay :)” but its written so janky his lover is spending the whole time hes gone trying to decipher it

dont tell him that though, he might cry

hes not a talker particularly. words tend to come out wrong in his experience. instead, he likes gifts acts of service to show you he cares

shopping with him and youre eying a particular top for a while? guess what’s mysteriously appeared in your laundry basket

lowq doesn’t have motion though..soo it might have been Bruce card. but honestly? money is money who gaf

what he occasionally lacks in funds he makes up for in willingness to let you do whatever you want to him

he will waddle after you in sephora, freaking out the occasional employee cause holy FUCK who invited the punisher, letting you swatch whatever you want on his hand

if you’re concerned about the milk in the fridge being yuck, give it to him to taste. he’ll let you know

there is no mountain to high, no dubious forgotten leftover too unhappy looking

cannot cook for SHIT. but he loves to eat

he will mention wanting food and stare at you longingly until you go to the kitchen

hes not gonna be playing fortnite while you’re cooking though, he can chop stuff. you may not want him within 50 feet of a place where food is prepared but he will offer

bless his heart

runs hot like a furnace. probably because hes a large meaty boy

he will grumble like a pensioner when you tuck yourself into his chest at night when its cold, but we both know damn well hes gonna be giggling and kicking his steel toed boots when he tells Roy about it later

he had pretty mixed, strewing negative opinions, about his little white tuft of hair at the front. hes tried cutting it, it grew back the same. he bought box dye, it doesnt take. so hes stuck with it. and he cant say hes happy about it

until you came along, all full of love and life, telling him you loved it. you though it framed his face perfectly and suited him great. you and your fancy affection fuck you

(he was cheesing for hours)

okay lets get sad now

hes got BADD anxiety about hurting you without meaning to. its a reasonable concern, hes a big dude. and these hands dont do a lot of cradling as a rule, more beating heads in

he needs to be reassured, but would rather roll around in broken glass then swim in lemonade than let that be known. hes more of a stare at you until you sooth him

he likes to be kissed and cuddled and cared for. so what? hes only incredibly ashamed. it doesnt matter how many times you re iterate that he has no reason to be, hes a stubborn bitch

thats all ive got! i hope you enjoyed reading my real time jason todd related word association. most of these were typed in a fury on the mobile web app on the subway so..if the formatting is yucky thats up to god (-.-;)y-~~~

[lovebugism]

fictober idea (if ure up for smut): eddie & reader go to a haunted house. eddie, obviously, gets a boner bc hes a weirdo. reader notices & begs to touch him right here, right now even tho theyve never done anything in public before. so, eddie finds a place to *kinda* hide & reader gets him off, but ofc, eddie cant let reader go without cumming as well.

thanks for requesting :D — eddie gets turned on protecting you at a haunted house, and you obv have to reward him for it (smut 18+, 1.5k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie’s been called a freak his whole life. He knew he was different since he could understand what being different meant, and if that made him a weirdo, then so be it. But now he thinks everyone might’ve been right about him. He’s a complete, utter, and total freak.

He walks with you through a haunted house, surrounded by creepy masks and fake blood and your screams, and he’s hard. His dick’s as stiff as a rock and throbbing with a distant ache when most people are scared out of their minds.

It’s all your fault, honestly. You’re clinging to him with an ironclad grip and using him as a shield every time something jumps out at you. Eddie can’t even be scared with you because all he can think about is how masculine he feels protecting you like this. Metalhead freaks like him never get to feel this way — all manly and muscly and brave.

And even though it’s hard to walk while adjusting his pants every five steps, Eddie thinks he’s hiding it pretty well. Well, he was, anyway. Until your ass brushes against his lap, and you clock him immediately.

Trapped in a secluded area of the haunted house, lit up red and blaring the Halloween theme song, you spin around to face him. “Are you hard?” you ask him over the music, face twisted in confusion. You’re not weirded out by it exactly, just genuinely puzzled.

Eddie freezes, chocolate eyes wide. He plays coy despite being caught red-handed. “No.”

You shoot him a deadpanned look, brows raised as you peer at him through your lashes.

He caves. “…Yes.”

“Does scary shit turn you on?” you wonder, laughing softly.

“No!” he responds with a dramatic drawl, sounding more offended than he should be. He is standing rock-hard in the middle of a haunted house, after all. He shifts his weight on his feet and stammers for an answer. “I just… I like being able to protect you and… everything.”

“Aw…” you hum, melting into a puddle at his feet. “That’s kinda sweet, actually.”

Eddie’s visibly surprised by your response. He was prepared to get made fun of at best — slapped and dumped entirely at worst. But here you are, all but admiring how much of a freak your boyfriend is.

“Wait, really?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Especially considering last Halloween, the guy I was dating left me behind at a haunted house.”

“Pussy…” Eddie grumbles under his breath.

“Exactly,” you giggle. “So this is definitely an upgrade.”

Your palms smooth up his chest and over his shoulders. Your fingers entwine behind his neck, halfway embracing him in the middle of the haunt. His hands settle warm and wide on your sides. He squeezes you gently there and lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m just glad you don’t think I’m a total freak,” he confesses with a forced chuckle. 

“Oh, I definitely think you’re a freak,” you retort in a monotone, then flash him a sickly sweet smile. “I’m just too obsessed with you to care.”

Eddie nods and tries not to smile too wide when you lean in to kiss him. “Noted,” he murmurs.

You do a whole lot more than just kiss him, though. You open his mouth with your own and lick inside with a confident tongue. You take the breath from his lungs with little effort, leaving him more breathless than he has been all night.

“Wanna suck you off,” you murmur, slurred and muffled against his mouth.

He jerks away from you on instinct. He couldn’t hide his shock if he tried. “Huh?” he wonders in a tone that borders on cartoonish. His soft features twist in confusion.

“I need your cock in my mouth like I need to breathe,” you confess with an unabashed groan.

Maybe he wasn’t the freak after all. Maybe this whole time, it was you.

“Well, that’sa tad bit dramatic, but—” You cut off his teasing by fussing with the buckle of his belt. His eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t try to stop you. “Whoa. Okay. This is… This is great and everything, babe, but there’s— there’s people around. Someone could walk in.”

You look to your left, then to your right. There’s no one here but you and Eddie in this small square room, filled with a fiery red like the warmth swirling in your belly. You blink at him with doe eyes and shrug innocently. “I don’t see anyone.”

Eddie breathes out a laugh, one mixed with amusement and disbelief. “I just don’t wanna us to get caught, babe,” he tells you, smoothing wide palms up and down your arms. “Don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“Good,” you hum with a smile before sinking to your knees in front of him.

Eddie’s too stunned to stop you. He doesn’t want to stop you.

Bathed in a sinful neon red, you unbutton his pants and free his half-hard cock from the confines of his jeans. You tug at the hem of his underwear until his heavy balls hang over the plaid fabric. 

“Shit,” he mutters when you press a sweet kiss to his weeping tip. He bites back a moan when you swirl your tongue around the bulbous strawberry head. “Shit— you’re so fucking hot.”

You worship his cock like it’s not just some random Tuesday in the middle of a haunted house. You don’t mean to, really, but he’s making such pretty noises for you — little puffs of tiny breaths and small whines he tries desperately to hide from you. 

His thighs twitch every time you run your tongue over the veins on the underside of him, going slow to feel the rapid pulse there. His fingers crawl in your hair, palms settling on your temples — not pushing you or pulling you away, just holding you as you suck gently at his aching cock.

His pink lips are parted, airing out little moans of ecstasy. His chocolate eyes are dark and glazed over in a honeyed look. His hair hangs over his face, wild and desperate to be pulled.

You let his tip linger in your mouth, drool pooling around him and soaking his twitching cock. The feeling makes him moan — a deep, hearty sound that stems from his chest. 

When his lolling head drops back, you take him in your fist. You don’t bother to work him up to a rapid pace. Using the lubrication of your spit, you jerk him with an expert hand and lick away the pearly beads of pre-cum he leaks for you.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, eyes rolled back before he squeezes them shut. “Oh, fuck, babe—”

You’re already opening your mouth for his cum before he can warn you it’s coming. You know him too well. You notice all the telltale signs before you think he does — the whimpers, the shaking thighs, the rambled moans, the way his balls draw slightly upward. You’re ready to accept his warm, salty loads the second he gives them to you. 

Eddie cups your warm cheek with a ringed hand. He tries to tell you he’s cumming, but his whines get in the way. He grunts quietly, tilting his head backward and holding tightly to you as cum pulses weakly from his slit. 

The tang dribbles over your tongue and mouth. You take it all with ease. You make a big show of it, too — lolling your tongue out of your mouth and letting his cum drip onto the softening pudge of his head. Eddie’s whole body twitches when you take his sensitive cock in your mouth again to swallow it down, like a goddamn lightning strike up his spine.

“How’d I—” His voice is hoarse, so he has to stop and clear his throat. You smile, lips swollen and spit-slick, as you tuck his soft cock back into his jeans and button them again. His eyes are half-lidded and darkened when you rise to full height. “How’d I get so fucking lucky with you, huh?”

You make a vague I don’t know sound and shrug your shoulders with an innocent grin. You lean into his palm when he puts his ringed hands on your jaw. 

“Jesus fucking christ— you’re so pretty, baby— fuck.”

He’s just rambling now, still a bit dazed from his orgasm. He kisses you harder than anyone’s ever been kissed before, stealing the air from your lungs with ease. It’s like he’s amazed by his own adoration for you — the sheer intensity of it — the way it makes him stupid enough to let you suck his cock in a poorly hidden spot of a haunted house.

You don’t get caught, though. 

Not really, anyway.

There’s a security camera in front of the door you leave from. You make sure to give it a little wave on your way out.

Eddie holds your hand the entire way back to his van, opening the door for you like a total gentleman. It’s not the passenger side door, though, but rather the one in the very back. 

“What are you doing?” you wonder, all innocent like you still don’t have the taste of his cum in your mouth.

Eddie just grins at you, lopsided and pink and boyish. “Gotta return the favor, don’t I?”

[avocado-writing]

Heeeey, so I have a Copia x reader request! I can just imagine them being the biggest gossips with eachother, like this guy will swear an oath of secrecy to the clergy the run back to his room to spill the beans to his woman. Or she will walk into their room like 'you'll never guess what happened this time' and they just sit in bed with face masks on spilling the tea with eachother. Just something cute and fluffy, if you would be open to it. Love your work 💜

They wanted Copia to move to a bigger suite when he was made Cardinal. He didn’t. He’s as stubborn as an ox when he wants to be, and a creature of comfort, so you’d just manoeuvred a double bed for both of you into his old room and called that upgrade enough.

You love it though. This cosy, comfy room is a little refuge in the sea of bureaucracy which is this damned Ministry; a place for you to just be yourselves. You’re painting your toenails at the moment, a bright purple to match your fingers, heel on a towel so it won’t get the bedspread messy. The door goes and you look up to see your husband run in, his eyes wide with glee. He steals over to the wardrobe to open and inspect it - just in case a ghoul managed to get in and hide without you noticing again - before clapping his hands and turning to you.

“Hi! I love you. You won’t believe what I found out today, tesoro…”

“I love you. Tell me everything,” you say, mirroring his usual greeting (he’s loath to enter a room without reminding you of his husbandly affections) and moving so he can sit down opposite you. Immediately he brings your foot into his lap, and you pass him the nail polish when he gestures so he can take the job over.

“Sister Amelie, the one in the kitchens, the one we thought pregnant?”

“Yes, because she wouldn’t stop eating all the—”

“All the leftover cake after dinner service! Sì. Well, we were right!”

“I knew it!” you say, slapping your thigh in enthusiasm. He looks a tiny bit annoyed you’ve messed up his paint job but reapplies the coat smoothly.

“But just that, eh?”

“No?”

“No -” he glances around furtively again “- Brother Samson is the father, not Brother Dio.”

“Oh Satan, but aren’t they…?”

“Yes! Best friends!”

The two of you let out matching little squeals of giddiness over it. Fuck. Your days would be so boring without him - both the light he provides as a spouse, and the comfort he provides as a friend. You stare at him, besotted, and he pauses on where he’s blowing gently to dry the varnish.

“Amore?”

“Sorry. Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

“Ah, I am the lucky one,” he says softly, with a smile. Then his eyes light up again. “Oh! I didn’t tell you what Terzo said he heard the other day…”

You relax into your pillows with a grin. You’re in for a hell of a night.

[aspenmissing]

Can I request love languages headcanons for Ekko with gender neutral s/o please?

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇꜱ

ᴇᴋᴋᴏ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 4136 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ/ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ,ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏᴏᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ! ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴀʏ/ɴɪɢʜᴛ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴇᴋᴋᴏ

ACTS OF SERVICE

You didn’t hear him enter the room. But you felt him.

That weight in the air that came with worry he never quite knew how to mask. The way his boots always made less noise when he was upset, like he was afraid stepping too hard might shatter something fragile between you. The way his breath hitched, almost inaudible, when he caught sight of you slouched on the cot, peeling off your damaged gauntlet with trembling fingers.

"You're bleeding." Ekko’s voice wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t calm either. It had that tight edge—restrained and cracking at the corners.

You glanced down. A thin trail of blood ran down your bicep, dark against the grime smudged across your skin, seeping into the torn fabric of your sleeve.

"Just a scratch," you mumbled, looking away, pretending it didn’t hurt more than it did.

Ekko crouched in front of you before you could argue. His fingers were gentle—too gentle, like he was terrified you might splinter under his touch. His eyes scanned the wound like it was a riddle he needed to solve before time ran out. No words, no scolding. Just that quiet intensity he always carried when it came to you.

He reached for the first aid kit beside the cot without needing to look. Pulled out antiseptic and a clean cloth like it was instinct, like he’d done it a thousand times in his head. He pressed it to your arm carefully, like your skin was glass, like if he wasn’t soft enough you might disappear.

"You weren’t even supposed to be out there," he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t an accusation. It was a plea.

You winced—not from the sting of disinfectant, but from the guilt in his voice. The disappointment sitting behind his quiet concern. “We were outnumbered. I had to step in.”

"You had to," he repeated, and this time it sounded hollow. Not mocking, not angry—just tired. "You ever think about what happens if you don’t come back?"

You tried to lighten it, tried to push that familiar smile past the lump in your throat. “I figured you’d rewind time and drag me back by the collar.”

Ekko didn’t laugh.

Instead, he stood up silently and crossed the room. You watched him grab something from a workbench in the corner, something wrapped in oilcloth and soot-streaked fabric. He placed it in your lap and sat back down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

You unravelled it slowly, carefully, like it was something sacred. Inside was a new wrist guard—sleek, light, durable. Reinforced joints, custom grip, tiny etched patterns in the plating that you recognized as his signature. Your name was carved inside in his handwriting. Not flashy—just precise. Yours.

"I was gonna surprise you with that after the next patrol,” he muttered. “But you keep breaking your stuff before I can give you the upgrade.”

Your throat tightened. “Ekko…”

He leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath through his nose. It was one of those breaths that carried the weight of everything he hadn’t said aloud. Then, with a tired sort of care, he reached for a container near his hip and placed it in your hands. Still warm.

“You didn’t eat again, did you?” he asked, not looking at you. But you could tell by the way he asked it—quiet and low—that he hadn’t either.

You took it from him, fingers brushing his. Wordlessly, you cracked the lid and split the food down the middle. It wasn’t much, just some leftover stir-fry and rice, but it was the kind of thing you could taste better when he was beside you. When it felt like home.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The kind of silence that only exists between two people who’ve been through hell together—where every breath shared means more than words could say. You leaned into each other slowly, the gravity of exhaustion pulling you close. His shoulder against yours, the sound of your breaths falling into rhythm.

Then, softly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say it:

“I don’t need a thanks. Just… stay alive, yeah?”

You turned your head, pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. You felt him close his eyes at the contact, his whole body exhaling like you’d just pulled him from the edge.

“Only if you do too.”

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. But you felt the way his hand found yours, fingers lacing together—tight, deliberate, like he could anchor you here with just that grip. Like if he held on hard enough, time wouldn’t dare pull either of you apart.

And in that moment, in the hush of a hideout full of distant sirens and flickering lights, neither of you needed to be strong. You just needed each other.

QUALITY TIME

The rooftop was still warm with the fading heat of the day, though the breeze had picked up, threading through Zaun’s alleyways and broken towers like a whisper. The neon glow from below painted everything in long strokes of electric blue and violet, wrapping around you like water light, cool against your skin.

Up here, it almost didn’t feel like Zaun.

Ekko lay beside you, one arm folded beneath his head, the other lazily draped over your waist. His fingers moved in slow, idle circles against your side—not for any reason other than habit. Like his body was remembering something soft, something safe. You let him trace you, say nothing, and just... let it be.

You didn’t need to speak. The silence wasn’t heavy. It had weight, sure—but it was the good kind. The kind that wraps itself around two people who know each other inside and out. The kind that says: you’re here, and that’s enough.

Below you, Zaun buzzed with life. Smokestacks coughed clouds into the sky, casting long, churning shadows that collided with pulsing neon. Rail cars groaned along rusting tracks. Somewhere in the distance, music thumped behind metal doors, laughter rising and falling in a pocket of someone else’s escape.

But up here, it was just the two of you. And for once, the city didn’t feel like it was screaming.

Ekko exhaled, slow and steady, as if even his breath was trying not to disturb the moment.

“You ever think about what it’d be like... if things were different?” he asked, voice quiet like he was talking to the stars.

You turned your head, just slightly. He was still facing the sky, his profile lit in patches by shifting signs down below. But his eyes flicked sideways to you, just for a second. Enough to say he meant it.

“Different how?” you asked, letting your voice match his—soft, open.

He shrugged, lips tugging into the faintest smile. “I dunno. Peaceful. A quiet Zaun. One where we could walk around without watching our backs. Where I’m not always bleeding or patching up the next kid who thinks they’re bulletproof.”

He paused, and the muscles in his jaw shifted like he was chewing on the weight of it all.

“Where I could just be with you. No fight. No plan. Just... us.”

You reached out, fingers threading into the curls at the back of his head, nails grazing gently across his scalp. He leaned into the touch with a sigh that didn’t quite make it past his lips.

“We’d get bored,” you teased, though your voice lacked any real playfulness. You knew what he meant. You’d thought about it too—on nights like this, when the war felt too far away and the warmth between you was enough to make hope feel like something real.

He let out a breath of a laugh, chest rising against your side. “Yeah. Maybe. But bored with you? That might be nice for a change.”

Silence returned, not as a pause but as a continuation—comfortable and full. His hand slid into yours, fingers tangling without effort, palms pressed together in a warmth that grounded you both. You could feel the scuffs on his knuckles, the subtle tension in his fingers—the same hands that built, fought, protected. Now, they just held you.

Time didn’t matter up here.

Not for Ekko, the boy who bent time to keep his people alive. Not for you, who bore witness to his chaos and chose him anyway. Not for two lovers clinging to something tender in a city built on ruin.

Up here, in this forgotten corner of Zaun, the world slowed down.

“The world slows down when it’s just us,” Ekko said eventually, voice quieter than before. The words surprised him even as he said them, like he didn’t know they were inside him until they slipped out.

You turned to look at him fully now. His eyes were already on you, steady and soft. They always looked like they held galaxies—like he’d seen too much and still chose wonder every time.

You squeezed his hand. “Then let’s stay here a while.”

His lips curved. “Yeah... let’s.”

So you stayed.

The lights below sputtered and sparked. Somewhere, another fight probably broke out. Someone shouted. Something burned. But all of it felt so far away.

Right now, there was just skin on skin, breath on breath. Legs tangled in shared warmth. Hands clasped and hearts at peace.

And the world? It obeyed your pace.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

The map was spread across the makeshift table, its surface creased with age and moisture, edges curling like dead leaves. Rusted bolts pinned it at the corners, and a half-empty toolbox—cracked open to reveal scavenged wrenches and stripped wire—kept it from slipping with every shift of movement. The table itself had seen better days: a slab of metal salvaged from some forgotten machine, its legs uneven, one steadied by a folded scrap of mesh cloth soaked with oil.

Above, a flickering strip of fluorescent light buzzed faintly, casting a sickly green hue that bled into every corner of the Firelight base. Shadows twitched with each flicker. The air was thick with the smell of solder, scorched rubber, old sweat, and the ozone tinge of half-functional circuitry. Somewhere deeper in the base, someone coughed. Metal clanged against metal. The distant thrum of a generator echoed like a heartbeat through the walls.

Around the table, Firelight scouts leaned in close. Their hoods were down, faces marked with grime and tension, voices low and clipped. They spoke in the way people do when lives hang on the precision of a plan—measured, deliberate, focused.

“Checkpoints here and here,” one said, tapping the map with a gloved finger. “Four enforcers minimum on the east route, maybe more depending on the shift. If we time it with the shift change—”

“Could shave two minutes off the run,” someone else muttered.

You tried to listen. Tried to parse the strategy from the static in your head. But the words were distant, warped—like listening through glass, or water, or sleep. Your vision stayed fixed on the map, but nothing stuck.

You hadn’t slept. Not really.

What you had was an illusion of rest. A few hours spent lying on a cot too narrow, staring at the ceiling, counting the rhythmic buzz of that damned generator. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it again.

The last mission.

It clung to you like ash in your lungs—thick and choking. You remembered the flash of light before the blast, the colorless roar of it. The corridor painted orange for a heartbeat before smoke swallowed everything whole. Heat, then panic. Then voices. Screaming. Coughing.

And then—

Ekko. Gone.

One second he was there beside you, his outline barely visible through the haze. The next, he was swallowed by smoke and flame, and your mind jumped to the worst.

You’d torn through the dark like a blade, lungs burning, half-blind and wild with panic. Your hands had shaken for an hour after. You remembered that, too.

He made it out. Of course he did.

But you didn’t. Not entirely. Something was still stuck inside you, sharp-edged and quiet.

A chair scraped against the floor beside you. Harsh in the quiet.

You didn’t flinch. Not visibly. But something in you curled tighter.

Ekko sat down without a word, dragging his chair close enough that your shoulders almost brushed. He didn’t speak. He rarely needed to. His gloves were half-pulled off, exposing calloused fingers smudged with grime. The lenses of his goggles glinted faintly, pushed up into the wild halo of his hair.

He looked tired.

Not just from the mission, or the meetings, or the dozens of fights stacked behind him like bodies in the dark. It was a deeper kind of exhaustion—one that had settled into the shape of him long ago, like it belonged there. Quiet. Familiar.

Yours was different. Yours was in your chest. It pressed down like the weight of a building, sharp and invisible.

“Route’s clear up to the glass pipeline,” one of the scouts was saying. “After that, we’ll need a distraction to pull enforcers east. A timed charge, maybe. Loud, not subtle.”

Another voice replied, but you didn’t catch it. The words slipped past like rain on steel.

Then—something grounded you.

A touch. Light. Barely there.

Ekko’s fingers brushed against yours. A careful motion. Not asking. Not demanding.

Just... checking.

You looked down slowly.

His hand was resting near yours on the table, knuckles brushing the side of your hand. He wasn’t looking at you. He hadn’t moved otherwise. But his fingers shifted slightly, adjusting, until they lay alongside yours, close enough that warmth bled through the space between them.

An invitation. A silent bridge between you.

You didn’t pull away.

He let the moment linger—gentle, patient—and then his hand settled more firmly over yours. Not heavy. Just enough weight to be felt. His fingers curled slowly, almost like he was afraid to scare you off.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Instead, his thumb moved.

A soft, slow stroke across the back of your hand. Steady. Reassuring. Back and forth, like the ticking of some forgotten clock deep in the undercity.

You stared at the movement, unable to look away.

That small motion grounded you more than anything else had in days. It was a rhythm you could follow. A heartbeat outside your own. And somehow, it made breathing easier.

It was a question. One he wouldn’t ask out loud here. Not in front of everyone else. Not when the mission hung between you all like a live wire.

You okay?

Your throat felt thick. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. But your fingers answered for you, curling slowly around his—deliberate, not desperate.

I’m here.

He let you. He didn’t squeeze. Just held on, as though you were something fragile worth protecting. As though the silence between you was a place, not a void.

Then he glanced at you.

Not a full turn. Just a shift of his eyes, a flick from the corner like he didn’t want the others to notice. But it was enough. His gaze caught yours, held it, and in that brief instant, you saw it all.

He knew.

He remembered the explosion. The smoke. The fear. He’d lived it too. But more than that, he’d seen what it did to you. And he hadn’t forgotten.

He wouldn’t forget.

Your chest loosened, just a little. Your lungs stopped stuttering long enough for one clean breath.

You didn’t say thank you.

You didn’t have to.

And Ekko didn’t let go.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

The firelight flickered low in the small room, casting warm shadows that danced unevenly over cracked concrete walls and chipped paint peeling in long strips. The faint scent of oil and dust hung in the air, mingling with something softer — the faint trace of your shampoo and sweat from the long day behind you.

You lay sprawled on the cot, limbs heavy and loose from exhaustion, the weight of Zaun’s streets pressing on your shoulders like the thick night fog outside. Your eyes were closed, your breath steady and slow, deep into sleep—finally a moment of rest after the chaos.

Ekko sat nearby, cross-legged on the floor, the hard cold of the metal box beneath him a sharp contrast to the softness of your presence. His fingers traced absent patterns over the worn, dented surface, but his gaze never left you. He watched with a quiet intensity — memorizing every detail.

The way your brow furrowed slightly even in rest, like your mind hadn’t quite let go of everything. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the slow rhythm of life pulsing in and out. The way your hair spilled in loose waves across the pillow, dark and tangled like spilled ink drying on parchment.

He rarely spoke the things he felt — words never came easy for him, especially when it came to matters of the heart. There was always the rush of plans, the constant fight to protect the Firelights and Zaun’s future, but when it came to you — words felt too fragile, too raw.

But tonight, something had shifted.

Something about watching you so peaceful, so vulnerable, broke down the walls he’d carefully built around his feelings.

Careful not to wake you, Ekko leaned forward just enough, his breath warm against your temple. His voice dropped low, rough with the crackle of unspoken emotions, but soft—almost reverent—in a way

that made every word feel sacred.

“You’re the one thing in this city I’d rewind a thousand times just to find again.”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips curving into a faint smile even as you hovered between dreams and wakefulness. Ekko’s heart clenched, a tight, painful squeeze that somehow made him feel more alive.

He swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t say it enough,” he admitted, hesitating, “but you’re my favourite person. Always.”

His fingers reached out instinctively, brushing over your hand like a silent promise — tentative, but full of meaning. Your hand twitched in response, fingers curling around his even in sleep, a tether binding you closer.

For a long moment, he just sat there, leaning his forehead gently against yours. The roughness of his skin against yours grounded him, anchoring him to this one perfect, fleeting moment.

He breathed you in — the scent of your skin, faint and warm — and the chaos of the city faded away, leaving only the steady beat of your heart echoing through the silence.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of those three words. “More than time itself.”

His words lingered between you like a fragile thread, delicate yet unbreakable.

Outside, the distant rumble of Zaun’s restless night continued, but inside that little room, time seemed to fold around the two of you — endless, eternal.

Ekko closed his eyes, letting himself savor the feeling of being here, with you, in this fragile bubble of peace.

He thought about all the moments that had led them here — the danger, the struggle, the laughter, the quiet battles fought side by side.

And he knew, without a doubt, that no matter what storms the future held, he would rewind time again and again just to find you, to hold you, to say those words.

Because you were his home — his constant in a city that never stopped moving.

And in this stillness, wrapped around your hand and your warmth, Ekko finally let himself believe in forever.

GIFTS

The dim light of Zaun’s neon haze flickered and shifted through the cracked window, splashing uneven pools of green and purple across the cluttered workshop. The air smelled faintly of burnt metal and oil, mixed with the lingering scent of sweat and the ever-present grime of the city. Tools lay scattered over the workbench—tiny screwdrivers, coiled wires, half-finished gadgets—and yet the chaos somehow felt alive, like the heart of a place where something important was being built.

You leaned against the doorway, watching Ekko crouched over his workbench, his slender fingers moving with practiced ease as they manipulated the delicate innards of a small mechanical piece. The familiar clink and scrape of metal on metal filled the room, a quiet rhythm you’d come to find comforting.

“Whatcha making?” you asked, sliding onto the worn stool beside him. Your voice was soft, careful not to disturb the focus on his face.

Ekko didn’t immediately answer. His tongue poked out ever so slightly between his lips, a sign you knew well meant he was deep in concentration. The blue glow of his workshop lamp reflected off the fine sweat on his forehead, catching the strands of his white hair that had slipped loose. His brow was furrowed, a sharp contrast to the gentle curve of his jaw.

After a long pause, Ekko looked up and flashed you a grin—bright and mischievous, lighting up the shadows around him. He held up a small pendant, no bigger than a coin, gleaming softly in the dim light.

“For you,” he said simply, voice low and steady.

You reached out, carefully taking the pendant into your palm. It was an intricate little thing—an exquisite clockwork heart enclosed in a glass casing, the gears inside spinning slowly in endless motion. Something inside shimmered faintly, like a tiny star trapped in the mechanism. The weight of it was light but substantial, like it carried its own secret energy.

“What’s this?” you breathed, turning it over in your hands, feeling the cool smooth metal beneath your fingertips.

Ekko leaned back slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead with the back of his hand. His grin deepened, the pride in his eyes unmistakable.

“A lock of my hair,” he said, voice a little softer now. “Keeps you safe. For luck.”

The simplicity of it caught you off guard. A lock of hair, preserved inside a tiny machine, something personal and irreplaceable. You blinked, warmth blooming in your chest.

“You really made this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ekko shrugged, settling back onto the edge of his workbench like it was no big deal. “I don’t buy things,” he said with a shrug and a shrug of that signature nonchalance. “I make ‘em. Like everything else that matters.”

You swallowed hard, touched beyond words. You traced the delicate edges of the pendant, the way the gears spun without end—a perfect little miracle crafted just for you.

Then your gaze drifted to a pair of gloves resting on the bench nearby. Worn, with patches and scuffs from use, but clearly custom-made—too perfectly fitted to be anyone else’s.

“And these?” you asked, picking them up carefully.

Ekko’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, eyes watching you closely.

“For your hands,” he said. “Built to handle whatever you throw at ‘em. No one else’s grip fits you like this.”

You flexed your fingers inside the gloves, the leather soft and warm. They felt like armor and home all at once, like a promise Ekko made without words—that he was always watching, always protecting.

A smile curled across your lips, heart swelling with affection. But then something caught your eye—a faint glow beyond the workshop door. Curiosity pulled you up and toward the faint light.

Ekko followed, hand sliding into yours as he stood. “Wait till you see this,” he said, voice full of quiet excitement.

Together, you stepped outside into the cool night air, the city’s pulse humming all around you. The glow came from a hidden mural painted on the brick wall that bordered the alley. It was a secret blaze of color—vivid blues and fiery oranges twisting and turning together in an intricate dance that only the two of you could understand.

Symbols from your shared past wove through the mural—little jokes only you recognized, memories painted in bright, fearless strokes that shouted home. There was the pattern you’d both agreed meant “stay safe,” a mark that meant “I’m here,” and another that meant “always.”

You ran your hand along the mural, tracing the shapes reverently, eyes wide with wonder.

“Nobody else’ll know what it means,” Ekko said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That’s why it’s ours.”

You squeezed his fingers, eyes shining bright in the neon glow. “It’s perfect.”

He leaned in, kissing your temple tenderly, the city’s noise fading into the background as the moment wrapped around you both like a warm blanket.

“And you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion, “are the best thing in this whole world”

You smiled, heart full, knowing that this—this messy, beautiful life in Zaun, with him by your side—was exactly where you belonged.

[chlorinecake]

𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 - a yjw oneshot 🕹️

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a fun gaming session with your bsf leads to a night full of steamy shenanigans

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gamer!roommate!jungwon x reader

𝐜𝐰: swearing, kissing, teasing, hickeys, y/n gets her boobies fondled, oral (f. & m. receiving), mentions of other enhypen members

𝐰𝐜: 3k | not proofread, written quickly

You sighed, “I wish more people in the world cared about Roblox… it saved my life, bro.”

“That was easily one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard you say.”

“What?”

“I said-”

“EVER! Wanna play COD Mobile instead?”

“Bruh, that game is so mid.”

You scoffed at his remark, bringing a flared hand to your chest. “I’m goated at COD mobile, averaging like 100 kills per match. People praise me for that.”

“Because it doesn’t take skill?” He made it sound like a question, when he was really making a statement.

“Mkay. I bet I’d still whoop your ass on console, but we don’t have to go there.”

A hint of ambition sparkled in his eyes at the challenge. “Oh yeah? And what are we betting here?”

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment, “If you win, I’ll fix you a victory snack.”

He nodded at the enticing offer, “And if you win? Which you won’t, but-”

“The bragging rights will be enough for me, but you could always fix the broken shower head in my bathroom so I can stop using yours,” you interrupted confidently.

Jungwon forgot all about how you broke your shower head last week. You told him it was an innocent mistake, but his mind obviously wandered to other places once you told him. By now though, he had already gotten used to sharing a bathroom with you, so he didn’t feel any urgency to repair it. Still and all, he understood how you might want your private space back. “Ok. Fair enough,” Jungwon agreed.

He handed you a controller, waiting for you to join him at the loading screen. Setting up your gear and choosing what weapon you wanted, the match eventually started. Needless to say, you didn’t stand a chance against Jungwon and his team of CPU’s, feeling sore from defeat.

A prideful smile waved over his features, showcasing his prominent dimples. “Sooo,” he began, “I would like your leftover Twix bar from the fridge cut up over two scoops of vanilla ice cream. Don’t forget the sprinkles.”

You pouted, handing him the overheating controller. “I’m not fixing you a damn thing. You probably cheated!”

His eyebrows raised, “First of all, cheating is for weenies. Second of all, a deals a deal!”

“Ugh, fine. I’m charging tips, by the way.”

“Not a chance, crook. Unless,” he caught your attention as you got up from the living room couch, “you wanna go for another round?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I'm gonna just watch you play the game for now. You could invite Heeseung, too, if you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back, okay? I gotta use the bathroom real quick.”

Walking into the bathroom, you closed the door behind you, taking off the bra that had been killing your back for the past 12 hours. You didn’t know where else to put it, so you hid it under Jungwon’s bathroom cabinet before leaving.

“When do you ever wanna play games with me? Are you with Riki or something?” Heeseung asked from the headset.

“No, I’m with ____. She needs some testosterone in her life and wants to watch us play I guess.”

“I can think of a few ways to help her with that,” Jungwon could hear the smirk in Heeseung’s voice.

“Shut the fuck up and join me already.”

“What? It’s not like you’ll ever have the balls to make a move on her, anyway,” Heeseung chuckled. “How long have you know her for again?”

“Since the first day of college.”

“Damn, and you’ve barely even grazed first base.”

“She’s still sacrificing her free time to hang out with me, so I don’t see the loss here?”

“Look, buddy. Your rizz needs an upgrade. These cute little gaming nights you have every weekend needs an upgrade. Your wardrobe needs an upgra-”

“I get it, asshole.”

You came back with the snack he requested, eliciting a dramatic applause from your goofy ahh friend.

“Your majesty,” you bowed playfully, placing the bowl of ice cream on the desk in front of him.

You filled in the space next to him, resting an elbow on the arm of the sofa, your nipples now on full display through your thin shirt.

“Are you cold,” Jungwon asked, eyes not quite meeting yours. You meant to reply, but he was already reaching his hand out to grope your chest, using a thumb to smooth out your hardened buds with his warm touch. You eyes widened in shock.

“Woah- mmm, n-no, I’m okay” you stuttered, Jungwon smirking at how flustered you appeared.

What the actual fuck was that!?, you thought to yourself.

He went back to casually talking with Heeseung again as if he didn’t just rub your nipples…

You usually enjoyed watching Jungwon play the game, but now, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Jungwon’s pretty hands. The way his delicate thumbs maneuvered the joystick of the controller sent your mind into a daze.

“Hold up, Hee, I’m gonna put you on mute for a sec,” Jungwon said, handing you his controller before mouthing the words “play for me” with a catty smirk. He adjusted his headset over your head, bringing a finger up to your seal your lips. “Shhh,” he warned.

You knew Heeseung wasn’t actually on mute because there was an open mic symbol on the corner of the screen.

What’s he up to now?, you wondered.

Kneeling between your legs with greed, Jungwon’s fingers tiptoed to the waistband of your shorts. He paused before asking, “is this okay?," and you simply nodded in response. He smiled, tugging your shorts and underwear past your hips, knees, and ankles, stuffing them under the sofa.

He gawked at your wetness, your lips swollen with need. Heeseung started the match, and that’s when Jungwon started taking kitten nips at the sensitive flesh between your thighs, leaving a few marks. He blew at your heat before finally using his fingers to explore your folds.

“Cute,” he must’ve noticed the way your pussy pulsed in anticipation. Attaching his lips to your throbbing clit, he sucked it into his mouth, alternating with his fingers when breaking for air. He hummed at your taste, adding to the pleasurable sensations.

You tried focusing on the game for Jungwon’s sake, but you couldn’t resist the urge to reach for a handful of his hair and gently grind against his face.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby, just stay focused,” he said in between slurping at your wetness that never sounded so foul til now.

Did he just call me baby?

He inserted a finger into your tight hole and started pumping in and out of you, curling up to stimulate your g-spot. You were struggling to keep your moans in, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as he finger-fucked you. He looked up, noticing that you had fully abandoned the controller. “Keep playing or I won’t let you finish,” he purred.

“Fuck,” you panted quietly, how do you expect me to do that?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, ____.”

You picked up the controller and started playing again. Heeseung was now swearing over the mic like a madman. “Bro, you’re really not helping out our stats here by letting the enemy clap your cheeks,” he scolded, but you weren’t really paying attention to his voice anyway. Jungwon dove back into your heat, licking rough stripes against your clit as he inserted a second finger. “Mngh,“ you mumbled dizzily, clenching around him.

“What?” Heeseung asked confused, having heard your noise.

You reached to mute the headset, but Jungwon gave you a look that told you not to test him. You gave in, and succeeded in holding back your whimpers, but your heavy breathing continued.

“Dude, I’m literally never playing the game with you agai- HOW THE FUCK DID I JUST GET DIED?”

One last thrust of Jungwon’s fingers, and you were finally coming undone, shaking from the intense wave of pleasure that washed over you. Slender fingers glided in and out of your needy hole, his knuckles adding to the delightful stretch. The match ended shortly after you came down from your high.

Jungwon licked his fingers clean of you and swapped the controller back. “Sorry about that, hyung. I was eating and didn’t wanna disturb you,” he lied, readjusted the headset on himself.

“Well, I hope it was worth it. Our team forfeited on some elite rewards.”

“You’re welcome,” he teased, which you didn’t know if it was meant for you or Heeseung, because he leaned in to kiss your lips softly, before going in for another match.

Still feeling your orgasm fresh in your viens, you reached under the couch to grab your shorts and underwear, putting them on and getting up from the sofa.

“Hey, what’s up,” Jungwon asked while taking a spoonful of the half-melted sundae into his mouth.

“I-I’m just gonna shower... and maybe go to bed after.”

“Alright. Me and Hee are gonna play one more match and I’ll be in after you. Don’t take long!”

"Dude, you’re abandoning me already? I thoughtyou were gonna help me take these punks to skill-ville," Heeseung whined over the mic.

"You need to immediately repent for saying that," Jungwon cringed.

You made your way to his bathroom with a change of clothes, closing the door behind you.

You entered the shower, trying to wash off the growing heat between your legs and any dirty thoughts associated with your roommate. A few minutes in, you also decided to wash your hair as it had been a week since that last time you did.

That’s when you heard the door open and close, followed by the sounds of clothes being removed and tossed on the bathroom floor. You peeked from the shower curtain, only to find a naked Jungwon standing right there. He didn’t notice you looking, so you pushed the shower curtain back.

“The shower is occupied at the moment, Wonie!”

“I know,” he smirked, entering the shower from the opposite end as if this was yet another casual ordeal.

“May I,” he asked, pointing to the spot you were standing at in the shower. “Oh, sure” you replied, trying not to make things awkward. He reached for the bottle of shampoo and started lathering the honey scented product in his hair and skin. You tried to avoid taking anymore peeks at his toned body so you busied yourself with a loofa and cleansed your skin for what felt a hundred times. By now, you sat idly in the corner of the shower, with bubbles waiting to be rinsed from your body. “Here,” Jungwon motioned for you to return to your original spot. “Thanks,” you said. “Would’ve been nice if you said that earlier,” he poked.

Oh shit.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, rinsing off the soapy suds that painting your shoulders and back. Somehow, this gesture relaxed you. “Now turn around for me.” You faced him with a chest covered in bubbles. He quickly rinsed your breasts before lowering the shower head to your private, adjusting the water pressure from low to medium.

You could hardly stand up straight from the pressure building up at your center. The throbbing sensation between your legs travelled up to your quivering lips. You moved a hand to cover your mouth, hiding your lewd sounds. Jungwon didn’t mind though, because your squirming is what excited him the most. “Hold still, ____,” he teased, putting the water pressure on high.

Bracing your balance with his free arm, his soft lips met your damp neck, nibbling at the skin. The sensation was so sweet that you finally let your moans out. Developing a mind of its own, your hand reached down to stroke Jungwon’s hardness, a lustful look staining his features.

He groaned into your ear, making you feel more than half crazy. You felt your climax creeping up on you as it became harder to stand up or keep still. Starting to pump him faster, both of you were now on the verge of bussing.

A little voice in your head slapped you back into reality.

This has to stop! He’s my roommate!

You turned the water off from the faucet on the wall, retreating your hand from his member as if it tased you. Grabbing a towel from the curtain rod and covering yourself, you left Jungwon alone in the bathroom.

You went to your room and started to dry yourself off. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around what was happening but a part of you liked it and another part knew it was inappropriate.

You just touched Jungwon’s dick, and yes, it felt really fucking nice, but the thought will likely haunt you til the day you die. He was a good friend of yours, and you didn’t wanna let fleeting feelings ruin it.

You put on the scented lotion from your nightstand followed by your clothes before plopping in your bed. You didn’t bother locking your door because you never had you to worry about Jungwon intruding your privacy. Or at least, that was before today.

You buried yourself under the covers before a trail of footsteps made their way from the bathroom to your bedroom door.

Creak.

The door opened and closed.

Click.

He locked it.

Walking over to your bed, Jungwon sat behind you.

“I know you’re awake, so stop pretending,” he whispered in your ear.

Annoyed, you threw the covers off your head, giving him an exhausted look.

“What do you want, Jungwon? Huh?”

“I could always just show you,” he said, flashing you the sluttiest eyes you’ve ever seen on a man.

“You could’ve waited for me to finish up in the shower before barging in like that.”

“No, I really couldn’t.”

“We’re roommates, Won! Hell, we’re friends!”

“And? What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can’t just fondle my tits whenever you want to, or eat me out on the couch when you’re bored, or join me in the shower because you’re impatient.”

You let that sink in for a moment.

“Did you not like it when I did those things to you? Did you not like the way I made you feel,” he inquired, inching closer towards you on the bed. “Because the way I remember it, you never told me to stop.”

The room fell so quiet that your heartbeat sounded loud.

He reached over to grip your thigh, leaning in for a kiss before shoving his tongue past your lips, but you pulled away.

“Jungwon stop!” You reprimanded, turning your head from him.

He grabbed your chin and proceeded to kiss you.

“Jungwon, I said stop...”

“I can tell you didn’t mean it.”

He continued kissing you, shoving his hand into you panties and going straight to your pussy, sliding his digits up and down your moist folds, sending an ache through your stomach.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”

He called you baby. Again!

He didn’t waste any time to rub circles around your sensitive bud, causing your hips to jerk toward him.

“Stop it!” You raised your voice, pushing him away by his throat. Your hand never looked so small til now.

“Then make me.”

“What?”

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, ____.”

Darkness waved over both your features as you pressed his back flush against the bed, reaching for his drawstring and pulling his sweat pants down. He wasn’t wearing any boxers, so his pink tip sprung up, clear fluid leaking from the tip.

You grabbed his dick, giving it a firm stroke before grazing your teeth down his shaft, eliciting the prettiest whimper you’d ever heard from his mouth. The texture of his veins ran against your tongue as you took half of him into your mouth, using your hand to stimulate the base.

Your head bounced up and down as Jungwon grew dangerously desperate. Tapping your cheek, he guided you off of him to take a breath. Cradling your head in his grasp, he slid you back down until your lips reached his pelvis. “Hollow your cheeks for me, and breath through your nose,” he guided before using your head to please him. Your eyes began to water as his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag a few times, but he ignored it.

“I’m so close, baby, just keep taking me,” he nearly begged, chest heaving as he screwed his eyes shut, “Be a good girl for me, mmm,” he grunted, picking up the pace.

You were getting used to being called “baby” by now.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, bursting his load into your mouth. He lifted your head from his throbbing heat, using a thumb to wipe the cum that dribbled from the corner of your mouth. You went back down to taste his release, only for him to guide your head away.

“Don’t eat that, ____,” he giggled, but you swiped a finger to collect some of his cum anyway.

“It’s only fair, Wonie. Now we’ve both tasted each other.”

You went to the bathroom to wash your hands, coming back with a few tissues to help clean him up. Something about this dirty moment seemed so pure. So right.

“Okay, I’m going to bed for real this time, see you tomorrow,” you smiled, getting under your covers.

“You don’t expect me to go back to my room, do you,” he asked, giving you a look.

“Well, tonight, I’ll let it slide, but if you end up breaking your bed, don’t expect visitation privileges.”

“Thank you,” he let out a breath, smiling as he snuggled under the covers beside you.

“Jungwon?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Heeseung has any idea about what we did?”

Ding.

Jungwon’s phone vibrated in his pocket:

Text Message from “Heenis” — Jake ditched me for a hoe 👍🥲 wanna call?

A mischievous smirk poked at the corners of Jungwon’s lips, “He can find out.”

“WONIE, IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER, I SWEAR YOU’RE SLEEPING IN YOUR OWN BED TONIGHT!”

❁ if y’all can’t tell already, i am dangerously jungwon biased…

❁ anyways, thanks for reading “Joystick” by @chlorinecake! be sure to check out more works by me on my enhypen bookshelf!

[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers (6)

Ao3 - Prev - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Receptor & Reader(GN), Lazerbeak & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

When Rumble nor Frenzy could play "human-keeper", as they called it, it was given to you strange green and purple pieces of a machine, you couldn't recognize what it could transfom into, but you knew it was made of three pieces only, and one of those was a lense

It had been four days since your promotion, and today would be your first attempt at redirecting shipment, you were trembling in anxiety, hoping whoever of the seekers they sent to retrieve the parts knew how to behave, not betting on Thundercracker to play delivery mech as well as personal driver

"Pacing around won't help your charade human" you hear the soft static voice call out from your pocket, you jump in attention anyways, as he rarely speaks

"Maybe, but it does help me vent my anxiety"

"It really doesn't"

"Well, let me pretend it does"

"Relax, everything is going to be fine, we made sure of it"

You stop in your tracks when noticing a black truck coming into view, the shipment is here "alright, now deliver"

Getting closer and closer, the driver stops by your side, pulling down his window and giving you a toothy smile "oi chief! Where we unloading?"

"Hangar 11 is good, the warehouse is being used today" it wasn't a lie, when the warehouse was too fool or being organized, hangar 11 was usually the go to area for temporary storage, the lie was that the warehouse was not in fact in use, but it was full enough that you could play that card if someone asked

"Gotcha" and he drives off

To sell the appearance, you continue your routine without even looking at hangar 11s' direction, helping around repairs, meetings, writting new guides and requests for upgrades on test models, making sure everyone was justified when there was a day missing in their attendance, negotiating with officers, breaking a fight over hangar 4, and finally lunch

You drop in the quiet kitchen, at this hour no-one was present, which is a blessing, you needed to breathe a little without too many eyes on you

"You know" you hear Reflector speaking again as you take one of the few leftover sandwiches "no wonder you adapted quickly to our chain of comand, your job seems very similar to our rank sistem"

You hum

"But you seem dense in some aspects of it"

You roll your eyes, munching down your food and decides to entertain the bot "how so?"

"Perhaps I am just too good at my job, as usual" you hear the pride in him "there are people wanting to take you down"

You sigh "no shit, that's normal"

"But I mean, really want to, as in, actively planing sabotage and rumor spreading"

"..." You stop, picking a small screw from hou pocket as well as him "what did you see?"

"Careful with that thing human, don't shoot the messager" you feel him jump a bit in your hand "one of them is marking your superior constantly on lunch break, the other one is reporting every single mistake you left untouched, I'm still working on the third ones' problem"

You sigh, masaging your temples, you would have to make sure to don't piss off any of your crew then, they can't do anything if you are competent to the majority present "I'll deal with it, thank you"

"Oh?" You hear him laugh "an aknowladgement is rare when not coming from lord Megatron, but apreciated, human"

You finish your lunch and decide to finally go organize the spare parts "You work for the spy section of the Decepticons then?"

"Hm... I don't have this information" you walk with him down the corridors, still pretending to fix him

"What do you mean?"

"That I don't remember that information, it's probably with one of the other two parts of me"

"Other... parts? As in, you split your conscience?"

"Pretty much yeah, into three, each one knowing parts of a whole that then join togheter once requested by lord Megatron"

"Is that... no wait, they didn't tell anyone how their powers work, never mind..." You hum "were you born with this hability?"

"I guess?"

"Got it" you puff, expected, but still sad, you pocket him again when seeing people approaching

.................................

After every part was counted and revised by the staff, you could finally separate some of the things you deem more needed, many were tubes, some wires, many metal plates, a motor for jets and tanks just in case, and wheels

All of that in two big boxes, not bad, you could work with that, passing chains around the cargo you make sure to tie them togheter, this should be enough to hold on the weight in the flight, since the Decepticons don't have members that can transform into comum human grounders... unless Soundwave can and just doesn't want to... no, wait, he is a boom box that plays caccettes, that's right, so you are pretty sure it's gonna be one of the seekers

Picking up your phone you find in the last page a decepticon icon, tapping it your keyboard appears, you write your mensage

[Cargo secured, waiting pick up: Hangar 11]

Upon hitting send, a mensage appears

<searching permitted connection....>

<Megatron - online - operational>

<No more permitted conections>

You tap Megatrons name

<conection access granted>

<menssage sent>

<Make this default conection? Y/N>

You tap back in your phone, ignoring the mensage, now you just have to wait and pay attention to the sky...

Deciding it was too dangerous to stay around longer than half an hour, you go back to your duties, the day pass by smoothly than you expect, and soon enough, you start to worry your menssage never went trough, when a ping calls your attention

[Thundercracker is on his way- 17:25:12 - °°/°°/°°/M.R - D.C: Megatron ]

Oh... well, you'll be damned, maybe the rest of the seekers just despise you... or they just like combat more. You lost counts already of how many times you had to hear Starscream chastise Skywarp about his recklessness in battle, you even joined in once, after you had to bend his wings back in place... for the fifth time in two days

Really, how many times were they to be beaten to learn and try to take over with discretion, it's getting ridiculous how the hell didn't they get beaten once and for all already, you start to wonder how Megatron got to be a dictator in the first place, because apparently who reined Cybertron before they got stuck here was the Decepticons, so what gives, does he have all competent people there and got stuck with the worst of his generals?

Is he even a tyrant anymore? Who is ruling Cybertron if both faction leaders are on earth, surely they got more people fighting up there... is there even a war going on anymore, four million years is a long time, maybe they got in an agreement and once he discovers, the silver tank will short circuit and die

Although... this doesn't mean much for your planet does it? You can feel that, even if for now, they are raiding energy companies for necessity, it would soon become the main purpose of earth for the tyrant, a young planet full of energy... he would suck it dry, but humanity is already doing that, if he wants every single charge of it, he should take down the greedy upper-class main companies first... then again, he probably would just do the political move of "you keep an eye on yours and I'll give you money and let you keep your life"

... eh, nothing you already don't expect from humans between ourselves anyways, in this world it all depends on how useful you are to someone else, and for now, you are very useful for them, so you are safe...

Safer than most anywas, and that was the most comforting thought you had this week

The sky roars, and you know Thundercracker is near, people jump in attention then check to see if it's raining, the day is foogy enough to pretend it will soon, so you run along for Hangar 11

The blue jets await your arrival in good shape, you look for sighs of fatigue or malfunction, he is static, and his turbins stop working slowly, letting them cool down naturally from use, his lights are working in perfect condition, and he stops at perfect distance of the wall of boxes, everything indicating attention and awareness, you smile noting that he is alright

There are some workers around catching a break, you greet them and smoothly goes to the lifting cart, driving it into the chained boxes and dragging them bellow Thundercracker

With a ladders help you fix the cargo in two of his loops, usualy a F-15 isn't supposed to carry this much weight, but a seeker is not a F-15, they are faster, and they are more resistant, the damage you saw in Thundercracker and Skywarp is something you bet would have broken any human jet no problem, but they survive it, probably a property of the flexibility of living metal

So you hope that means they are far stronger too, you give a gentle tap on his wheels, and with start wayving your hands at the cockpit, playing along as if you were silognaling to the pilot the green light for take off

When the engines start you are sure he got the mensage, you hear someone behind you murmur "not even a hello, who even is this guy..."

You shrugged a lie coming naturally to you "capitals' lieutenant"

You hear the loud smack of your coworkers jaw as he gulps, and do your best to keep yourself from smirking smuggly

..........................

Lazerbeak had a different mission today, one not directly given by his boss, but he suspects it was approved anyway since he wasn't sent to the autobots base this cycle anyways, but given by his coworker, it was given as an official mission, it was demanded as one, but he knew it wasn't one

After all, what would they even do with a rusthy human scrap of a two wheel model like this one

Unless the plan was to give it to the little human disassemble, wich was very unlikely, Ravage had been very adamant that he kept the junk intact, perhaps it is a gift, a not so unusual ocurance to the feline minicon when it comes to her favorites, the human did save her life, short off, Lazebeak is still sure anyone would have been able to do that human or not, but the precise surgery that was not a surgery has been reported to be easier to handle than being open and vulnerable in the light of a wrentch

The avian minicon wouldn't know, he was more of a intelligence gathering and last nano-second backup than the others, rarely in need of maintainance himself, so he didn't knew the human as much as he should personally at this point

Even if he was keeping surveillance in them every once in a while, his main job was to keep an eye on autobots, but he was sent to make a quick scan of the military base they frequent

When arriving at the decepticon base, Lazerbeak made sure to put the two wheel model by the medical wing, just as requested

What he didn't expect was the little human to enter right as he was ready to take flight, he freezes, turning his head in their direction, their eyes shone in recognition, a big smile stretching their fleshy face "My bike!"

They run past the minicon immediately, inspecting the item "scratches eveywere, some dents but nothing too damaging, I gotta clean you up of all this sand, oh my baby, how I have missed you!"

Lazerbeak tilts his head a bit in confusion, by Rumble's memory data, a baby should be just a tinny human... perhaps it is also an affectionate term for other things, that would explain it "You got this to me?"

The human looks at him, weary and curious, Lazerbeak lowers his stance, eyes shining once, the human servos twitch tentatively, the avian minicon waits for their reaction, a mischievous glint in his optics

They reach their hand, and Lazerbeak makes a bite in their direction, startling the little thing and making the avian cackle in daylight, the human yelps then remains their composure "alright fine no touching.... thanks anyways"

The little human moves the "bike" over to their own little corner, Ravage has sworn that no matter how far or how fast human contraptions were, Cybertronians were faster, you wouldn't be able to escape even with one hour of advantage in the open desert

And with that, the air spy goes back to his commander, to Megatrons' office he flies, were Soundwave is found discussing matters with their leader

"Any luck with our preparations Soundwave?" The warlord asks, focusing on datasets instead of his spy comander

"Humans EM fields: unstable" the blue mech says, opening his chest for Lazerbeak to doc "Long distance reading: poor quality, intentions vaguely acknowledged at best, Short distance reading: better intention percieved, no cohesive thoughts detected, Phisical conected: still to be tested"

"Good, see to it that you find a way to read a humans mind, the autobots aquired another fleshbag to their ranks, from last reports he seems to be a scientist prodigy, his knowledge on the new energy source they are working on might be useful to us"

"Decoy base: evaluated?"

"Skywarp is working on it, dismissed"

The comander nods, giving a brief tap to his Chamber and leaves, walking back to his shared, but only he uses anyways, office with the air comander, analyzing Lazerbeaks recordings as he does

The spy commander feels Ravage indignation of her gift being given credit to the avian, caccette growling inside him despite her recharge mode, the minicon doesn't seem to care, still pleased at being praised and the change of scenery, Soundwave notes your care with the motorbike, filing the information in case of second hand punishment being needed

Usualy he would now make surveillance as Ravage and Frenzy recharge, the base being almost done, perhaps by the end of seven cycles they could get to work in a transmission tower and finally contact Cybertron

However, if he could finish his human EM field analysis this cycle still, he could move on to more pressing matters, like a plan of kidnapping the human they needed, he is still in need of locating his charging quarters in the autobot base or outside it

As he thinks the blue mech notices his peds driving him to the medical wing, of course, they already do have a human...

Your EM field was always on high alert around him, and most mechs that were far bigger than you, if he noticed correctly, fear surrounding that little head of yours when anyone walks in, not unusual to those who knows about the second form of the disguised mechs, but you were the recent stuborn decision his lord has had

Too valuable to accidentally get rid off, hence he avoided using you directly as a case study first, only as a hipotesis confirmation, humans do not feel his information scans, and that was that, but now... would he risk Lord Megatrons' wrath if his reading in direct contact to a humans mind might potentially fry whatever you have as a processor?

Then again, it would just be a more in deep scan, and it was already proven it didn't hurt from afar...

Slowly he approaches, registering the faint tune you hum, a deep part of him want to tap to the beat, it is quite simple, but he wouldn't be a spy master if he succumbed to these types of urges. He is as close as he can without letting his shadow give him away, in a split second the decision is made, the second you turn around as you noticed the massive mech, with one single digit he pokes your head "wh-?!"

The small creature freezes, gripping the small cloth like their life depends on it, he hold backs a small chuckle, they were amusing to mess with, this, he agreed with his cassettes. Going back to his task, he pats your head more firmly now, concentrating in the waves of energy in one single point, then spreading it to your whole body, the experiment a sucess,he hears your voice

"W..... appening..."

Then he adds his other hands' finger, your voice grows clearer

"Is ...... this..... ?"

Then he vents in frustration and decides to just concentrate all fingers in two spots by your heads' side

"Oh yeah, I definitively passed out on the pile, this is too much for this late of the night... or is it morning already?"

Good, he could work on humans as well, now for a test run in interrogation

"Query: do you know my designation?" Lets start simple

Your eyes shot open "designation-name name of course, name name name his name- fuck, names-"

An image, a memory, a hand inside a lavender piston, a voice, Frenzys voice "are you stupid?! He doesn't know we are here! Do you want to blow our cover?!"

"If he did he would have come and killed the human after yesterdays warning", "a name a name a name a name Frenzys and Rumbles boss-", his own voice "Patient designation: Ravage", then Rumbles' "Bah stop being such a weenie... did-"

"Soundwave..." "SIR DONT FORGET THE SIR YOU DUMBASS" "sir"

More voice than image, but upon called an especific memory it will apear, even if a bit turved, he can work with that, he stops his pats, and can't hold back the chuckle, your fur is sticking out "Assistance: apreciated"

Without any delay, he gets up, and starts walking out of the room, but halts in his way, Megatron is watching from the door, the spy master feels his optics widen and his visor brighten, his posture goes rigid "Lord Megatron"

The silver tyrant hasn't caught his third in command this flustered since the start of this war, it all becomes more comical by the absolute confusion that is scrunched up in the humans face, it is becoming harder and harder not burst laughing "Soundwave"

"This is the weirdest fantasy I have ever had" that does it, the warlord wheeze out a deep hawling laugh, he can't contain it, the allegations of a pet human are going to sky rocket after this but frag it, it was all worth for seeing this scene alone

You and Soundwave look at each other in an empaty-driven concern for the well-being of your own lives, and it only gets worse when you hear a scratchy voice from somewhere in the base screaming "WHAT THE PIT IS THAT SOUND?!"

In a blink of an eye, Soundwave is not by your side anymore, the traitor has abandoned you, Megatron claps his knees, and you hear his vents struggle to keep a consistent intake "I needed this, oh, I forgot I could do that, frag- my vents- scrap... what were you two doing?"

"Honestly, boss?" You decide to just... lay on the ground for a little while, things couldn't get weirder "I have no idea"

And the laugh starts again, but he at least leaves the med bay, and you start to suspect that this is all an elaborated TV prank

[rainba]

Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police. 

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words “Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food. 

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him. 

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…! 

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too. 

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on. 

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

[rileyslibrary]

hello! So you know about those like music boxes with the ballerinas on top? what if reader has a plain music box and decides to put a mini painted simon riley on it and reader gets caught playing with the custom music box

Please and thank you!

There you go, anon! Hope you like it!

———————————————————————

You recline on your assigned bed, head cradled in one hand while the other fiddles with the box in front of you. Work has been sluggish lately—a good thing, considering the nature of your job. Yet, despite the break, your hands ache for the action they’ve been accustomed to—pulling triggers, disarming bombs, rescuing comrades and civilians. Now, they remain idle, bored, and without purpose.

For that reason, you finally decided to address a long-delayed project you’ve postponed for ages: restoring your grandmother’s worn-down ballerina music box. Time has taken its toll on it, with splinters jutting from the once-smooth surface. The paint, once vibrant, had either chipped away in places or surrendered entirely, leaving bare patches to the sides and on the lid. Even the ballerina inside, once gracefully twirling, had been frozen in time. It begged for your attention and care.

And that’s exactly what you did.

You fixed the mechanism inside, stripped away the original paint, sanded the box down and diligently repainted it, using whatever colours you managed to salvage—some leftover black varnish that had been used to paint the fence around the base, green paint from the mechanics who use it for the military vehicles and a ghastly olive hue colour you have no idea of its purpose, nor you want to know.

As you turn the key, the music box releases its familiar melody, drawing your attention to the figure twirling within. Gone is the ballerina’s delicate face. Now it’s replaced by a meticulously painted skull balaclava closely resembling Ghost. The once pink bodysuit has transformed into a scaled-down tactical vest with detailed features, mirroring the real deal—knives, magazines, and even a tourniquet secured on the shoulder. The ballerina’s bare legs now sport camo leggings, and her ballet shoes have been upgraded to sturdy combat boots. The tutu couldn’t be removed since it was part of the ballerina’s body, so you left it as it was and painted it black.

You turn the key again and let it go, watching the lieutenant twirl. Your gaze is fixed on the figure as you find yourself entranced, occasionally poking at the lieutenant’s hand to halt the motion and releasing it to begin twirling again.

And as you do it one more time, the door opens, and the real, life-sized lieutenant pokes his head through the opening. He scans the entire room until it settles on you

“Is it you making that noise?” he asks.

“Noise?” you ask back. “That’s Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky.”

“I don’t care what it is,” he replies. “Either turn it off or turn the volume down.”

“Well, I can’t turn the volume down,” you say, pointing at the box.

“I gave you two options if I remember correctly,” he says, tilting his head to the side. He narrows his eyes, now focused on the box, and approaches the bed with his hand extended towards you. “Give me that.”

“No!” You retort and hug the box close to your chest. “Why should I give it to you?”

“Because I said so,” he whispers, pointing with his finger. “Now. Give. Me. The. Box.”

You sigh and roll your eyes but comply with his demand. You close the box, which triggers the music to stop and hand it over to Ghost.

He holds it to his side for a second, then lifts it to his eye level. He looks at it all around and, with a swift motion, lifts the lid.

The music starts playing again, and the mini-lieutenant resumes his little dance. Ghost stands there with the box in his hands, watching the figurine until it stops moving. He looks at you, then at the box. He turns the box towards you so you can look at the figurine and points at it.

“That’s me,” he states, triggering three nods from you.

“I was bored,” you explain, shrugging, “so I decided to refurbish my grandma’s antique ballerina box with whatever I found at the base.”

“I can see that,” he whispers, turning around the box. “Maintenance support didn’t have a colour closer to fuchsia?”

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply, following his sarcastic tone. “They ran out.”

“Poor grandma and poor ballerina,” he says, pointing again at his mini-self. “Why did you turn her into that?”

“What do you mean ‘into that’?” you ask, pointing at the box. “That’s you.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, turning the box around to look at the figurine better. “Plus, it doesn’t look like me at all.”

“Why?” you ask, wincing. “Is it the tutu?”

“No,” he says, slowly looking at you and tilting his head. “What gave you that impression?”

You chuckle at his response. “What is it then?”

He holds the box to the side so you can look at the figurine and himself.

“Look,” he says, spreading his other hand to the side. “It’s too skinny to be me.”

“Hmmm, I can’t tell from where I’m sitting…” you murmur, scratching your chin as you examine both of them. “How about you make a quick pirouette for me?”

“How about I make you pirouette all the way to the Captain?” He asks, as he lifts one eyebrow and closes the box.

He motions with his other hand at you to stand up. “Get ready for training,” he states and shakes the box. “This comes with me.”

“No, Lt.!” You shout, “That’s mine!”

“Well, it has my bloody face in there, doesn’t it?” He says. “Plus, I can’t have you playing that music in the base; it’s scaring the others.”

“Scaring the others?” You protest, and your eyes widen. “I’m scaring grown-ass men who kill for a living?”

“Not you,” he replies as he walks towards the exit and lifts the box in the air. “But that bloody Tchaikovsky is.”

———————————————————————

[pneumaticshift]

I just read the latest chapter of BLP!! SO GOOD. Hal’s quiet resignation is such a mood haha. He’s in it for the long haul, unfortunately. It also made me think of a prompt if you’re interested.

What if established batlantern featured a Hal that was a master guilt tripper? I feel like the bats are so emotionally repressed that open emotion or, dare I say, even open crying from Hal would immediately give him an upper hand against most of them.

Now who could fuck up enough in the family that the normally chill Hal would use this power for evil? Who’s to say haha.

Love your stuff! Hope you’re having a good day :)

Ahh, thank you so much!! Really glad you're enjoying it.

I had a lot of fun with your prompt. I feel like Hal's not much of a dick to be emotionally manipulative for big serious things, but he'd definitely use it to be the petty little shit he was always destined to be. I hope you like it 💚💚🦇

———

Jason liked to limit his time in the manor, mostly because he didn’t want Bruce to get the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was the old man to think he was on the verge of some grand, heartfelt return to the family. He certainly wasn’t planning on moving back in or, god forbid, partaking in some kind of formal reinstatement into the fold. 

No, obviously Jason wasn’t here out of any sense of comfort. It was all strictly practical. Maybe his safehouse had a busted boiler. Maybe his internet was out. Maybe Gotham was just particularly miserable tonight and he still hadn’t fixed the window in his apartment.

Then again, there was something about the quiet hum of the Batcomputer that made his shoulders loosen just a fraction. Not that he’d ever acknowledge it, out loud or otherwise. He leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the console just to annoy Bruce in absentia. Jason planned to be gone way before the old man came back from whatever corner he was brooding in, but Jason liked to believe he’d feel a vague sense of irritation by proxy. 

He wasn’t staying, obviously. He’d just come to borrow some gear. A few upgrades, maybe a couple of batarangs. Not because he needed them, but because stealing from Bruce had always been a real satisfying hobby. Sure, he might have taken a detour to the library to swipe a few of Bruce’s first editions, too. One of them had even been bookmarked, which made it infinitely more enjoyable to take.

Now he was sprawled out in front of the Batcomputer, making a dent in some leftover sesame chicken straight from the container. He didn’t know who’s it was, but Batfamily law decreed that if it had been in the fridge for more than a day, then it was fair game. 

Jason had been in the middle of watching a blurry video compilation of Cursed Gotham Sightings — which included at least three separate clips of himself when he was still running about in his more homicidal phase, and one video of Bruce eating shit after his grapple broke — when the Batcave’s security gave a low, lazy chime. That meant someone with clearance had entered. Which, in turn, meant that Jason didn’t have to shoot them. A shame, really. 

He barely had enough time to decide on his excuse for being there when Hal Jordan floated in like he belonged. 

And, okay, technically he did these days, and that was something Jason was still struggling to wrap his head around. Hal had been dating Bruce for a while now, long enough that Jason stopped expecting it to be some elaborate prank or an undercover operation that Bruce had neglected to inform the family about.

Somehow, against all logic, rhyme or reason, the Green Lantern actually wanted to spend time with Bruce. Voluntarily. Without, like, an ulterior motive. And Jason had yet to determine if that meant Hal had some kind of latent head injury or if he just really enjoyed the suffering that came with a man who’d rather break a bone than express any kind of positive emotion. 

Hal took one look at Jason, then at the takeout box in his hand. "Is that my sesame chicken?”

Jason paused mid-bite and very deliberately glanced down at the takeout box. There was a smudge of sauce on the lid, a logo he hadn’t bothered to look at before, and something suspiciously close to Hal’s name scrawled on the side in what was probably Alfred’s neat handwriting.

He looked back up at Hal. “...Dunno. Might be.” And then, because committing to the bit was a family trait, he popped the chicken in his mouth and chewed nonchalantly. 

Green Lantern was well known for deliberately being a dick when the situation called for it, so Jason had been expecting some pushback. He’d seen the guy bicker with Bruce enough times that it was fairly reasonable to assume Hal would at least attempt some petty retribution. At the very least some half-assed back-and-forth that would pass the time before Jason inevitably got bored and left.

He really, really didn’t expect for Hal’s entire body to slump mid-air. Hal just, like…deflated. His shoulders hunched, his mouth opened a little like he didn’t know how to continue, and his mask fizzled away so Jason could see the very specific kind of disappointment that would’ve been more apt on a kid that just got its favourite toy taken away. Hal blinked and his feet drifted down to the ground with all the enthusiasm of a man being lowered into his own grave. 

“Oh,” Hal whispered, his voice so alarmingly soft. “Oh, okay.”

Jason panicked. This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t how arguments were supposed to go. He could handle a petty quarrel or a physical altercation, but this… this was new, and Jason really didn’t like where this was going. 

And Hal just stood there. He wasn’t exactly a short guy, but he suddenly looked so small. He was radiating wounded sorrow and his eyes — god, his eyes. They looked moist. Not quite full-on tears, but the kind of damp, glossy sheets that made it very clear that Hal could cry if he wanted to. 

Jason felt a cold sweat start to form. He couldn’t handle tears. 

“Uh…” he started, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you—”

“No, no.” Hal waved him off, his voice too steady. Like he was holding something back. “I get it. It’s fine. I just…”

“Dude. It’s just chicken…”

“Was chicken,” Hal corrected tiredly, looking deeply, viscerally wounded. “Was mine. And now it’s—-” He cut himself off and inhaled sharply like even saying it was too much. His head shook slightly, eyes fluttering shut like he was physically stopping himself from falling apart right then and there. Jason had seen people die with less drama. “It’s gone,” Hal finally whispered.

“...I don’t—”

Hal let out another long, shuddering sigh and he tilted his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “I thought you were different,” he continued, almost to himself. “I believed in you.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious?” Hal let out a humourless laugh and he looked back at Jason, eyes filled with pain. Jesus Christ, was he being legitimate right now? Jason felt something foreign and incredibly uncomfortable curl in his chest. Guilt. Actual guilt. Over takeout. This was not his natural state of being. “Jason, I dreamed about that chicken.”

“Oh my God—” “I held on,” Hal continued, placing a fist dramatically over his chest. “Through asteroid fields. Through alien war zones. Through deep, endless space.” He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut again. “And I told myself, ‘One more day. One more patrol. And when I get back home, when I finally, finally touch down, it’ll be waiting for me. Warm. Safe. Loved.’” His voice cracked on that last word. “You’re messing with me, right? You’re not actually…upset about this, right?”

Hal made a wounded noise. “I trusted you man,” he murmured, just loud enough for Jason to hear. And those were exactly the words that always made him crumble, because trust was such a beautiful, sad commodity in his life. Hal proceeded to make it even worse by slamming the final nail in the coffin. “I thought we were family.”

And god-fucking-damnit, that was what broke him. 

Jason clenched his hands into fists around his chopsticks. This was a setup. He knew this was a setup. Hal Jordan simply didn’t break down over something a stupid as food. He didn’t break down, period. The guy had dealt with way too much shit in his life to let takeout dictate his emotional state. 

But Hal looked so goddamn broken. He just stood there with his chest barely rising with each soul-crushing sigh, and his big hazel eyes were dim and devastated. He looked like Jason had personally ripped his heart out and stomped on it. And that was dangerous.

Because Jason was used to the cold. He was used to the sharp blue eyes of his family and the way their gaze straight up cut. His dad — uh, Bruce (goddamnit) and his brothers had disappointment that was quiet and knife-like, slicing just deep enough to leave a scar. He knew how to brace against that, knew how to fight against it. 

Hal wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the family, though. Hal didn’t cut. He ached. His disappointment was soft, open, an exposed wound bleeding out realtime, and Jason didn’t know how to deal with that. 

“It’s just takeout, man,” he tried weakly in one last ditch attempt at retaining some kind of control of the situation. 

“You don’t get it,” Hal murmured, shaking his head. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

And Jason was apparently a weak fucking man, because he hissed an impassioned “Fuck you,” under his breath, and shoved himself away from the Batcomputer so violently that the chair nearly toppled over. He stormed out of the room before he could let Hal see just how much he’d won.

Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, he came back. He shoved a fresh box of sesame chicken onto the console, slamming it down with force. If he was doing this, he was gonna do it petulantly. 

“There,” Jason growled. “Happy now?”

Hal, now lounging on the chair and watching the compilation videos Jason had left open on the Batcomputer, didn’t even flinch. He just blinked at the box, tilted his head a little, and then — then, like he hadn’t just emotionally manipulated Jason into doing his dark bidding, grinned brightly. 

“Oh, sweet, thanks, buddy,” he said casually, already opening the lid and digging around for the chopsticks.

Jason stared at him. He just...stared. Mute, disbelieving, a little put in his place. 

When did he become so easy to manipulate? How in the hell had he let this happen? More importantly, why — why, why?? — was a small, twisted part of him actually impressed by the gall of this bastard. Jason kind of wanted to fight him.

Hal, chuckling at a grainy video of Batman falling out of a window, barely even acknowledged his crisis. He just hummed happily around a mouthful of chicken, clicked through another video on the Batcomputer, and without looking up, said, “So, you staying for dinner or not?”

Jason opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Sighed deeply. And, so completely resigned, he muttered, “Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

[egrets-not-regrets]

Tinker

As Erriox finds out, some appliances don’t need updating or tinkering with.

Author’s Note:

*Dialogue spoken in Gothic language is bolded and italicized.*

Erriox likes to tinker with appliances for fun and make them more efficient. Lenora is not impressed with the results of this attempt.

Tagged: @shadowfirecat , @kit-williams , @bleedingichorhearts , @barn-anon , @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@sleepyfan-blog , @bispecsual , @c-u-c-koo-4-40k , @ms--lobotomy , @legionsofthehungry

@gra93fruit-blog , @i-am-a-dragon34 , @felinisnoctis, @thevoidscreams, @yurihasurunbara

@cruelmeltryllis , @insanity6666, @anothermeforcompany

“Erriox?”

Erriox paused while working on his future plans for their home, a sense of foreboding pressing down on his shoulders. That lilty elongated way Lenora enunciated his name meant she was either confused about something or he did something that made her displeased. Though to be fair, his bonded rarely got angry about anything, generally taking misunderstandings in good humor; but there are things that she does get annoyed with. The Iron Warrior let out a small huff before getting up to deal with whatever his bonded was having trouble with.

His nose picked up the scent of burning food as soon as he stepped out of his workshop. Lenora was outside with a tray of burnt pizzas, her lips pinched in a frown. She looked at him suspiciously, “Did you mess with the oven?” her voice, while light still held a tone of disappointment and exasperation.

Erriox bristled at the accusation and defensively replied, “I made it cook more efficiently.”

His bonded poked the blackened hardened pizzas. Unfortunately they were too burnt to be salvaged, “This… isn’t efficient cooking. These pizzas burnt in three minutes. I know I set the temperature correctly.”

“Are you certain?” He asked. She probably set the oven temperature too high.

“Yes.” Lenora sounded annoyed at being questioned, but Erriox ignored it in favor of getting to the crux of the problem.

“Show me.” he insisted.

With a sigh, Lenora showed her bonded Astartes the steps she took to bake the pizzas. The Iron Warrior stared at the oven showing a blank expression.

There was something really funny about the way he stared at the oven, as if it had committed a major sin and he was very disappointed in it. Lenora started laughing, “Erriox. Sweetheart, food takes time to cook. If you try to bake something at high temperatures, you would only burn the surface but not fully cook the inside.”

She added, “I know you like to tinker with things and make them more efficient, please let me know if you want to do that with other kitchen appliances. And please repair the oven to make it as it was originally.”

An itch crawled up the back of his neck and onto his ears. Erriox stilled his arm so he would not scratch it like some chastised neophyte. Feeling embarrassed, he replied stiffly, “I will. It will be fixed by tomorrow evening.”

Feeling some pity, Lenora patted his back, “Thank you. I am not in a hurry to use the oven, so take your time.” She chuckled good-naturedly, “Good thing we have leftover stew in the freezer.”

She took out a large pot and put it on the stovetop. Before turning it on, she paused and asked, “Did you reengineer the stovetop?”

“No! That has not been altered.” Erriox was thankful he hadn’t touched it yet, though that was one of the projects on his to-upgrade list. If he messed that one up too, no doubt his bonded would kick him out of the kitchen forever. Then that would mean no more cooking together with her. Or worse, maybe even kick him out of the house too.

Lenora, seeing Erriox’s stiff flustered look, squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile, “It’s alright. No harm done. Help me get the stew from the freezer and we’ll get dinner ready.”

“Will do.” Erriox relaxed and squeezed back before letting go to get the food for dinner.

[queenofsquids]

seized some time while the kids were on vacation with my parents to finally give T a nice room. if you remember years ago I made R such a cool bed, and all this time he's never even brought up that she had the undeniably cooler room. and he's been going through a "scared of the dark" phase where he was particularly anxious about his closet, which has always been stuffed to the gills with leftover crap from everywhere else in the house and not really his own.

so I emptied the closet and took the doors & rails off. put up this space wallpaper he chose, and stuffed a small mattress plus his "Pluffle" (human dog bed) that he sleeps in, into the space. this closet had a shitload of those wire shelves with brackets in it, so it took me literally half a week to fill and patch dozens of anchor holes before wallpapering. also put two orange 24" square plush ottomans inside the corners to pad it all and he can sit in there like tiny sofas.

when Tiffy posted that Ikea desk thing made of the Trofast units it was perfect timing, I realized it would work great for him. the three units together fit exactly against that wall with maybe an inch to spare. the hang-on-the-wall units were out of stock but maybe someday I'll be able to upgrade to the full inspo set. I was just happy they had purple and orange plastic bins to match his theme.

when I bought the wallpaper he asked for, the suggested add on items showed one of those big fabric sensory swings, which I knew he would love, so I got a matching purple/pink/space theme one and we anchored it into a beam. found the beam by using a huge fridge magnet to locate all the drywall screws then confirmed with a small nail hammered in lines to be very sure the swing bracket is into wood. (the stud finder wasn't functioning on the deeply textured ceiling that's why we resorted to this. old houses 🥹)

and then, after spending an actual entire day scrubbing his "art" off the walls (some kids are more stubborn than others ...), I realized he could draw on the wall to his heart's content if I just made it a blackboard with some of that special paint. this took a lot more effort than I expected and my arms were dead after sanding, scrubbing, painting, and "seasoning" then erasing a 150" wall. yeah apparently you gotta lightly cover the whole thing with chalk rubbed vertically then horizontally, and buff it all into the surface, before using it for the first time or else you'll always see the "ghost" of your first drawings. that's seasoning the chalkboard, and turns it from stark black to a dusty grey like a real school board from my memory

but he was so happy when he arrived back home, all worth it.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! I have been reading you for a long time and would like to ask you something for the first time… The last message flow to the Lethal Company from the Nutcracker was WILDLY SWEET, however, it hurt me from the bracken that was shot through the lytic…. May I ask the bracken and the reader where the bracken constantly goes behind the reader's back…. JUST TO HUG! Someone from the team warns about the danger and the bracken gently takes the reader in his arms to his lair for even bigger hugs!

Bruh you have no idea how soft i am for brackens hfghhs (when I first started playing LC, they were ALWAYS killing me...but now they just like to pop out and scurry away when I look at them, so I consider us to be pretty chill)

Anyways woe Bracken fluff be upon ye <3

.....

Of all the creatures you've encountered during your time with the Company, Brackens were certainly the most complicated.

Even though there's been countless documents and reports of employees scanning, studying, and dying to these aliens...they were still seldom understood. The data on the terminal said so.

There was one in particular who had such a unique behavior pattern that remained a mystery to you.

And he lived on Experimentation, which was supposedly the "safest" moon to land on and gather scrap from.

Most of the time, however, that was a load of bullshit...as you and your crew had many encounters with aggressive lifeforms such as hoarding bugs, Thumpers, spiders, and turrets that were placed in the most inconvenient spots...

Hell, even an Earth Leviathan showed up and nearly consumed your entire ship.

As of right now, though, you were on-track to making the third profit quota's deadline. So a trip to Experimentation was an order, as you could grab minimal loot and still gain enough leftover money to buy some much-needed ship upgrades and tools.

Or maybe new suits or jack o'lanterns.

None of you were good at managing your budget.

But during this trip, you were less focused on getting loot and more eager to see....a certain someone.

Hopefully, he hasn't forgotten about you or mistook you for another random employee.

While two of your coworkers headed into the facility's main entrance and one stayed behind on the ship, you ascended the stairs leading up to the fire exit--armed with nothing but a flashlight and a walkie-talkie.

[Nearby activity detected!]

"Oh come on...can you be anymore vague?" You huffed, slightly annoyed that your scanner displayed the message before you could even touch the damn door.

"Activity" was awfully broad and could mean literally anything was waiting for you on the other side..

It could be a bunker spider or snare flea waiting to drop down on you and catch you by surprise.

It could be a Hygrodere spreading itself all over the floor, anticipating you setting one foot into it before drowning in its slimy body.

It could even be a simple turret ready to turn you into swiss cheese.

However, there's the possibility that it could also be the one entity here who didn't wanna give you a painful death, and you hoped to god you were right.

So you took a leap of faith and entered.

Surprisingly no danger was immediately present, although you did find a lot of good loot inside the room and smiled. "Oh sweet!" You grabbed the rubber ducky and Rubik's cube in the nearest corner, pocketing them. "This should set us way above-"

"Something's behind you!"

"Huh-?!"

All of the sudden, a pair of large arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back and causing your oxygen tanks to be pressed against the creature's chest-

Wait.

You only knew one Bracken that did that, and you couldn't help but laugh. "Oh my gosh, you scared me! You know you can't keep doing that!"

"Krrrrrr.." The entity purred softly, nuzzling his face against your neck as its leaves rustled with happiness.

With a chuckle, you patted his arm affectionately. "I've missed you, too, buddy. I told you I'd be back."

Knowing it was this Bracken, you felt safer than ever. He had a habit of greeting you this way: by sneaking up behind you like the rest of his species typically did, and attacking you.....not by snapping your neck like a twig, but by embracing and nuzzling you.

Of course, nobody in your crew believed that you've got a dangerous alien predator on Experimentation who always waited for you. Who loved you like a dog and would kill a Thumper for you.

If only they could meet him...but then again, he was shy.

"Don't tell me it's that damn Bracken again...did you tame it or something?"

The staticky voice of your coworker over the walkie-talkie startled the poor Bracken out of the hug, as it dropped you and flared its leaves out, wondering where they were.

"Relax, we're cool." You huffed, annoyed that they spooked your friend. "I gotta conserve my battery so...signal me when it gets close to midnight."

"....fine. Just don't die. Over and out."

After switching off the device, you turned back to him and smiled apologetically. "Don't worry. They're far away, so they won't bother us." You removed your helmet for the moment.

He nodded in understanding, crouching down to get a better look at your human features.

For some reason he never minded prolonged eye contact with you--and that was a good thing....otherwise, you would've been dead a long time ago.

You smiled and patted the top of his head, before he suddenly sprung up and scooped you up into his arms, lifting you completely off the ground. "Woah! Hey! Where are we going?" You asked as he carried you out of the room, taking you somewhere further within the facility.

Considering the Bracken knew his way around, you weren't too concerned with getting lost.

On your way to this unknown destination, you spotted a hoarding bug skittering down the hallway, eyeing the brass bell attached to your belt.....only to freeze as the leafy entity glared at it.

Luckily it understood the appropriate time to make eye contact with a Bracken, as it eventually looked away from him and decided to leave for another part of the facility.

It seems most of the creatures were knew who was the alpha.

'Man, whoever's tracking me must be so confused right now..' You thought to yourself as he continued walking.

Eventually you both arrived at a place many employees dubbed the "Bracken Room": a large open illuminated space with yellowish walls that looked out of place in the facility.

After setting you down on the floor, you looked at the Bracken with confusion, wondering why he decided to bring you here....until he brought you into another hug, wanting to sit down and have you in his lap.

You just smiled and wrapped your arms around him, giggling as he tucked his head underneath your chin, wanting to listen to the sound of a human's heartbeat.

Now you understood.

All he wanted was to take you to a quiet, safe place away from all the other monsters and employees. A place where he could have you to himself...at least for a couple more hours, anyways.

You knew the ship wasn't leaving anytime soon, so you didn't mind keeping him company.

While other Brackens are among the top three reasons employees hated their job...this one made you love it.

You feel so lucky, you'll consider buying a lottery ticket if you ever returned to Earth.

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

PAIRING: tech x gn!reader

SUMMARY: "when i met ana, i knew; i loved her to the point of invention." -sarah ruhl

WORDS COUNT: 1.1k

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences. fluff. valentines day blurb. use of y/n. au where everyone is happy on pabu.

NOTES: bada bing bada boom this is 4 days laaaaaaaaate so sorry humblest of apologies please love it

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

“Tech?” 

“Yes?”

“...what is that?” 

Life on Pabu was breezy. Safe, protected, warm, and happy; Pabu was cut from a different cloth than the rest of the galaxy, light despite the unrelenting weight of Empirical oppression. Thus was why the Bad Batch had chosen it to hunker down and perhaps create some roots somewhere not centered around war and pain.

With the entrance of the Batch on Pabu, came the entrance of Tech into Y/N’s life. 

Peculiar, that one was, but you couldn’t help but find yourself enamored by him. Naturally, it was a slow progression between the two of you, with a friendship forming before the man even started processing the second layer of your relationship. Even with the ever so gracious help of Omega, Tech was oblivious to the little hints, the tension that organically formed, and could not fathom why you would go out of your way to do the simplest of things for him. 

Tech was more than capable of feeding himself, yet from time to time dinner was brought over with claims of having extra. He knew there was no way you, who lived alone, would have this much leftover food for one meal yet the possibility of you intentionally making this just to bring it to him was unrealistic—and even further, impossible. 

It had been Hunter who had let him in on the not so hidden fact that dinner nights with you weren’t really meant for them all. Yes, you were all of their friend—but those visits, that thought and care was for Tech. He had argued, of course, and it had been Omega this time who informed him that that was just what you do. 

“What they care for someone, they do things for them,” she explained as if it was the most obvious thing as she tinkered with some gadget. “Y/N makes dinner for all of us, but they always make your favorites, Tech. You know,” she turned, grinning at her brothers, “they always carry a cloth in case you need to clean your goggles.” With that, the girl stood from her seat, gathering her things and exiting the room, leaving behind an air of wisdom of someone much older than her. She did that often, and that was why Tech slightly believed her. 

Upon further research, Tech discovered what was known as a love language. The dots, how ever he missed them before, finally connected in his mind in the late of night. 

Rules he upheld with his brothers and Omega, he was more lax with you. Your presence when he was not in the mood to socialize was more tolerable than the rest, and he recalled all the times he had observed and factually stated that you were beautiful to himself. Beauty, though subjective in nature, was a natural occurrence in life. And Tech was not afraid of the truth, and the truth was that you had been beautiful all along, and he had thought of you slightly more special than most others he knew. 

That was what had led them to this moment. Tech had stayed up all night, working into the wee hours of morning on as many projects as he could manage. And then, waiting until he knew you would go about your usual tasks of the day, he trekked to your home and installed every creation he had produced. 

“You complained that the cover over your walkway floods your garden when it rains, so I created a funneling system to redirect the waterflow elsewhere,” he answered, pushing his goggles up his nose. “And you mentioned a draft because your front door would not close all the way, so I fixed it. And the side window that was previously cracked has been replaced with an upgraded version.” 

Your heart squeezed in your chest as you watched him rock ever so slightly on his feet, glancing at you here and there but not keeping his eyes on one thing too long, and it struck you that he must have been nervous. While Tech was known to fidget, nerves were not something he displayed signs of hardly ever, and heat gathered in your cheeks. 

The sun was warm, Tech was as handsome as ever, and your smile could not have been any larger. “An upgraded version, huh?” Your eyebrows raised playfully, voice light as you took one step closer. 

“Yes, upgraded,” he affirmed seriously before continuing, beginning to walk away. “As per your complaints, the window offered no privacy nor did it—” he cut himself off, stopping in his tracks when he noticed you hadn’t walked off with him. Instead of grumbling or giving a sarcastic quip, as he was ever inclined to do, he backtracked until your hand was grasped in his. He tugged your arm lightly, beckoning you to follow him as he resumed his explanation. “As I was saying, nor did it filter any of Pabu’s natural light in your home, so…” he trailed off until the two of you were planted right in front of the said window on the side of your house. 

It was your bedroom window to be exact, and true to his word, it was no longer cracked.

But instead of regular transparasteel, the surface had been frosted over. You could no longer see right into the room, but instead see little designs in the glass, swirls and such riddled all over the place. “I made this last night,” he offered, looking between you and the window, voice much softer than before. “The light, it will not be as harsh on you, and you now have privacy while still having the effect of an open window, which…” he exhaled ever so slightly, the weight of your hand in his heavy on his mind as he looked over at you once again, “which I know you love.” 

He was right. You had mentioned that the solution to your problem was as simple as some curtains, but then that would eliminate the natural light as a whole and that was the opposite of what you wanted. You had not had the skills or the mindset to create the solutions to these problems, though not detrimental in severity, but for some reason Tech had taken it upon himself to be the one to remedy them. 

“Tech…” you whispered, looking at him with a tender love he was not used to receiving. It made his heart rate accelerate in his chest, as he thought back to all of the acts of service you had done for not only him but his family as well.

You had loved him to the point of service, and Tech had realized that he loved you to the point of invention. 

“No need to mention it,” he whispered back, unable to fight off the blush in his cheeks as you smiled at him. “That is just what people do when they care. You taught me that.” 

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my work as your own.