#Wonderfilled | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chososdiscordkitten · 24 days

Text

Synopsis: calling the jjk men good boy's for the first time ^-^

Includes: 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨, 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢, 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐲𝐚, 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨, 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐨 >_< Content: GN!Reader, no explicit smut- mostly just soft stuffff, just one dick jump I think..? jjk men being simpppps

MDNI

Choso Kamo

The discovery that Choso liked praise was no surprise. If he had a tail, it would wag whenever you praised him; we know this.

But finding out he liked this kind of praise- that’s what shocked you.

It came out of your mouth so quickly. As though you had been calling Choso that more than you called him by his name.

He was making dinner- pattering around the kitchen with your eyes following his every move. You found it endearing how he insisted he would cook, “All you need to do is sit pretty and wait.” he would demand.

No objections coming from you, knowing if Choso didn’t cook- you would be eating takeout instead.

And when he offered you a spoonful to see how it was tasting, you closed your eyes with a pleased hum.

“Now there’s my good boy.”

You swore it was instinct- like you couldn’t filter the words that left your lips.

And as though time stood still- you opened your eyes with pinched brows, and your lips pulled to the side.

The little glimmer that shined in his eyes was one you only see in wonderfilled children when they see a candy store.

His cheeks blushed with a little smile forming at the corner of his lips, had his heart beat any faster in his chest you would have heard it.

“I’m a..?” he whispered, looking at you and wanting to hear you repeat it.

You got the hint he liked it from the moment you opened your eyes. Blinking innocently as his hand held the spoon tightly. “A good boy.” you smiled, trying to keep the embarrassed blush heating your cheeks at bay.

“My good boy.” you reiterated, watching his cheeks become deeper pink.

Choso nodded- as though this was some standard compliment that didn’t make the appendage between his legs jump at the name.

‘A good boy.’ he mouthed with a giddy smile as he continued making dinner.

For sure this only drove him to keep showing his affection with acts of service- only to hear your lips call him by that little name.

And you were happy to call him that if it meant he would keep looking at you with the same love drunk eyes.

After that, he would do a favor to you- not expecting anything in return except the new found pet name he wanted to hear you say.

So when he would bring you something you had asked for—the TV remote, a charger, or a snack on his way home—his heart would pound just waiting for the little name.

His head would rest on your chest with your hands rubbing small circles on his back and the other playing with his hair. Intent eyes watching the film you had put on- as though you were able to feel the stiffness of his shoulders. Waiting for the name.

You placed a kiss on his forehead, “My good boy.” you hummed against his skin- feeling him ease into your grasp with a soft exhale.

Hiromi Higuruma

You were sitting in the apartment office, scanning documents with hazy eyes till your mouth suddenly felt very- very dry.

But then you remembered you had a perfectly able boyfriend sitting on the living room couches waiting for you to finish working.

You picked up your phone- swiping through the useless apps and clicking on Hiromi’s contact- hearing his ringtone through the closed door before hearing the dial click.

Taking on a slightly stern tone, “I’m only a few feet away from you-” he started, only for you to sigh dramatically.

“I don’t think i've ever been so thirsty in my wholllleee life.” you sighed, pressing your forehead onto the desk and hearing a little chuckle rumble through the speaker.

You could hear the smile in his words, “That so?” almost sarcastically.

Humming a lazy ‘Mhm’ “How I wish I had a tall, strong, handsome boyfriend to bring me a glass of water wiiiittthhhh three- no. Four ice cubes.” You exhaled dramatically.

Hearing another little chuckle, “If only.” he muttered, playing coy to your specific demand.

You gave a frustrated exhale- “Hiromi, be a good boy and bring me a glass of water.” this time more demanding, no longer having the patience for his game of playing coy.

You furrowed your eyebrows- unable to comprehend just how tired you had to be to say that to him. The silence heard from the phone made your stomach fall.

Hanging up the phone with a small curse. Wondering if you had crossed a line that hadn’t been drawn by either of you.

You sat up and started working again- far too embarrassed to go out for your own glass of water and settling on the fact Higuruma wouldn’t bring you one.

That was till you heard looming footsteps behind the door of the office, hearing the door knob jiggle and widening your eyes at the hundreds of scenarios that raced in your mind.

There Hiromi stepped- casual as ever with a glass of water in his hand. Unbothered, and cool as a cucumber as he placed the glass on the desk with a little kiss on your forehead.

This made you think the call was cut out at the perfect moment.

You muttered a small ‘Thank you.’ still shy from the tired, unfiltered words that left your lips. Hiromi started walking out, his back facing you as he halted his steps at the door frame.

“Honey?” he asked, not even bothering to turn around. “Did you call me a good boy?” Your heart plummeted to your stomach from the question as your cheeks started warming.

You parted your lips to speak, watching his neck turn and peer back at you. “Depends..?” you squint your eyes, hearing a little laugh leave his lips.

Irking his head, almost to urge you to finish. “On whether you liked it or not...?” you whispered, looking at his expression soften.

His nose crinkled in the slightest- “I think I did.” he whispered back with a little crinkle formed on his nose. A nod from your warmed face in return, mindlessly accepting his confirmation and mouthing a soundless ‘ok.’

Turning around and taking a step out of the office and closing the door behind him. Knowing he would have to hear it a few more times to be sure he liked it or not.

Naoya Zenin

Rare were the times when the want to call Naoya a good boy arose.

He could be such a cunt sometimes- so the urge never really rumbled in your mind.

But when he would be sweet- when his hands held a gentle touch when cleaning a scrape you got on your knee. Or when he would gently clasp your necklace on for you- knowing you wouldn’t be able to see.

He would do those sweet things with a furrowed brow and a pouty lip- sure. But his hands showed his true feelings. How gentle they could be at times- that’s when the pet name would threaten to leave your lips.

But when you would hold his head in your hands, looking at him like an idiot in love- “My good boy.” you murmered, watching a light grimace form on his face at the name.

“Good boy?” he asked, almost disgusted.

You nodded your head- so sure that Naoya was as you said. “You’ve never called me that.”

He was so used to the strange pet names you would call him just to get a rise out of him- and he was sure this one was no different.

You shrugged, “You’re hardly ever a good boy. But when you are- I should tell you, shouldn’t I?” You murmured, being able to feel the warmth on his cheeks fill your palms- even if his expression said otherwise.

“M’not a dog.” he muttered.

“If you were- I would have trained you to be a good boy all the time by now.”

That’s when Naoya pulled his face from your hands and looked away from you. Not wanting to continue the conversation, knowing his cheeks must be flushed by now.

And the last thing he wanted was you on a power trip from making him blush. Especially from being called a good boy.

But when you started calling him that—Pavloving himself into thinking the little endorphins that would simmer in his brain would only happen if you called him that. And you only called him that when he was kind.

Naoya warmed to the name slowly- barely even grimacing at the callousness you’d say it with whenever he would be sweet.

Unknowingly, he was being trained to be nice and polite with one ‘good boy’ at a time.

Satoru Gojo

The times you would praise Gojo were always met with an, “I know.” smug and cocky in his actions to brush off your praise as just compliments.

But the first time you ever spoke those words to him- a praise he had never heard before now, and eager to hear it again.

Satoru had made a stupid comment about how you didn’t show your affections enough- “I’m deprived of kisses.” he murmured, complaining to you as though you didn’t spoil him rotten with your affections.

And in retaliation, you denied him any kisses or hugs. Show him what deprivation really was.

You were washing dishes, with a whiney Satoru behind you, his hands wrapped around your waist with his chin on your shoulder. “This has to be considered abuse!” another complaint as you denied his advances.

“You said I was cold and negligent, so I’m showing you how cold and negligent I can be.” You smiled to yourself, turning off the faucet and drying your hands on a nearby towel.

Hearing a stifled whine of desperation huff from his nose at your denial. “Jus’ gimme one kiss-” aiming his lips at your cheek only for you to pull away.

Turning over to look at him- faces inches apart with his hands daring to tighten their grip on your waist. Tilting your head to the side with a snide smile. “Only good boys who don’t complain get kisses.”

From how close he was- you could see the glimmer in his eyes become blinding at the pet name.

His features going soft with parted lips- “I’m good-” he choked out, looking at you with goal-oriented eyes. “I’m soooo good-” he muttered, bordering on panicked from the idea that you didn’t think he was.

Gojo’s hands gripped harshly at your hips. “Have you been a good boy?” you asked, almost sarcastically—as though you were speaking to a puppy.

He nodded- eager to hear the new compliment leave your lips. Only you nodded ‘no.’

“I don’t think you have ‘toru.” you hummed, his lips coming closer to yours with a sad pout. As though the idea of him being good in your mind was the most important thing he needed to hear.

He only placed his forehead onto the crook of your neck with a sad puff, your hand going up to his undercut, softly stroking the back of his neck in some feigned consoling. “Tell me i’ve been good.” he muttered quietly.

So spoiled from you caving with a little pout here or there. Practically putty in your hands as your other hand caressed the side of his face.

Rolling your eyes with a playful sigh, “You’ve been good.” with a half-assed tone, only for Satoru to look at you with sad eyes. Expecting more than what you offered.

Pressing a soft kiss onto his forehead and pulling away, “You’re a good boy.” you murmured, watching the light return to his eyes in sync with the little smile on his lips.

Blinking rapidly as though he was trying to blind you, “My good boy.” and that’s when he got his fill for affection for the next few minutes.

Then came the task of having to call him that whenever he wanted to hear it- looking at him with a displeased look, knowing you’ve created a monster that thrives on that special kind of praise only you could offer.

Kento Nanami

We can all agree- Nanami is the one who deserves to be told he’s a good boy the most, right?

There were times when the urge blossomed in your mind- at the tip of your tongue and so close to calling him that pet name. But you never did.

That was, until you got the guts to test the waters.

Laying on your back, a few minutes before bed and unwinding while on your phone, and beside you; a hazy Kento that was waiting for you to turn off your side table lamp. Always waiting for you to get ready for bed before allowing himself to fall asleep.

You let out a soft sigh before turning off your phone. Rolling onto your side with Nanami watching you from the side of his vision. Only this time you didn't reach for the little nob to turn your lamp off.

You only stayed on your side with a pensive hum leaving your lips. “Scratch my back Ken,” you muttered, clearly tired with your eyes closed.

Though you couldn’t see it- or hear it, you knew he had a little smile on his face as he shifted onto your side of the bed. A little shiver ran up your spine when his fingertips grazed the small of your back as he reached beneath your shirt.

A satisfied sigh left your lips when his barely present nails started circling small scratches between your shoulder blades, your cheeks tingling from the words you dared say. “Such a good boy.” with a little smile on your lips, Nanami couldn’t see.

Nanami didn’t fully process your mumbled words, only offering a hum in response as he kept up the gentle scratches.

But when his brain started thinking about what you said- thinking if he misheard you. Slowing his hand with furrowed eyebrows, “Did you call me a-” he hesitated in what he thought he heard.

“A ‘good boy’..?” bordering on a whisper from the nerves of being incorrect.

Only the little ‘Mhm!’ that left your lips swatted those nerves away. “You’re such a good boy- always so nice to me.” you hummed, closing your eyes against the pillow with his hand still acting on your demand.

A pensive hum left his lips before slowly dragging his hand out of your shirt. You opened your eyes in dread, thinking he didn’t like it- only to hear him plop on his side of the bed with a throaty exhale.

“Then be good and scratch my back.” he murmured, clearly too tired to process what he had just demanded- and the tone he used opened a whole other can of worms. But seeing as it was only fair- you did the same.

Toji Zenin

He had been bugging you to finish your work for a while. Poking and prodding at you to stop working and pay attention to the film he put on to distract you.

Toji had this thing where he pretended not to care- but you could see that it bothered him with every little side eye he made at you when you would stop typing for even a second. Hoping you were looking up at the TV instead of the screen on your lap.

But every side eye he would make, Toji would find you still working.

Going as far as nudging you with his elbow to mutter some bullshit lie he thought up on the spot.

“M’hungry.” he muttered when you would look over at him.

“Then eat.”

Only a few minutes of an action movie fight before another useless lure for conversation left his lips.

“S’cold in here.” trying to bait any conversation he could think of.

You scoffed, knowing exactly what game he was trying to play. “Get a blanket,” he quickly said, not even wanting to lose your train of thought.

Then another, and another, and another. Till he finally spilled what he really wanted- “You don’t wanna go lay down or somethin-” with a pouty lip and furrowed eyebrows. You sighed and looked over at him.

“Or something?” sarcasm filled your tone as you looked back at the screen.

Toji rolled his eyes with an exhale- another sassy trait he had learned from you.

He parted his lips with an inhale.

“Good boys wait politely, Toji.” you spat- pinched eyebrows and an avoidant gaze as he looked over to you.

“When have I ever been polite.” he murmured- barely audible and in an annoyed tone.

“When have you ever been a good boy?” you retorted, surprised he didn’t catch it the first time.

He only let out a slight hum at your declaration.

Toji didn’t really bring it up after that- and neither did you. As though the words hadn't processed in his brain till a week later.

Looking at you across a metal table at an outdoor cafe- “Did you call me a good boy the other day?” almost with a little grimace on his expression.

You pursed your lips- making Toji think you were going to deny it.

“No. I said you’re never a good boy.”

He only raised a brow at your proclamation- sucking his teeth with an inhale, “That’s not true- and you know it.” dismissing your words before taking a bite of the half sandwich you bought to share.

Takuma Ino

One of the sweetest boys I can imagine.

Always would he try to be as gentlemanly as he could- reminding himself that when it came to you, he would bend over backward had you asked.

But there would be times when it would slip his mind entirely.

Going shopping with him turned from just a quick pit stop- to an hour, then two hours.

While ordering boba in line, your hands held shopping bags on each side. Ordering your own drink before Ino ordered his.

He always found it offensive when you would even think of reaching for your wallet- so he would scoff infront of the cashier before tapping the chip of his card onto the little black screen.

“How am I supposed to pay you back?” you muttered through clenched teeth, taking a few steps to the little wait area as they prepared the bubble drinks.

He muttered something like ‘You don’t have to pay me back, what else am I here for.’ brushing you off with a little scoff.

Ino didn't even notice the bags in your hands- his brain fried from how long you had been in the overcrowded mall. He only noticed when you moved the bags to one hand and shifted your stance slightly.

He looked over at you with a soft exhale- reaching for the bags, “Baby, don't tell me you don't have a ssssuuuuper strong boyfriend to hold these for you.” taking them from your hands and watching your expression soften.

“What kinda boyfriend would let you walk around holding your own bags-” he scoffed, jokingly making fun of himself as you smiled warmly at him.

Be it the general brain splitting headache you felt at that moment- or the heartmelting warmth you felt looking at him, “You're such a good boy.” you muttered- bordering on an illegable whisper, but Ino heard it.

His eyes widened in the slightest and parted his lips at the name. “Me?” Ino whispered back, you only nodded ‘yes’ with tired eyes. Leaning in a little to you ear- too cautious for anyone to hear. “A good boy?” he whispered again. Watching the little smile on your lips widen with eager eyes.

“The goodest boy.” you whispered with a smug tone- knowing he liked being praised in general. You knew he would like the little name.

(a.n) does this count as smut? kinda a grey area me thinks. Didn't know how to tag it. (p.s) im so hungry rn and need to go spend wayyyy too much money on tile :(

2K notes · View notes

cur-vy · 1 month

Text

#body positivity #love your curves

20 notes · View notes

submissiveking99 · 16 days

Text

The Phantom Thieves Ally (Closed RP with @stripclub-elysium)

Chapter 2: Enter the Velvet Room

Things had already been strange and wonderfil the past few days for Daiki. Becoming the new PE Teacher at Shujin Academy, finding out one of his co-workers was gaslighting as a maid as a very sleezy side buisness, acidentally ordering said co-worker, having sex with her. And so much more.

Now... he awoke here. After having sex with the beautiful maid he fell asleep, as anyone would. Only for his sleeping mind to be dragged up and through the sea of souls

...

Now he was here. Within what looked like a meeting room, everything within the room was different shades of blue. A deep passionate navy, paler blue, darker blue. And sat on the other end of the long table before Phillip.... was a pair of, obviously, sisters. Pale yellow hair and bright, flowing yellow, eyes. One dressed like an elevator operator, and one dressed as a limo driver

"Welcome, our special guest." the older looking of the two greeted "To our Velvet Room. I am Margaret, this is my sister Elizabeth."

7 notes · View notes

kururu418 · 4 months

Text

Future AU: Wonderfilled Walk In The Rain

During a heavy rain, Edith ends up having to share an Umbrella with Gabe. During their walk the two talk a little about themselves, and cookies…

Art by @laylaylamode!

#callyieverse #spectacular silver wolf #gabe #edith #plagg

9 notes · View notes

hargrove-mayfields · 2 years

Text

Sometimes it’s hard for Billy to look in the mirror.

Most of the time it’s for obvious reasons, cuts and bruises that he doesn’t really want to acknowledge littering his face. Nobody likes to see themselves torn up like that, to look weak. Especially not in his case, where under the welted skin and deep bruises and blood, he looks just like the man who put them there. He can’t escape it, the fact he’s a Hargrove, his fathers son.

He thinks about that reflection when he snaps at Max, when he feels just a little too bitter in a day and takes it out on somebody else, messes everything up again. He knows he’s just like his old man. Throw in an earring and grow out his hair, and he looks enough like his own person, but the attitude, the permanent scowl. It gets to him sometimes.

These days, looks are just about the only goddamn way he ever wants to be compared to Neil again. That’s a new mission of his since coming to Hawkins. He’d failed at it for the first few months, but now that he’s older and he’s got adult responsibilities to worry about too, he just wants a chance to get better. He swore he would.

Fact of the matter is, he still can’t make eye contact with his own inherited deep blues when he’s looking in the mirror, battling the humidity to get that one curl in the front to lay just right, or being careful to apply only a perfectly subtle amount of charcoal liner that Neil won’t notice.

There’s another reason for that - one that’s a lot less superficial too- and it has to do with his momma, the other half of him.

The time passing means it’s been more than a decade now since the last time he’d talked to her, even longer since he’d actually seen her. The kind of wound that doesn’t show on the skin, in the reflection, but that never heals.

Billy’s momma was the kind of lady who was never very particular about her appearance. Between raising a kid practically on her own and taking care of her husband like a second child, she didn’t think it was in the top list of her priorities. A list handwritten by her husband and left by her pillow every night.

Still she had an old vanity, a real beauty in it of itself, hand built and painted a pretty white color. Around the top it was ornate, flower trimmings and fancy inlays, decorated with pearls and flowers and things.

Back when Neil still pretended to like her, he’d fixed it up real nice as a gift to his pretty little girlfriend. He’d buy Billy’s momma all kinds of things to fill it up with too, perfume bottles and new flashy jewelry and decent quality makeup. She never asked him where he got the money for any of that. He wouldn’t have answered anyways. That particular illusion was never going to last.

And that was still before Billy came along.

By the time he was in the picture, momma never sat at her vanity anymore. She couldn’t sit and try to get the curlers she’d put in the night before to lay down just right around her face, or put on just a little bit of makeup, the way Neil approved of it but that still made her feel pretty. Worth something. Not with all these new responsibilities looming.

They were the same in that way. Billy and his momma. Except they were opposites. When she was getting dolled up, it was usually for Neil. To avoid a beating. When Billy did it, it was to piss his dad off. Get a reaction. Stand up for himself for once.

That’s not why he remembers it though, his momma's habits.

Billy remembers that vanity well. Even better, he remembers the way the big mirror bowed in a perfect arch right before it shattered on the pavement because Neil threw it to the curb. The smell of old wood and dusty paint and leftover Estée Lauder burning into ash in the backyard. He remembers the destruction of his memories better than he does the actual event.

Being, the time he spent with his momma in her lap, staring with wonderfilled eyes back at their double reflections.

He always thought he looked like his momma. He had wanted to anyway. People would tell him how much he looked like his dad, that he’d grow up to be such a handsome and strong boy. His response had initially been that he’d rather be pretty like his momma, but a backhand across the face quickly reoriented that answer to a painful acknowledgment and an eye roll behind their backs.

His momma told him he was pretty regardless. What did anybody else know?

Back then, Billy had always thought his mother was the smartest person in the world, and hell, leaving her sorry excuse of a husband behind might’ve proved that to be true, if he was on the outside looking in. If he wasn’t a part of that forgotten memory.

Doesn’t change much though. He’s way past blaming her for it. A decade is too long to be mad at someone. Or maybe he’s just gone soft.

That's what she would’ve wanted.

She’d done her best to instill kindness in him. Between strokes of a hair brush through stubborn tangles and a gentle dusting of a dry makeup brush over his freckled button nose, momma would whisper all kinds of affirmations to him. Promises that he’d grow up to be someone who made a difference. How much she loved him. To use those moments to do some damn good in the world.

For a while it seemed like she’d been preparing him for the day she’d up and leave him. Like if she promised enough times that she was raising him right and caring for him that he wouldn’t be hurt when she took off. It might not’ve worked, but here he is still thinking about it, so, he sure as all hell didn’t forget her kindness.

It’s more like he just forgot what to do with it, and all he retained was a complex in the place of a life lesson.

Sort of.

Part of it too was that he had a more important lesson to learn from his time with momma, and that was how to keep Neil off his case. ‘Cause that’s what she was doing; As long as she was sitting at that vanity doing something, Neil couldn't hit her.

It was a nice piece of furniture, he wasn’t going to risk breaking it when he could just as easily bash her head off of the living room coffee table that only cost them nine bucks at a yard sale. That and the fact that any time she was doing something to improve upon her appearance, he couldn’t find something to complain about. Being a good, subservient wife that cleaned herself up for him wasn’t something he could justify beating her over.

And that was exploitable.

Still is to this day. Billy won’t get hurt if he busies himself with something important. Not that standing at his makeshift vanity counts -That makes him a self-absorbed faggot, as a matter of fact- but he’ll do other things. Like making Susan some bitter tea or cleaning the whole house or doing his homework. Stupid shit he’d probably do anyways, but that he makes a special point of doing when Neil’s watching. Just in case.

His dad might pace around behind him when he’s being productive, might threaten what he’ll do through gritted teeth and hit Billy a little harder the next day, but he will back down, given the right excuses. That’s probably the only damn reason why Billy survived the night that Max ran away.

Probably the reason he’s so unhappy all the time too. He hates being vane, he hates the consequences of it mostly, but he has to do it. It’s all he has, because has to flaunt something for the people in this town. If it wasn’t for the act he puts on, he’d have been dead a long time ago.

It makes him feel fake. Nothing belongs to him. Everything’s a trick he learned from momma or a way of self defense. A mask covering up whatever reflection is truly his. He has a few things; his hair, his car, his friends. But no matter what there’s still always the slightest influence of somebody else.

He doesn’t grow his hair past his shoulders, because then he’s too much like momma. He bought a Camaro instead of a firebird like he wanted, because a firebird is a girl's car. He chooses people his dad would approve of, turned away all the friends he had that fell out of favor, and did his damndest to force his step sister to do the same.

It’s shitty and he hates living that way. He thinks it might be easier to be himself. But being himself is so dangerous, he’s not sure he wants that either. He’s torn in two pieces, the real Billy, and the reflection of himself he shows to other people.

Enter Steve Harrington. The first person Billy meets that holds him to being real.

Steve is the first to not buy his act, not from that first curious glance across the parking lot. Coming from the same status, someone that used to be in his place until he fell from grace, he always knew there was more to Billy Hargrove.

Billy feels like he has to play it up harder instead of showing Steve that truth. He doesn’t owe anything to that entitled brat anyways. It’s not out of jealousy, that Steve gets to be pretty and soft. It’s survival.

So he pushes him a little harder the next time they have gym together. Mocks him in the showers, only to run out of the locker rooms with his still hair dripping down his shirt so he doesn’t have to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirrors above the sinks.

But Steve doesn’t let him quit. Because he is a brat, and he doesn’t like being told no. Or being knocked in the face when Billy is done with his shit. His lies. For someone who hides behind a fake version of himself, honesty is important to him, more than getting Max and getting the hell back home. He thought that would be the end of Harrington minding his business, once he lost that fight. Beatings always worked to keep him hateful.

Steve saw something that night he wasn’t supposed to though.

He saw the tears in Billy’s eyes and the bruises on his skin that he hadn’t put there. Steve had only cracked him on his nose, the bruises on the back of his neck and the side of his face belonged to somebody else. He seemed to have Billy well figured out, despite his efforts to push him away.

Harrington is relentless, and honestly, after Steve follows him around at school, sitting next to him in every class, rivaling him in basketball every time, and parks in his parking spot for weeks, Billy is charmed. To see the same intensity he put into the world turned around on him, with a different purpose, trying to get close instead of further apart, it’s so familiar. It’s the same routine he’s been forcing his whole life.

So he gave in. Spent a good thirty minutes at his almost vanity undoing curlers he hid under a hoodie the night before, fluffing up his hair and preening like any of the other desperate bitches that got a chance with Steve fucking Harrington. Putting on lipgloss, clipping in a diamond earring, bouncing into his tightest jeans, hyping himself up. It’s all routine.

Except covering the bruises with makeup and doing his hair through tears doesn’t make that night go away on its own. The guilt and the ugliness that look back at him don’t fade like the redness in his eyes.

Until.

“You look good.”

Steve said it like it was nothing. Like Billy hadn’t gone through a crisis about the way he looked before driving out to meet him here. On the edge of the quarry, too high up from the water to see their own inky black reflections.

Luckily, it’s also too dark for Steve to notice that Billy is blushing as red as he was before he caked his face. “Shut up. I always look good.”

Steve has the audacity to laugh at him. The sound bubbling up and echoing off the rock walls. They’re walled in. But they’re free.

A breeze blows past and knocks Billy’s pristine hair back in his face. There’s a compact in his shirt pocket, and were he on a date with a girl, he would’ve taken it out and fixed himself back up. Ignored the preening chick at his side to do it right back, scare them off with his bullshit personality.

But he isn’t. He’s sitting on his hands next to Steve Harrington, who says, all soft like he means it, “No, I mean.. It’s different. Pretty.”

That’s all Billy’s ever wanted to hear.

Not like Neil. Not like momma. Not like a bruised up kid.

Pretty.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah. I like the makeup. It’s nice.”

“Don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Harrington.” His default is to be defensive. He can’t help it. Nobody’s supposed to know.

But Steve, Steve just gets everything right.

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he declares, “It’s not a big deal.”

Billy can’t stop smiling, sparkling lips drawn back into the expression of the only genuine happiness he’s felt in years. Maybe when he’s around Steve, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Maybe this, the tender compliments, the comfort in another, the expression..

This is the real Billy.

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #slight gnc billy #neil hargrove #billy hargrove’s mother #my writing #ej writer #this was a request!#an anon asked for soft traumatized billy #so I wrote this!#but I accidentally deleted my drafts and lost the request #so if you’re that anon #here it is!!

128 notes · View notes

gateway-artist · 2 years

Text

A commission I did for my bestie @wonderfilled-18 !! Very proud with how this came out! This was kind of a What If? Thing we came up with. What if Cody possessed the Dark Saber and became the new ruler of Mandalore. Obi-Wan trying to save him because yeah lmao idk enjoy!

#obi wan kenobi fanart #obi wan fanart #master obi wan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody fanart #commander cody #codywan #Star Wars au #commission

72 notes · View notes

m0thisonfire · 1 year

Note

✍️+ Zach Varmitech + “I just really like to…you know.”

I have no idea where that line came from…

Thank you, Jig! [<3] I actually enjoy that line, it was fun to work with! It actually reminded me of a prompt/headcanon I had for Zach, so I just let my mind word blurt for this one!

I... Really enjoy the idea of him repairing music boxes for fun or for someone he cares about, so Zach repairing a music box for gender neutral reader/lover! Not exactly a self ship, but Zach's one of the ones I enjoy making x readers for, so it's good enough for me!

----

-Hobbies-

Zach's eyes didn't leave the delicate piece of machinery he was working on. Gentle as he was being, he still held it firm as he continued screwing the annoyingly tiny screw into it's place, only releasing it once he was sure the parts were secured together.

The machine he was working on was, surprisingly, not one of his inventions. Nor was it a device meant to cause harm. Rather, sitting on Zach's workbench was an old music box, from a time before mass production and cheap material.

Surprising considering his status and occupation, but it was a wonder of mechanical parts nonetheless. In his eyes, it had become a treasure despite it's older dating.

It was made of an old delicately crafted metal of silver and gold, bronze the material of the song sheet it was meant to play, unfortunately eroded away by time and neglect. A small silver songbird was sat atop it, meant to swivel around and open it's tiny beak to the song it was meant to play, repaired now thanks to Zach's care and ability.

When the music box was discovered by him originally, he found himself disgusted by it's ruined state, dirty and decrepit, the bird an offending shade of orange. The music it was supposed to play grated unrecognized through the antique store he had been dragged to by his partner, and he had grit his teeth with narrowed eyes, watching the small bird clink around uselessly as it's beak pathetically ground agaist itself trying to sing along.

His partner had wandered over with wonderfilled eyes, their reaction completely oposite of his.

The next thing he knew, he had been beside them glaring with a pout at the thing being rung up at the counter.

His lover always did this, he found. Whatever they found that was defective or broken, they'd take one look and decide that that item was the one they wanted.

Zach remembered complaining to them as they exited the store, "-But why this music box? I could get you twenty nice new music boxes! Why do you always take the defective stuff?"

They had been quiet a moment, staring at the carefully wrapped object with a strange look. Before a loving smile crossed their face as they looked at him, "I just really like to… you know."

He couldn't help but give them an incredulous look at that.

Zach just couldn't grasp the want to take something broken just for the sake of it being wanted. It was one of many things he didn't understand about them. But he dropped the matter with a huff as they walked back to his car.

It had been a solid month since they had the broken box, his lover insisting on keeping it on his mantel as 'A proud display'. Zach could count on two hands the amount of times that month he'd stand and glare at the sad excuse of a windup machine. Sitting dejectedly on his mantel. He couldn't even use the stupid thing…

Then at the end of that month, his partner had to leave out of state for a family emergency. He remembered the distress they went through as they prepared to leave, exhaustion weighing on their body from the stress of the problem. Zach was distressed too. Distressed he couldn't seem to make his usually cheery significant other smile or laugh.

They denied any attempt from him to give them a ride there, or any attempt to let him pay for expenses. They left with him wondering what could be done to help them. Nothing, apparently…

After they left and he was pacing his living room with a heavy feeling, his eyes couldn't help but drift up to the metal disaster.

Slowly but surely, and idea formed.

If Zach couldn't help them now, then at least he could give them a small reason to be happy when they returned…

With more care than he wanted to admit, he gingerly took the music box down to get to work.

It had been a week since that conscious decision to repair it, taking necessary steps and precautions to ensure its restoration went smoothly.

To his chargin, it required him to dismantle it to individually clean the small gears and parts inside of it to ensure it ran smoothly again. Turns out that, fortunately, the smaller pieces and guts were near untarnished, just very, very dusty. The tin/bronze music sheet, however, was in exactly the condition it sounded. He had immediately placed an order for what he hoped was the correct song from what notes the replicator he contacted could reconize.

He had then proceeded to carefully label each part for easy reassembly as he dismantled it, finding himself eagerly falling into the list of parts he was documenting.

Then he started actually cleaning the outside and parts that required his attention. One of them, obviously, being the bird.

That was the last piece he actually gave any attention to, finding a strange sense of disdain for the small adornment. But once he had to clean it, pay attention to it, he found himself oddly endeared. He supposed having to carefully clean it's nooks and crannies while watching it turn into it's original shining silver made him more appreciative of it's place in the arrangment. Then he had to fix it's beak.

It was his favorite part he found, tinkering with the tiny, fragile mechanical part made who knew how long ago to help it sing again. The idea, for whatever reason, enthralled him.

By the time the bird was repaired and returned to it's former glory, he had named it 'Fiddly'. Out of affection for his curses toward the tiny thing, "Fiddly little junk scrap…" Eventually though, even that turned into a small form of endearment for him.

With the last screw in place and the windup key primed and ready, a week of hard and careful work shone proudly before him. Staring at the wonderful box he restored, Zach felt a sense of accomplishment. He had enjoyed repairing the ancient piece of machinery his partner had loved enough to bring back. And he couldn't help but smile as he turned toward a small package holding the new thin metal sheet with the song to it.

Carefully removing the tin and opening the bottom, he situated the piece until he was satisfied with it's placement.

Finally, he was finished. Now for the moment of truth.

With a small determined frown, he placed the box upright and hesitated on the key. Slowly, gently, he listened to the small clicks of the box beong wound as he turned the key.

On the last click, he released it, and the sweetest sound reached his ears as the bird once again sang to it's piece.

It certainly seemed alot happier to be able to move it's delicate wings and beak, turning it's head to the arrangment that certainly did match the beauty of the box.

Perhaps he judged it too harshly before he actually got to know it…

"Zach?"

Jumping at the sound of his name, he turned to the shocked expression of his lover standing in the doorway. Their eyes were on the music box, jaw slightly agape at the sight of the untarnished machine.

"You're back! I-I mean you're back," Zach tried to cover the fact he was relieved to see them again, the excitement in his voice betraying him.

As they approached, he smiled slightly as he moved out of the way for them. Reaching the workdesk, their hands hovered over it as if they were scared to touch it.

"You fixed it…" they whispered amazed as they watched the bird slow to a stop, the song ending on a sweet note.

"Yes," he chirped happily, standing and moving to their side. Grasping one of their hands, he guieded them to the key, silently encouraging them.

Listening to the clicks once more, his smile grew as he watched the bird begin it's delightful dance again.

Resting his head on theirs, he wrapped his arms around them as they both watched the box's performance. He was thrilled to hear their tearful chuckle as they grasped his arms.

—-

"Are you sure?" His partner asked, raising an eyebrow at the broken box Zach was holding.

Zach smile as he eagerly nodded his head. It was smaller than the bird box, a simple mirror music box you'd find it a child's room. Yet it was neglected long enough that the metal parts were visibly tarnished, the key bent at a sad angle. He couldn't hear the meledy, but surly if he took it apart, he'd be able to see if it was fixable.

His lover didn't question it, shrugging with an agreeing smile as they double checked their things and headed toward the register.

As they walked side by side a bit later, they looked at the box Zach was holding with feverent care.

"...Are you going to repair that one too?" They asked genuinly curious, "Why, if I may ask?"

Zach thought about it for a second, mind drifting to the process he went through that attached him to the first one, now proudly sitting on his mantel, shining and wanted.

"... I just really like to… you know."

They grinned at his dopey smile as he cluchted it tighter. They supposed 'antique music box repairs' was a fitting hobby for the robotics inventor to put time and care into…

#zach varmitech #wild kratts #ask game prompt #thank you Jig! I did love this line!#delightful to mull over!#m0th writes

23 notes · View notes